A week had passed, and Damian had fully adjusted to his new life on Krypton. The planet's rigid caste system, advanced technology, and militaristic culture were now part of his daily reality. Unlike Earth, where free will dictated one's destiny, Kryptonian society was preordained—each individual engineered for a purpose, their role embedded in their very DNA. A civilization at its peak, yet teetering on the edge of ruin.
Damian had earned a place among the top five elite junior warriors, training within the halls of Krypton's battle academy. Unlike Earth's martial arts, Kryptonian combat was brutal, efficient, and utterly unforgiving. Speed, strength, and precision were paramount. Over the past week, he had studied the methods of his instructors—warriors bred for conquest, men and women who would not hesitate to crush an enemy beneath their boots.
And today, he found himself facing none other than General Zod.
"Your movements have improved, Damian." Zod's voice carried the weight of command, even in casual speech. He sidestepped an incoming strike with ease. "That's good. You're starting to resemble your father."
Damian smirked and lunged forward, throwing a punch with all his strength. His fist connected squarely with Zod's face—but the general barely flinched. In a blur, Zod closed the distance, grabbed Damian's arm, and twisted, sending him crashing to the ground in a bone-rattling takedown.
"Good follow-through," Zod said, offering a hand to pull him up. "But you'll need far more power if you ever hope to knock me out."
Damian grunted but accepted the help. They stepped back and bowed, a customary sign of respect among warriors.
"That's all for today," Zod declared. "Tell your father I'll see him later. Good work, Damian—you'll be a great warrior someday."
Damian nodded, but unease coiled in his chest like a viper. He knew exactly what this man would do in the near future—attempt to steal the Codex of Life, rebel against Krypton, and ultimately be exiled to the Phantom Zone. And his father, Dean-Blood, Zod's first lieutenant, would share that fate.
Tonight, they would discuss their mission—a mission doomed to fail. Only Damian knew how it would end.
As he walked back to the barracks to clean up, his mind wrestled with a choice. Should he intervene and try to change his father's fate? His system quest only required him to escape Krypton—it said nothing about saving anyone.
But then again… if he could obtain the Codex of Life, he wouldn't just survive—he would unlock the full genetic potential of a Kryptonian god.
The problem was how. Warning his father was pointless—he wouldn't believe him. And the Codex was nearly untouchable, locked deep within the Science Council archives until Jor-El himself stole it and embedded it into Kal-El's DNA.
Jor-El…
Damian's eyes narrowed. The Chief Scientist of Krypton had unrestricted access to the science center, a man trusted by the High Council.
All he had to do now… was wait. And when the time came, he would make his move.
Later that night, Damian sat at the dinner table with his parents. Their home, like most upper-tier military residences, was sleek and minimalist, its walls crafted from polished crystalline alloys that reflected the soft glow of Kryptonian light panels. The scent of fire-roasted zarun meat still lingered in the air as they finished their meal.
A soft chime rang through the home system.
"Looks like the General is here," Dean-Blood said, rising from his seat. His voice was steady, but Damian noticed the way his fingers flexed at his sides—a subconscious tell. He was anticipating something.
Damian remained seated, watching as his father strode toward the entrance. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing General Zod in full battle attire.
"Zod," Dean-Blood greeted with a nod.
"Dean-Blood." Zod returned the gesture before stepping inside, his presence commanding the room as he moved with the precision of a warrior born.
Damian's mother, Lysara, began clearing the table. Damian rose to help her, silently observing as his father and Zod disappeared into the adjoining war room, the crystalline doors sealing shut behind them.
For several minutes, he heard nothing. Kryptonian homes were constructed with sound-dampening materials, ensuring privacy. Still, he could feel the shift in energy, the tension thickening the air like an oncoming storm.
Then, suddenly—his father's voice rose sharply.
Damian's fingers tightened around a plate. This was it. He needed to know what was being discussed. He needed to confirm whether this was the moment—whether this was the fateful night when Zod set his rebellion into motion.
His mother's presence made eavesdropping impossible. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to be patient.
Minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty.
Finally, the doors slid open.
Zod stepped out first, his expression unreadable yet satisfied. Dean-Blood followed, tension visible in his jaw—frustrated, yet resolved.
As Damian turned to leave, his father's voice stopped him.
"Damian. Come with us."
His pulse quickened.
Whatever this meeting was about—it involved him now.