Three days had passed since the Codex mission, and Krypton was still reeling from the fallout. General Zod and Dean-Blood had been sentenced to the Phantom Zone, their fates sealed in a prison outside of time. The House of El, once a pillar of Kryptonian society, now stood fractured—its influence diminished but not yet destroyed.
Lysara had been spared imprisonment but not suffering. Confined to her chambers under strict house arrest, she had not emerged since the trial. Damian hadn't seen her in those past days, but he didn't need to. He knew exactly what she was doing—mourning the family she had lost, grieving for a husband she would never see again.
She had known about the mission but not its full extent. She had no idea the objective had been the Codex, nor did she grasp the inevitable doom looming over Krypton.
Damian, too, remained isolated—though his solitude was intentional. While the world believed he was grieving, he was refining his ship's AI systems. Thanks to Jor-El's security network, he had acquired the data he needed.
As the final update processed, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling.
A year.
It had been almost a year since he woke up in this world—this reality. And in that time, his focus had never wavered.
Survival. Completing the Mission Quest.
Before this—before Krypton—he had been Damian Gray, a 30-year-old man with a stable career, financial security, and a loving family. By all accounts, his life had been good. And yet, despite everything, there had always been an emptiness, a hunger he could never quite satisfy.
His past life had been structured, predictable. Work, gym, and indulging in his favorite fictional worlds—comics, anime, movies, and novels. He had admired stories of grand adventure, of powerful figures shaping the universe to their will.
Now, he was here. A Kryptonian. A system at his disposal. Limitless potential.
And still, that hunger remained.
Survival wasn't enough. Power was the only true safeguard.
His past, his attachments, even the family he had been born into in this life—they were temporary. Fleeting. Distractions from what truly mattered.
A movement on the security feed caught his attention.
His mother's door had finally opened.
For the first time in three days, Lysara stepped out.
Damian exhaled through his nose.
He had no intention of saving her, no maternal bond that compelled him. But still, he should check on her. Not out of guilt—practicality. He needed to ensure she wouldn't become an obstacle in his escape.
And perhaps… a small part of him wanted to see her one last time.
The halls of their home were eerily silent as Damian made his way toward the common area. When he entered the kitchen, he found Lysara standing by the counter, absently staring into a steaming cup of tea.
She looked different—thinner, worn down. The regal presence she once carried had faded, her usual poise dulled by grief. Yet, the moment she noticed him, she straightened, composing herself with the practiced grace of a noblewoman.
"Damian." Her voice was soft, weary. "I was wondering when I'd see you."
"You've been locked in your room," he said plainly, stepping forward.
She sighed, lowering her gaze. "I suppose I have. I needed time to think."
Damian studied her, waiting. Eventually, she let out a weak chuckle.
"No answers," she admitted. "Only more questions." She lifted the cup to her lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down. "Dean is gone forever." Her voice trembled slightly. "I keep thinking about what that truly means. The Phantom Zone… it's worse than death. At least with death, there's an end. But this?" She shook her head, gripping the cup tighter. "He's trapped in an endless void, alone, for eternity."
Damian said nothing. He simply watched.
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she didn't break. Instead, she inhaled deeply, exhaling a slow, measured breath. "I suppose I should be grateful that I still have you." She turned to face him fully, her gaze searching his—perhaps for comfort, perhaps for reassurance.
He gave neither.
"People lose things all the time," he said coolly. "It's how you move forward once they're gone that matters."
Lysara blinked at his words, momentarily startled. But then, a small, sad smile crossed her lips.
"You sound like your father," she murmured.
Damian didn't react.
"He was always like that," she continued, her voice quieter now. "Stoic. Unshaken. He never showed his pain, never allowed himself to be ruled by emotion. It wasn't that he didn't feel it—he just refused to let it control him." She let out a soft breath. "Maybe that's just elite warrior genetics for you."
Damian remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Lysara studied him for a moment longer before nodding slightly to herself. "You don't have to stay," she said finally. "But… thank you for checking on me."
Damian gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself."
With that, he turned and walked away.
He didn't look back.
As he made his way to his room, his mind lingered on Lysara's words.
She believed he was like his father. That his emotional detachment was inherited.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe the reason he felt no guilt, no sense of loss, was because of his genetics—because of Dean's bloodline. It made sense. But then again, even in his past life, he had always felt detached.
Had his father, Dean-Blood, been in his position, would he have done the same?
The thought made Damian smirk.
Stepping into his room, he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
"Am I Kryptonian… or a Viltrumite?" he mused, entertained by the comparison.
Then, his smirk faded. His gaze hardened.
It didn't matter.
Krypton would fall. He would survive.
And soon, the universe would be his to explore—and possibly conquer.
Damian activated the system's Quest Tab.
[Mission Quest: Escape Krypton by Any Means]• Time Remaining: 70 Hours• Reward: 1x Traversal Ticket, 3x Lottery Tickets
"Seventy hours left—less than three days," he murmured. "Soon, I'll leave with the Codex in hand. Superman will still go to Earth, just as fate intended… but this time, I'll have the Codex."
A slow, knowing smirk crossed his lips.
"Some might call me heartless, but if I truly were, Kal-El and Jor-El would already be dead, and the Codex would be mine." He exhaled, reclining against the bed. "Jor-El had the chance to save his people, but in almost every timeline, he let them die—just so his son could live. If you ask me… that's heartless."
His fingers hovered over the console. His gaze darkened.
"Then again… I'm not saving anyone either."
A beat of silence passed. Then, Damian's lips curled into a smirk—sharp, deliberate.
"This past year… it wasn't the real beginning."
His voice was quiet but certain.
"This was just the tutorial."
A/N: Thank you for checking out my story; any reviews would be greatly appreciated; cheers!