Superman - Rise of an Empire

The air between them crackled with tension as Clark and Deathstroke locked eyes. The mercenary moved first, lunging forward with lethal precision, his blade a blur of silver. Clark barely managed to sidestep, feeling the rush of air as the sword sliced past his face.

His body reacted instinctively. Enhanced reflexes kicked in as he dodged a second strike, twisting to evade a third. The serum had sharpened his senses, but Deathstroke was fast—inhumanly fast.

Clark ducked under another swipe and countered with a powerful punch aimed at Deathstroke's ribs. The assassin twisted at the last second, deflecting the blow with his armored forearm before driving a knee into Clark's stomach. The impact was brutal, forcing Clark back a few steps, but he didn't fall.

A smirk played on Deathstroke's lips beneath his mask. "Not bad, Kent. But you're not Superman anymore."

Clark wiped a trickle of blood from his lip. "No. I'm something else."

Deathstroke rushed in again, his blade coming down in a lethal arc. This time, Clark didn't dodge—he caught the sword mid-swing, his enhanced strength halting the attack in its tracks. The mercenary's single eye widened for a fraction of a second before Clark twisted the weapon out of his grasp and drove a crushing elbow into his chest.

Deathstroke grunted as he staggered back, but he wasn't done. Drawing a pistol from his holster, he fired three shots in rapid succession. Clark moved before his mind even registered the danger, his body shifting just enough for the bullets to graze past instead of striking vital areas.

With a burst of speed, Clark closed the distance, gripping Deathstroke's wrist and twisting hard. The gun clattered to the floor, and before the mercenary could recover, Clark drove a fist into his jaw. The force sent him skidding backward.

Deathstroke coughed, wiping his mouth. "Heh… You're adapting faster than I thought."

Clark clenched his fists. "I've had a lot of practice."

Alarms still blared through the base, the sounds of gunfire and combat echoing from deeper within. But for Clark, this fight wasn't just another battle. It was a test.

Was he still a warrior without his Kryptonian powers?

Deathstroke pulled out a second sword, spinning it expertly in his grip. "Let's see how long you last."

Clark exhaled slowly, steadying his stance.

And then, the real fight began.

Meanwhile – The Lab

Deep within the military base, Dr. Emil Hamilton worked frantically at his control station. Sweat beaded on his brow as he monitored the security feeds. The attackers were closing in.

Beside him, Colonel Sam Lane barked orders into his radio. "We're holding the northern wing, but they're coming in too fast. We need reinforcements!"

Hamilton gritted his teeth. If the enemy got their hands on the Super Soldier Serum, it would be a disaster. Years of research, and more importantly, the fate of the project itself, rested in the balance.

A sudden explosion rocked the facility. The lights flickered, and part of the ceiling caved in. Soldiers scrambled to defend the entrance as masked operatives poured into the lab.

Hamilton grabbed a secure case containing the last viable batch of the serum and turned to Lane. "We can't let them take this."

Lane nodded grimly. "Then we destroy it before they do."

But before either of them could act, the door burst open—and a new threat entered the room.

A towering figure clad in high-tech armor stepped forward. His movements were calculated, his presence radiating dominance. His helmet bore a crimson visor that glowed menacingly.

Hamilton's stomach dropped. "Oh no… It's him."

Lane's jaw tightened. "Bloodsport."

The infamous mercenary and weapons specialist strode into the lab, flanked by heavily armed operatives. He scanned the room, his voice calm yet deadly.

"Gentlemen," Bloodsport said, leveling a custom-built rifle at them. "Hand over the serum, and nobody gets hurt."

Hamilton clutched the case tighter. "Like hell we will."

Bloodsport sighed. "I was hoping you'd say that."

With a flick of his wrist, his rifle transformed, shifting into a grenade launcher.

He pulled the trigger.

The explosion consumed the lab in fire and chaos.

Back to Clark and Deathstroke

Clark and Deathstroke traded blow after blow, neither giving an inch. The battle had moved into the base's ruined corridor, debris and smoke surrounding them like an arena of war.

Clark's knuckles were bruised, his breathing heavy. But he refused to fall.

Deathstroke, panting, wiped sweat from his brow. "You're getting slower."

Clark cracked his neck. "You're getting tired."

Then, suddenly—BOOM!

The explosion from the lab rocked the entire base, sending a shockwave that nearly knocked both fighters off their feet. Clark's eyes widened.

The serum.

Deathstroke took advantage of the distraction. In a flash, he pulled a dagger from his belt and drove it into Clark's side.

Pain flared through Clark's body. His vision blurred for a moment as he stumbled back, gripping the wound.

Deathstroke smirked. "You're strong, Kent. But you still bleed."

Clark's fingers tightened around the hilt of the blade. He could hear the chaos unfolding from the lab—gunfire, shouting, and the sound of an all-too-familiar voice.

Bloodsport.

Clark's mind snapped back into focus. Ignoring the pain, he yanked the dagger from his side and threw it to the ground. His body ached, but the serum was working. He wouldn't die from this.

Deathstroke sheathed his remaining sword. "Looks like we're both out of time. See you around, General."

And just like that, he vanished into the smoke.

Clark exhaled, forcing himself forward. He couldn't chase Deathstroke now. He had a more urgent mission.

The serum was in danger—and he would stop at nothing to get it back.

TO BE CONTINUED...