Downtown Chicago was on fire, literally.
The morning sunshine had promised a decent, predictable day.
The streets had been busy with the usual metropolitan hum—people minding their own damn business, sipping overpriced lattes, dodging bikes, and rushing toward their soul-crushing corporate desk jobs.
Then the atmosphere split open.
Without warning, a massive, jagged rift tearing through space-time ignited above the pavement.
Swirling hues of putrid brown and crimson energy bled out, casting a nauseating glow all around.
Before the local beat cops could even reach for their radios, hundreds—no, thousands—of heavily armed, ugly green aliens poured out.
They looked like green oversized Voldemorts with multiple antennas and eyes glowing with unadulterated malice.
They didn't negotiate.
They didn't declare war.
They just opened fire.
Superheated plasma bolts rained down like a toxic storm.
The initial salvo cut straight through a group of morning commuters.
Bodies were vaporized into crimson mists, limbs were severed, flying across the asphalt before hitting the ground with sickening thuds.
Cars erupted into towering fireballs as their gas tanks exploded, burning the survivors alive inside their metal coffins.
A pair of Chicago PD squad cars skidded around the corner, sirens blaring.
The officers stepped out, drawing their sidearms, desperately trying to form a defensive line.
They fired off a few standard-issue 9mm rounds—which bounced harmlessly off the invaders' heavy armor.
The aliens returned fire instantly.
A single, heavy plasma charge struck the hood of the lead police cruiser, igniting a kinetic reaction that turned the vehicle and the officers behind it into a mangled, smoking pile of holed-up, mushed meatbags.
It was grotesque.
Intestines strewed over fire hydrants; the iron stench of fresh blood mixed with the chemical ozone of burning alien plasma.
Then came the heavy artillery.
Rolling out from the vortex with low, ground-shaking rumbles were high-tech, double-barreled alien tanks.
Their treads crushed burned corpses into grease stains as their secondary cannons rotated, levelling entire store fronts in blinding flashes of light.
It was total chaos.
It was pure, unadulterated pandemonium.
It was a warzone.
**********
Following the thick, black pillars of smoke rising into the clouds, Mark and Dick arrived at the edge of the destruction.
Mark, clad in his bright yellow and blue costume, landed with a soft, heavy thud on the concrete ledge of a forty-story skyscraper.
A split second later, Dick landed right beside him as Nightwing, executing a flawless parkour vault over an air conditioning unit after getting a high-altitude aerial lift from his brother.
Both teenagers froze, their eyes widening behind their masks as they took in the scale of the carnage below.
"WHOA!" Mark gasped, his voice cracking slightly.
"HOLY SHIT!" Dick breathed out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his escrima sticks.
The view from above was horrifying.
Below them lay a river of fire, metal, and dismembered human remains.
"Well, my bad," Dick muttered, breaking the heavy silence with a dry, tense chuckle. "This is way fucking worse than those comic book panels."
Mark snapped his head toward him, genuinely appalled. "Dude, seriously? Now? People are getting slaughtered down there!"
"It's called a coping mechanism, buddy," Dick retorted sharply, though his jaw was tightly clenched under his mask.
Mark clicked his tongue in pure annoyance, his Viltrumite instincts screaming at him to throw himself down into the fray.
He tensed his legs, preparing to push off the ledge, but Dick's hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder in a vice grip.
"What the fuck, Dick?!" Mark barked, glaring at his brother.
No pun intended of course.
"Remember how dad looked?" Dick snapped, his tone suddenly dropping into a cold, lethal register. "Remember him lying on that medical bed in that bunker? Battered, broken, barely breathing?"
Mark paused, his chest heaving. "Are you fucking serious right now?! People are fucking dying down there!"
"Good! Then use it!" Dick roared back, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, bloodthirsty light. "Go unleash on those green bastards down there! Look at them—they're slaughtering innocent people like they're having a casual Sunday barbeque! Imagine what dad would have done to those motherfuckers down there. What would Omni-Man do?!"
Without waiting for a response, Dick took a deep breath, channeled every ounce of his half-Viltrumite heritage, and drove his feet down into the roof.
BOOM!
The sheer kinetic force of his jump shattered the concrete ledge into pulverized dust, sending shockwaves through the air as Dick launched himself into the sky.
He arced high over the burning city, angled his body straight downward, and tucked his arms.
The air screamed in his ears as gravity and momentum turned him into a living, organic missile.
A savage, bloodthirsty grin tore across his face.
He pictured his father broken on that slab.
He pictured his mother sobbing in the dark corner of the room.
He converted every drop of guilt and helplessness into pure, unadulterated wrath.
As the alien vanguard beneath him drew closer, Dick opened his throat and let out a roar that rattled the windows for blocks around.
"OMNI-MAN WOULD HAVE FUCKED YOU ALL!"
The sheer volume of the scream forced a battalion of green invaders to look up.
They didn't see a hero.
They saw death descending at terminal velocity.
CRASH!
BOOM!
Dick slammed directly into the center of the alien battalion, landing straight onto the main hull of a double-barreled tank.
The kinetic energy blew the armored vehicle into jagged fragments, instantly liquidating the crew inside and sending a massive, thirty-foot shockwave rippling through the street.
A massive crater caved the asphalt, throwing surrounding troops into the air like ragdolls.
In their panic, several aliens fired blindly, their superheated plasma bolts accidentally incinerating their own comrades in the crossfire.
Before the dust and debris could even hit the pavement, Dick moved.
Utilizing his insane Viltrumite speed, raw muscle tension, and years of martial arts training, he blitzed through the disoriented alien ranks like a vengeful phantom.
His escrima sticks, reinforced by his absurd strength, became lethal bludgeons.
He cracked one alien's skull open with a sickening CRACK, spun around, and caved in the ribcage of another with a sidekick that sent the creature flying three blocks through a brick wall.
This was the perk of being a reincarnator.
Once you've crossed the threshold of death yourself, taking a life ceases to hold any poetic weight.
Dick didn't enjoy killing.
He wasn't a sadist.
But right now, he was blind with rage.
He had all this godlike power, yet he couldn't protect his own father.
He felt useless, vulnerable, and angry—and these green bastards were the ultimate outlet.
He waded deeper into the alien horde, painting the pavement with alien blood.
Every single invader within a two-block radius immediately diverted their attention from the fleeing civilians and locked onto the maniac, tearing their soldiers in half with his bare hands.
Good, Dick thought, ducking under a burst of plasma fire and ripping an alien's arm completely out of its socket before driving his elbow into its throat.
Focus on me, you ugly fucks. Mark will also get enough time to figure it out.
If he has enough brain cells to figure it out.
Surrounded by a sea of green skin and alien shrieks, Dick spun, sweeping a soldier off its feet and stomping its head into the concrete. Alien gore splashed across his face and chest.
"Man," Dick mused out loud, a psychotic, breathless smile gracing his blood-stained face as he wiped his brow, "I feel like fucking Kratos from God of War. Should I get myself some Blades of Chaos? Maybe a Leviathan Axe?"
His internal joke was abruptly cut short when a double-barrel blast from a surviving tank detonated right beside him.
The concussive blast threw him off balance, sending him skidding back across the bloody pavement.
Instantly, dozens of plasma rifles turned toward him, charging up for a synchronized execution shot.
Then, a second voice thundered from the heavens, echoing with raw, desperate fury.
"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!"
Mark came down like a meteor.
Unlike Dick's calculated landing, Mark was pure, unrefined force.
He plowed headfirst into the alien front lines, creating a blinding sonic boom that shattered every remaining window on the street.
Alien bodies exploded on impact as Mark tore through them, turning a dozen foot soldiers into paste before slamming his fist into the pavement.
Mark stood up, his bright yellow costume now heavily smeared with dark, viscous alien blood.
His eyes were wide, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he looked at the carnage around him.
At first, Mark hesitated.
He was just a kid, a rookie who barely started his career as a hero.
But hearing Dick's speech, mixed with the horrific sights of innocent people being turned into burnt ash, had snapped something deep inside his Viltrumite mind.
The restraint was gone.
"You absolute asshole!" Mark screamed over the deafening noise of lasers and explosions, grabbing an alien by the throat and slamming it headfirst into the street until it stopped moving. "You could have explained your fucking plan to me before jumping off a goddamn building!"
Dick somersaulted over an alien bayonet, drove his escrima stick through its eye socket, and laughed maniacally. "Weren't you the one complaining that we didn't have any time?!"
"FUCK YOU, DICKHEAD! PUN INTENDED—OW! FUCK!" Mark yelled as a stray plasma bolt grazed his shoulder, scorching his suit.
Angry, Mark turned to the offending alien, grabbed the hot double-barrel of a nearby tank, and literally ripped it off the chassis with his bare hands.
Swinging the massive steel barrel like a baseball bat, he whipped it around, swatting a dozen alien soldiers into the air like bloody ragdolls.
Dick didn't waste the momentum.
He sprinted toward the disarmed tank, wedged his fingers under the tread plating, and lifted the forty-ton war machine above his head with a strain of heavy breath.
With an enraged roar, he hurled the tank down the street, slamming it directly into another incoming tank.
The collision was catastrophic—metal groaned and both vehicles rolled over in a massive, fiery explosion that wiped out an entire platoon.
"Not bad, bro!" Dick yelled, snatching a dropped plasma rifle off the ground.
He flipped the alien safety catch, brought the stock to his shoulder, and began firing in quick, precise bursts. "Eat shit, Voldemort!" he shouted, dropping aliens with headshots like he was playing a high-stakes game of Call of Duty.
For a few golden minutes, the brothers were an unstoppable force.
Mark provided the heavy, raw kinetic power, clearing swathes of enemies with sweeping blows and overhead smashes, while Dick maneuvered fluidly through the tight spaces, executing high-value targets and maintaining crowd control.
Keywords: for a few minutes.
Despite their Viltrumite strength, the sheer, infinite numbers pouring out of the red-and-brown portal were overwhelming.
The sky was turning green with plasma fire, and the sheer volume of heat was beginning to wear them down.
Both brothers were bruised, covered in alien guts, and cursing at the top of their lungs as they fought back-to-back, completely buried in a sea of invasion.
"Dick! We're getting swarmed!" Mark yelled, ducking behind a car chassis that was rapidly melting under alien fire. "We can't hold on for much longer!"
"I noticed!" Dick spat back, wiping blood out of his face.
Suddenly, a bright, shimmering pink barrier materialized out of thin air, forming a dome around the brothers.
A barrage of heavy plasma fire slammed against the translucent shield, rippling harmlessly across its surface.
Dick and Mark froze, panting heavily, and looked up through the pink barrier.
High above the battlefield, a high-tech, hovering motorcycle descended from the clouds.
Operating the controls was a man clad in a clunky, rusted robotic suit.
No.
There was no man inside as it was a machine.
Beside him, leaning off the side of the hoverbike, was a guy in a bright red and yellow costume.
"Eat fireworks, you fuck freaks!" the red-and-yellow guy screamed with a wild, ecstatic laugh.
He thrust his hands forward, generating glowing red-and-yellow energetic charges that he hurled into the alien ranks.
The energy detonated on impact, blowing an entire squad of invaders into literal pieces.
From a higher ledge, a girl with a sharp bob-cut hair jumped off, landing on a series of floating pink platforms.
Mid-air, her body split into two, then four, then eight identical copies, all dropping into the fray with martial arts maneuvers, drawing their own weapons to engage the soldiers.
Finally, descending gracefully from the sky on a staircase of solid pink light, came the source of the shield.
She wore a sleek pink suit, her long red hair blowing in the harsh wind of the battle.
With a sharp, fluid sweep of her arm, she condensed her energy into a massive, razor-thin arc of pink light, sending it slicing horizontally through the air.
The wave sheared through a dozen alien foot soldiers, cutting them cleanly in half before detonating against a tank.
It was Robot, Rex Splode, Dupli-Kate, and Atom Eve.
The Teen Team.
Reinforcements have arrived.