DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

The salty sea breeze blew across their faces, ruffling clothes and making them flap noisily in the eerie silence. The dim, swaying light cast distorted shadows over the scene, heightening the surreal atmosphere.

"What the hell is this?" Hank muttered, staring at the Colt Python revolver in his hand, his disbelief palpable.

The situation was absurd, impossible even. Since the invention of firearms, no one had ever heard of a person deflecting a bullet with their fingernail, let alone creating sparks in the process.

"I must be seeing things," Hank said to himself, his voice tinged with desperation.

His men, equally confused, began to question him.

"Hank, you sure you're not cross-eyed?"

"Maybe you've been spending too much time at the Red Light District."

"Or maybe your aim's gone to hell!"

The mocking jeers continued, each one a desperate attempt to rationalize what they had just witnessed. To them, it had to be Hank's fault. Perhaps he'd missed, or perhaps exhaustion and indulgence had weakened him. As far as they were concerned, their eyes were simply playing tricks on them.

When faced with the incomprehensible, people often cling to mundane explanations.

"Shut up, you idiots!" Hank roared, his frustration boiling over. "I know how to shoot, damn it! Even if I was drunk or dead tired, I wouldn't miss at this range!"

He glanced at Bardi, his unease growing. Something about this man defied logic. Even the howling sea breeze seemed heavier now, carrying with it an unnatural chill.

On the other side of the standoff, the butler stepped back protectively, shielding Mario. His sharp, experienced eyes remained locked on Bardi, but a flicker of disbelief crossed his normally composed face. Could this truly have happened, or was he hallucinating?

Hank clenched his jaw and squinted at Bardi, masking his unease with a veneer of bravado. "What the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice rough with suppressed fear.

Bardi didn't answer. He simply stood there, silent and unbothered, as if the situation was beneath his notice.

Hank's fingers tightened around the revolver. He stretched his arm out further, aiming squarely at Bardi's chest.

Bang!

The gunshot rang out again, the sound slicing through the night like a blade. Smoke curled from the barrel as the bullet spun through the air. Time seemed to slow as all eyes locked on the scene.

Bardi extended his hand, just as he had before. The bullet's red-hot trail collided with the nail of his extended middle finger.

Sparks flew as the bullet rotated against his nail, shaving off tiny fragments. The fiery collision resembled the sparks of a chainsaw grinding against steel. The bullet veered off course, deflected by the subtle movement of Bardi's fingers. It spiraled away, cutting through the air before disappearing into the dark waters with a faint plunk.

Meanwhile, Bardi examined his nail. The impact had left it with a sharp, uneven edge. He nodded to himself, satisfied. If four bullets were enough to trim one nail, shaping the sides, shortening the tip, and smoothing out the edges, it wasn't a bad method.

This time, everyone saw it clearly.

Both groups stared in unison, their faces etched with pure disbelief.

The tension in the air was palpable as murmurs broke out among the men.

"No way… Did he just catch a bullet again?"

"I'm not imagining things this time, right?"

"He didn't just block it—he redirected it with his nail!"

"This is impossible. It's not human. It's… It's a monster!"

Terrified whispers spread like wildfire as each man processed what they had witnessed. Their disbelief slowly gave way to fear as their eyes darted between one another and Bardi.

Mario's butler, who had been steadily retreating with his young master, now looked on in horror. His heart raced, and sweat beaded on his brow. He'd seen countless brutalities in his time with the Falcone family, but this? This was something beyond comprehension.

The sheer ease with which Bardi had deflected bullets with his fingernails chilled the butler to the core. "This isn't human," he muttered under his breath.

Mario, still shielded by the butler, looked pale and shaken. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Bardi's calm, unbothered demeanor.

On the other side, Hank's hands trembled as he took a step back. The confident bravado he had displayed earlier was gone, replaced by raw, visceral fear.

He glanced at the revolver in his hand, then back at Bardi. Could this really be happening? Could this… thing truly deflect bullets like they were nothing?

Hank's burly frame quivered slightly, goosebumps rising on his skin as the sea breeze swept over him. He suddenly felt the full weight of the Gotham night, the cold settling deep into his bones.

But Hank was no coward. He was a hardened criminal, someone who'd survived countless battles. He refused to let fear take hold of him.

"You can't scare me!" he barked, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him. "I've seen worse than you!"

He gritted his teeth, forcing the fear out of his mind. There was no turning back now. He had already provoked this monster, waiting passively would only seal his fate.

"Kill or be killed," he muttered to himself, trying to summon the ferocity that had earned him his reputation.

Hank's grip tightened, and his eyes hardened. Slowly, his gun hand steadied. With a sudden burst of rage, he raised the revolver and pulled the trigger repeatedly.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The night exploded with the sound of gunfire as Hank emptied his revolver, and his men, spurred by his command, followed suit.

"Fire!"

Hank roared furiously, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. As a gang leader, he had a natural authority that came alive in moments of crisis.

Though his men often teased and mocked one another during quieter moments, this was merely the camaraderie of street soldiers. When push came to shove, their loyalty and discipline shone through.

For just a brief moment, his subordinates hesitated, their faces frozen in shock. Then their expressions hardened, and they opened fire without further hesitation.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire erupted, a deafening cacophony in the cold night. The salty sea breeze carried the acrid smell of gunpowder as a barrage of bullets poured down on Bardi.

Bardi's lips curled into a faint smile as his right hand moved like a blur, faster than the human eye could track. His fingers danced through the air, intercepting every bullet with the nails of his outstretched hand.

The sharp, metallic screech of bullets scraping against nails rang out, mingling with the constant roar of gunfire. Each bullet that struck his nails sent a shower of sparks cascading around him, the light illuminating his unflinching form.

To his attackers, the sight was nightmarish. The sparks formed a shield-like barrier around Bardi, and not a single bullet made it past.

"What the hell are you?!" one of Hank's men screamed, his voice cracking as panic overtook him.

The furious, unrelenting sound of an AK-47 echoed through the night, but it was no use. With every shot, the men's hearts sank further.

Bardi remained unfazed. Once the nails on his right hand were trimmed to his satisfaction, he paused, flexing his fingers. Glancing at them briefly, he nodded in approval. Then he calmly extended his left hand, ready to repeat the process.

The sound of bullets scraping against steel-like nails was sharper and more unnerving than the gunfire itself. Sparks exploded outward with every deflection, a futile spectacle of destruction that only deepened the attackers' despair.

When his left hand's nails were also neatly shaped, Bardi finally stilled. He let his arms fall to his sides, allowing the remaining bullets to strike him directly.

Each bullet that hit him flattened or ricocheted off harmlessly, unable to pierce his invulnerable flesh. Even the test tube hanging from his neck, containing the red liquid, remained intact despite the relentless gunfire.

By the time the barrage ended, Bardi had endured nearly 200 bullets. He stood completely unharmed, his expression calm and composed.

The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Smoke from the discharged weapons hung in the air, swirling in the sea breeze.

The men exchanged glances, their faces pale and drenched in sweat. Fear had overtaken them completely.

Bardi bent down and picked up a bullet that had fallen at his feet. It was still warm to the touch. Without a word, he flicked it with his fingers.

The bullet shot forward with a sharp whistle, striking the metal oil drum with immense force.

Boom!

The drum crumpled inward, its surface dented grotesquely by the impact. The sheer force sent the drum flying over ten meters before it finally crashed to the ground.

The briefcase containing the money teetered precariously on the oil drum's edge but didn't fall. With another precise flick, Bardi sent another bullet zipping forward. It struck the briefcase's lid, snapping it shut just before the case tumbled to the ground with a resounding thud.

The display of power left everyone frozen in place. Bardi straightened, his gaze sweeping over the group like a predator surveying its prey. His cold, piercing eyes seemed to strip them of any remaining courage.

"I need some dogs to run errands for me."