DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

The negative fourth floor housed a small ordnance department. Designed to handle emergencies, it contained enough equipment to arm a hundred men.

No one had ever imagined it would actually be needed.

Now, nearly ninety elite soldiers stationed on the negative fourth floor were scrambling to equip themselves, preparing for an asymmetric battle. The air was filled with the metallic sounds of equipment being strapped on, safeties being clicked off, and ammunition being loaded.

"This is impossible!"

"The stairwell door is made of double-layered, 10-centimeter-thick composite alloy steel. That's a total of 20 centimeters of reinforced steel. Even with his so-called ten-ton strength, let alone twenty, it's impossible for him to break through!"

Bori shook his head in disbelief.

Bardi had destroyed the elevator, cutting off their primary escape route. Their only option now was to confront him on the stairs if they hoped to survive.

But Bori had a different plan in mind. He believed staying on the negative fourth floor and waiting for reinforcements from the surface to advance and kill Bardi would be the best way to survive. Anything else felt like walking into their own graves.

Slade, meanwhile, slid a camouflage-patterned Raider Saber into the belt behind him. He also checked the weight of his firearm—a Desert Eagle, one of the first models to be developed in 1981, and a weapon he held in high regard for its sheer power.

After securing his Desert Eagle and the Raider Saber, Slade turned to the stockpile of weapons laid out in front of him: M9 pistols, M16 automatic rifles, M4 carbines, RPG-7 rocket launchers, and MKII grenades. Despite the arsenal, a nagging doubt crept into his mind: Would these weapons even be enough to stop Bardi?

His eyes shifted across the weapons, landing on an ornate Japanese-style katana tucked at the back of the rack. It caught his attention, and without hesitation, he took it, securing it behind his back.

Grabbing an M4 carbine, Slade shoved it into Dean Bori's arms. His voice was cold and unyielding. "Dean Bori, no matter how strong those steel doors are, they won't hold forever. I guarantee Bardi will find a way through. If you don't believe me, you can sit in the command room and watch how he tears through anyone on the third floor and comes for us on the fourth."

Bori stood frozen, the weight of the M4 carbine awkward in his hands. His thoughts raced with panic and denial.

He didn't trust himself to handle a gun, let alone shoot Bardi. Even if Bardi stood still, Bori's trembling hands would likely make him miss every shot.

But above all, Bori couldn't bring himself to believe that Bardi could destroy 20 centimeters of reinforced alloy steel. The sheer strength needed to break through was beyond anything he considered possible.

Still, the fear of staying on the battlefield forced Bori to retreat to the monitoring and command room, clutching the carbine like a lifeline.

Once there, he fixed his eyes on the surveillance monitors, dread pooling in his gut.

In the blink of an eye, Bardi moved across the cameras like a phantom.

On the negative third floor, Bardi had discarded any thought of restraint. Unlike on the first floor, where Jenny's presence had forced him to leave survivors to draw in rescuers, the third floor saw no such mercy.

He moved with the precision of a predator, a beast on the hunt. Soldiers flew through the air with bone-crushing force, their bullets unable to keep up with his lightning-fast movements.

In less than a minute, the negative third floor was drenched in blood, the lifeless bodies of researchers and soldiers strewn across the hallways.

Even those who thought they had hidden well, concealed in secret corners, were found by Bardi. His sharp senses picked up the faint sounds of their breathing and their heartbeats, dragging them from their hiding spots and sending them to the afterlife.

The surveillance cameras showed it all in gruesome detail. A soldier was struck square in the chest by one of Bardi's devastating punches. The impact was so intense that his chest caved in, his eyeballs popped out of their sockets, and blood splattered directly onto the surveillance camera lens.

Bori staggered back from the monitor, his face pale as a sheet. His legs trembled, barely able to support his weight.

When Bori saw Bardi enter the chemical laboratory and then emerge holding a test tube filled with a dark yellow liquid, his heart sank. Moments later, Bardi smashed the electronic lock with his fist, and the chemical spilled onto the surrounding steel. The liquid ate through the composite alloy steel near the lock, leaving a gaping hole.

"Impossible!" Dean Bori cried out, his face pale with disbelief. He nearly fainted on the spot.

The composite alloy steel was supposed to be resistant to even the strongest corrosive chemicals. Yet Bardi had walked into the chemical lab and somehow concocted a substance capable of breaching the carefully designed electronic lock. Bori was furious, his frustration mounting to the point of nausea.

If Bardi had bypassed the electronic lock using advanced software programming or some alien technology, Bori might have begrudgingly admitted defeat. He might have even admired the sophistication of alien ingenuity, acknowledging how far ahead Bardi's people were compared to Earth.

But the fact that Bardi had used something as rudimentary as chemicals to corrode his meticulously designed security system filled Bori with a complex, bitter mix of shame and resentment.

Even so, amid his swirling emotions, Bori understood one thing clearly: Bardi was a beast. His strength, cunning, and ruthlessness were all aimed at annihilating the researchers and guards who had imprisoned him.

Fear seized Bori. Once the specter of death loomed, survival instincts took over. Without hesitation, the old man hurried out of the command room, muttering to himself in panic. His first destination was Jenny's lab, where he hid the genetic serum. Next, he carefully concealed the "key" in a separate location.

Holding the M4 carbine tightly in his trembling hands, Bori prayed. He hoped that when Bardi saw him, he would spare his life because of his knowledge of the serum and the key.

…

Meanwhile, Bardi adjusted the collar of the camouflage military uniform he'd found. The fabric rubbed against his skin like sandpaper, irritating him. But it was functional, and that was all that mattered. His imposing figure seemed even more powerful in the uniform, the scars on his body a testament to countless battles. They gave him an aura of cold, brutal efficiency.

As he had passed the changing room earlier, Bardi noticed the uniforms and decided to change out of his damaged medical gown. Now, dressed for combat, he looked more menacing than ever.

On the negative third floor, there was no one left alive but him.

His weapons were minimal but sufficient: an M9 pistol, a camouflage combat knife, a few magazines strapped to his belt, and an M16 automatic rifle in his left hand.

The acrid stench of corroding steel lingered in the air, curling into faint wisps of smoke. Bardi wrinkled his nose in discomfort. His heightened sense of smell picked up the pungent chemicals easily, and this corrosive liquid far stronger than aqua regia was particularly unpleasant.

Once the fumes dissipated, he stepped forward and gripped the remains of the portal that weighed nearly ten tons. His fingers dug into the metal, and with a mechanical groan, he twisted it open.

Behind him, a trail of bloodied bodies, scientists in white lab coats and soldiers alike—marked his path. The sound of heavy steel being dragged filled the air as he pulled the door aside, revealing the sterile white stairwell beyond.

The bright lighting illuminated his figure as he stepped through, his boots hitting the soft, rubber-coated steps. The stairs gave slightly beneath his weight, the elasticity surprising him for a moment.

Boom.

The muzzle of his M16 automatic rifle flared as he fired a single shot. Sparks flew as the bullet struck the surveillance camera monitoring the stairwell, shattering its protective glass. The broken shards fell silently onto the rubberized stairs, absorbed by the material.

Bardi continued his descent.

When he reached the landing midway down, he paused. His eyes locked onto the stairwell door in front of him.

The door was forged from composite alloy steel, its surface gleaming with a cold metallic sheen. Its thickness and durability would have been enough to stop any ordinary human.

Bardi's gaze hardened, his cold, predatory eyes scanning the steel barrier. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Standing on the landing, he closed his eyes briefly and focused.

In an instant, he could hear it—faint but unmistakable. The rhythmic sound of heartbeats, powerful and steady, thudded through the air.

On the other side of the door, ninety soldiers stood ready, fully armed and waiting for him.

*****

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