LiBaG: Emergence 2.21b (Patreon)

Higher.

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With as much force as his Mana Thrusters had in them at full blast.

The wind screamed past his ears, his body aching, the last of his energy burning away with every second he stayed airborne.

He didn’t care, didn’t think.

Didn’t stop until his mana cut out completely and his body plummeted.

The fall wasn't long.

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The impact hurt like hell, but not enough to break anything. Not enough to matter.

Zeke stayed where he landed, sprawled out across the sand, staring up at the sky, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. His hands curled into the dirt, fingers twitching against the coarse grains. The heat seeped through his jacket, through his ribs, through the hollow ache in his skull.

His thoughts churned, circling back on themselves, running through the same endless loop.

What’s the point?

They don’t care.

They don’t get it.

They talk about taking this seriously, he let out another groan, but they treat it like a club. Like something they do after school, between homework and dinner.

Like it’s a game.

And I’m the joke. Zeke gritted his teeth, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

It wasn’t about Queen Bee. It wasn’t about her dying.

It was about them not getting it.

Like they didn’t understand what they’d signed up for. Like they’d never processed it. Like he was wrong for treating it like life or death when it was.

And that was the part that burned the most.

Zeke curled in on himself, fingers gripping his hair, his frustration boiling over into a single, strangled groan. "What’s the point?"

He sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, trying to keep it down, keep it in, keep it from bursting out of his chest like a live wire.

“The point is…” he muttered, voice tight as it left him through gritted teeth as he tried to make himself believe what he was saying. “I’m a superhero, for Christ’s sake. I need to do better, or there’s no point. I can’t just write off a villain as better off dead, or I’ll go all edgy anti-hero, and that’s just bad for everyone.”

His hands curled into fists, pressing against his forehead. “But these guys barely take it seriously at all, and I’m the loser for trying to do more? For trying to handle it?” His voice cracked, frustration boiling over. “And I’m the problem?! Fuck!”

The words tore out of his throat, raw and grating, like he’d swallowed something jagged and hadn’t noticed until it ripped him apart from the inside.

The sound of high-speed flight cut through the air behind him.

Zeke didn’t turn.

Didn’t have to.

He already knew who it was. Figured Cap would be showing up soon enough. He knew Nate would understand, but the military man was still big on showing respect to the chain of command, no matter how shitty or broken theirs was with the Justice League.

“AHEM.” 

Oh. Guess he didn’t know who it was.

“How should we start here?” The voice continued. ‘I hear you’re feeling conflicted…’ or ‘You just broke the speed limit in a school zone’?”

Huh. Zeke let out a slow exhale. “...” He glanced up, lowering his hands from his head slightly as he turned around. “You’re not gonna believe this, but you’re like the last person I want to speak to right now.”

The floating blue boy scout nodded slowly. “...Right.”

Zeke turned fully, eyes narrowing as he took in Superman properly. The guy was half-silhouetted by the setting sun, all broad shoulders and perfect posture, like something straight out of a propaganda poster. He wasn’t even doing anything—just floating there, arms crossed, looking down at him like a statue that had come to life. Even with all the baggage clogging up his head, Zeke couldn’t help but acknowledge it. Superman looked... majestic. Not in a cool way. More like in a biblical angel kind of way, the kind that made people drop to their knees and start confessing their sins without knowing why.

And that pissed him off.

Which he really hated, because he wanted to love Superman. Is this what being Lex Luthor feels like… because I get it. Zeke shot him a glare that had nowhere near the heat he wanted it to. “Shouldn’t you be off, I dunno, leaping a building in a single bound or something?”

Superman didn’t blink. “Plenty of buildings. They’ll keep.” He tilted his head slightly, studying him. “What’s going on, son?”

Son? Zeke’s stomach twisted, something cold and sharp lodging itself deep in his ribs. He did not like that word coming out of his mouth.

His lips curled, and the heat in his chest spiked. “Yeah, see, that’s gonna be a hard no. That title’s already taken. And you definitely have someone better to be calling that.”

Superman stilled for half a second—half a second, just a flicker of something behind his eyes, but Zeke caught it. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t address the obvious landmine he just stepped on. He just nodded slightly, shifting gears like it never happened. “Fair enough.”

Then, smoothly, casually, “But you do have something weighing on you. I heard.”

Zeke exhaled through his nose. Of course. “Right. Super hearing.”

“That and you were pretty loud.”

Zeke’s jaw tensed. “It’s nothing. Not worth talking about.”

Superman didn’t blink. “An existential crisis isn’t nothing.”

Blue eyes snapped to the last son of Krypton, irritation flaring. “It’s not an existential crisis,” he said, tone flattening. “Can we not do this? It’s just a small problem.”

“The only problem here is one of perspective.”

Zeke stared at him for a long second, skepticism clear on his face. “Oh?”

Superman nodded. “Try this word on for size: duty.”

Duty.

A slow, exhausted sigh bled out of Zeke’s lungs as he resisted the overwhelming urge to drag a palm down his face. He could already see where this was going. “Yeah, I get it. Duty, responsibility, all that fun stuff. I’m a hero. I have a responsibility. I have to save everyone.” His voice was flat, every word spoken like he was reading off a script.

Superman shook his head. “No, Ezekiel. You don’t understand what I mean.”

He blinked. “...Guess not.”

Superman considered him for a moment, then cupped his chin. “Can I tell you a story?”

Zeke blinked again, unsure where this was going.. “I mean, I guess?”

“It’s not one I tell often,” the Kryptonian continued, nodding his head slowly. “You’d be the… third person to hear it.”

Huh. That was unexpected. “Oh. Kay.”

Superman’s voice was steady, measured, like he was walking through a well-worn memory. “It was another place. Another universe. A world where I died decades ago.”

Zeke stilled. What.

Superman’s gaze darkened slightly, heavy with something distant. “It was a dead world. A universe that had been destroyed by three of my own people.”

The words hit Zeke like a gut punch.

Superman barely paused, voice calm, even. “Three Kryptonians, each stronger than I was at the time. Together, they murdered almost five billion people with their bare hands. Their names were Zaora, Quex-Ul, and their leader…”

The name hit Zeke like a shockwave, memories slamming into his brain from all directions at once. General—

“Commander Zod,” Superman finished solemnly.

Zeke’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep his face blank as his brain scrambled to process what he just heard. Commander?

Superman’s voice didn’t waver. “I was brought there by the last remnants of Earth’s resistance. The last heroes, the last defenders, shielding what was left of humanity, hoping I could stop them.” His tone was steady, controlled, but something edged at the words, something old and deep and heavy. “But I couldn’t. I failed. And another billion people died.”

Zeke didn’t blink. He knew this story. Action Comics Issue 797. Read it. Thought about it. But hearing it from him, spoken into the open air like it was just another entry in a long, bloodied ledger, hit different.

Superman continued, gaze fixed on something distant. “It was that universe’s Lex Luthor who had the answer. Gold Kryptonite. Unlike Green, it doesn’t kill—it strips a Kryptonian of their abilities. The effects only lasted minutes, but it was enough. I used it to bind them, contain them.”

Zeke exhaled through his nose, hands finding their way into his pockets. “So what happened?”

Superman hesitated—hesitated—before speaking again. “It’s never over when you’re dealing with someone like Zod. He swore he’d find a way to break free. To find another universe. To kill again.” His voice tightened, just slightly. “And I believed him.”

A long silence. Superman didn’t look at him, didn’t move.

Zeke already knew the answer, but he still asked the question. “What’d you do?”

Superman finally met his gaze. “I executed them.”

No theatrics. No pauses for effect. No attempt to dress it up as anything other than what it was.

Zeke stared, waiting for the punchline, for the justification. When it didn’t come, when all he got was that same steady, unwavering look, something in his brain stalled.

Superman killed them. Like, actually. 

Not some convenient comic book “trapped in the Phantom Zone” or “banished to another dimension” kind of deal. He ended them. The Superman. The guy. Mr. Truth, Justice, and the American Way.

Reading it wasn’t the same thing as actually having it confirmed.

Zeke’s throat was dry. “You… you didn’t have a choice.”

Superman didn’t nod. Didn’t agree. He just studied Zeke, gaze sharp in a way that wasn’t quite cold, but wasn’t warm either. “That’s not true.”

Zeke’s breath hitched.

“I’ve run through the possibilities,” Superman continued, tone even. “I could have left them there, in a prison run by machines, locked them away and hoped for the best.” His voice darkened, just a fraction. “But I didn’t.”

Zeke’s hands clenched at his sides. His stomach twisted.

“I made a choice,” Superman said. “A calculated decision. I had a duty to our Earth, to our people. I wasn’t going to risk our world on my morality alone. And I had a duty to Krypton—to make sure their legacy wasn’t defined by the actions of three monsters.” He turned then, fully facing Zeke, his expression calm, but his eyes sharp, intent. “Now. Do you understand what I meant by duty?”

Zeke swallowed. His brain scrambled for a response that didn’t sound weak, but nothing came. Not at first.

Then, finally, “You’re saying I shouldn’t beat myself up over Queen Bee.”

Superman nodded, slow. “You had a duty to put your teammates first.”

Zeke inhaled, waiting for something. A sense of relief, maybe. Some kind of pressure letting up.

It didn’t come.

“It’s good to feel bad about a life lost,” Superman said. “That’s what separates us from them.”

But that was just it. It hadn’t torn him up. Not even a little. He couldn’t find it in himself to care whether Queen Bee was alive or dead. And that was the part he wasn’t gonna say. Not to Superman. 

Not to anyone.

So instead, he took a breath, forced his expression into something passable, and said, “Thanks for the advice.”

Superman smiled, that quiet, composed sort of way he did. “Anytime. It’s part of the job.”

Zeke hesitated. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke up again, “Actually… there’s something else I wanted to ask you.”

Superman’s brow furrowed, his expression dipping somewhere between mild confusion and something heavier, something more guarded. “Of course. Go ahead.”

Zeke didn’t hesitate. “Conner almost died last mission, you know?”

Superman blinked, his lips parting slightly before pressing back into a firm line. The confusion deepened.

“Conner?”

Zeke’s stomach twisted at that, irritation creeping into his veins like slow-moving ice. Seriously? You haven’t even paid this much attention. “Yeah. Conner. Kon-El. Conner Kent. Superboy.” The emphasis came sharp, deliberate.

Superman’s head snapped slightly to the right, eyes locking onto something in the distance. Mount Justice, maybe.

Zeke crossed his arms. “Yeah, Kent. I gave him the name. Same one he had on my Earth. The one you gave him.”

Superman turned back to him, something unreadable flickering across his face; shock, confusion, maybe even something else, but it was gone before Zeke could grab onto it. His brain was working at super speed, but for some reason, he still looked like he was struggling to keep up.

But that wasn’t Zeke’s problem.

“I don’t actually care about that, though. Not right now,” Zeke said, shaking his head, cutting through whatever crisis was starting to bubble behind Superman’s too-steady eyes. “I just need to know one thing.” His shoulders squared. “Do Ma and Pa even know he exists?”

The question hit like a dropped pin in an empty room.

Superman didn’t answer.

Zeke exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was already paper-thin, and he knew the answer before Superman even spoke, but that didn’t make it sit any better. “...I’m guessing they don’t.”

Superman’s jaw clenched, his mouth pressing into a hard line. When he finally spoke, his voice had that same measured restraint it always did, but now there was something else layered under it. Something tight. “No. They don’t.”

Zeke’s fingers twitched at his sides. “And why’s that?”

“I’ve done my best to keep them unaware of-” He paused, clearly hesitating around the name for some reason. “...Superbo-”

“Conner.” The correction snapped out before Zeke could stop it.

Superman shot him a look, his gaze flickering with something not quite irritation but not far from it. “I’ve done my best to keep them unaware of Conner until-”

“Until?”

Superman’s lips parted, but no sound came. His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed. “Until I figure out what to do.”

Zeke let the words hang there for a second. Just sat with them, let them breathe in the open air.

When he spoke, his voice was as flat as anything. “You do get that Conner’s not just gonna disappear one day, right? Like, even if you ignore him forever, he’s still here. He’s still related to you and the longer you ignore him, the less chance you have of ensuring anything near a working relationship with him. If he did vanish, I think we’d have way bigger problems on our hands.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Superman’s nostrils flared slightly, the only real sign of irritation he let slip.

Zeke sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, man. You’re overthinking this. Maybe just… talk to people who have experience raising an alien baby.”

Superman’s brows pinched slightly, his lips pressing together. “I wasn’t aware my situation was funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” Zeke shot back. “I get that it’s messed up. Someone scraping your DNA and making a kid out of it is a lot, but, like… in all fairness? Every Kryptonian was technically cloned anyway.”

Superman froze.

Zeke tilted his head. “What?”

Superman’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean?”

Zeke blinked. “Uh. It’s a thing. Kryptonian Birthing Matrix. My Superman mentioned it before. Pretty sure you’ve got records of it in the Fortress somewhere. Kryptonians weren’t, like, born the way we are—they were made. DNA from two donors, mixed together, built to order.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t about to send Superman’s entire worldview into a spiral. “So, yeah. If you wanna get real technical? Conner’s… just as much yours as anyone else’s.”

Superman didn’t speak.

The Kryptonian didn’t move.

Just hovered there, eyes locked onto Zeke’s, something almost frantic flickering behind them before it was shoved down under layers of self-control.

Then, finally… “I have to go.”

Zeke didn’t stop him. Just nodded, watching as Superman turned, already preparing to take off.

“Sure,” Zeke said, and—because he was still Zeke Armstrong, and because he couldn’t not—he added, “But, uh, before you do? Thanks for the advice.”

Superman hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “You’re welcome. And… thank you for yours.”

Then, before Zeke could get another word in, before he could ask another question, Superman was gone.

Zeke exhaled, rolling out his shoulders, watching the space where Superman had been seconds ago.

“...Wonder if he’s going to Smallville or the North Pole.”