It took Thea only a moment to realize what had happened. Superman wasn't using his x-ray vision to ogle her—he must have sensed something unusual about her and instinctively checked it out.
She let out a heavy hmph.
So, her secret was out. Figures. Trying to hide something from these walking cheat codes was impossible. That golden light pulsing in her heart might as well have been a neon sign.
Next time I'm adding lead shielding to my combat suit, she thought darkly. Too many perverts with x-ray vision these days. All it takes is one with bad intentions, and I'm done for.
But when she glanced back up at him, she noticed Superman's expression. His brow was furrowed, unsure—he seemed to sense something, but ultimately said nothing. Instead, he gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment, then turned his gaze elsewhere.
Huh?
Had he… not actually seen through it?
Could it be that the bloodline of Merlin came with built-in anti-surveillance properties? Thea wasn't sure if she was right, but the thought pleased her. She made a mental note to casually fish for information later.
Within five minutes, small black dots appeared on the horizon—the rest of their team approaching.
The Batwing couldn't outpace the lumbering zombie by too much, so Batman was forced into a frustrating rhythm: shoot, fly a bit, shoot again.
It was agony for a pilot of his precision. His craft could fire backward, but the stop-and-go routine was maddening. He also had to stay alert for every car, boulder, or lamp post that Grundy hurled skyward like a deranged shot-put athlete.
Even so, watching how long Thea had managed to keep that monster chasing her, Batman couldn't help but feel genuine respect.
"You two stay hidden. I'll check the situation," he ordered.
The Batwing might have been powerful, but Thea's hoverboard was far nimbler. She could weave and dodge in tight spaces far better than his craft ever could. Seeing that Superman was still hovering up there like a glowing statue, she decided to take the initiative.
She was halfway there when disaster struck.
Batman must have relaxed for a split second, or maybe the Batwing hadn't banked sharply enough—either way, a massive boulder, easily weighing a hundred kilos, came hurtling through the air. Grundy's throw hit home.
Crack!
The left wing of the Batwing snapped like a twig. The entire aircraft spun out of control, plunging toward the ground.
Thea reacted instantly, surging forward at full speed. She loosed four grappling arrows, embedding them into the earth below.
Her gamble worked.
The webbing—a repurposed rescue design originally meant to stop suicide jumpers—stretched taut and caught the crashing Batwing like a gigantic spiderweb.
Superman's eyes widened slightly in surprise, watching as Thea swooped down to extract a very sooty, very embarrassed Batman from the wreckage.
His once-imposing black armor was now charred, dented, and streaked with grime. Even the half of his face exposed under the cowl was blackened.
He didn't say a word, but Thea could practically feel the fury radiating off him. Losing face like this in front of Superman? Yeah, that one was going to sting for a long time.
Note to self, Batman thought grimly, next Batwing upgrade—triple the maneuverability.
With the Batwing out of commission, their "bury it alive" plan was officially dead. Fortunately, their late-arriving reinforcements were finally ready to step in.
Superman descended a few meters, still silent, then raised his head slightly—his eyes ignited.
Twin beams of molten red light lanced out from his pupils, striking Grundy square in the chest.
The zombie staggered back two steps, roaring in fury. The heat vision left smoking pits across his torso, but to Superman's surprise, it didn't melt through him. Instead, Grundy just ignored the pain, grabbed a chunk of debris the size of a car, and flung it skyward.
Superman rolled aside with effortless grace, twisting through the air as the rock whooshed past him.
But his calm expression had tightened.
His heat vision had barely scorched the thing.
And that regeneration rate… it was terrifying. The wounds were already sealing.
This isn't normal, he thought. Not for anything on Earth.
Its healing factor was rivaling Kryptonian physiology.
Superman clenched his jaw. No more testing.
He drew back his left arm, coiling power through his torso, right fist pulled high—a pose every villain in the multiverse had learned to fear.
Then he charged.
The distance between them vanished in a blur of air and light.
Grundy didn't retreat. His conscious mind was gone, but his monstrous instincts remained. With a guttural roar, he swung his enormous fist to meet the incoming blow.
BOOM.
The collision detonated like a thunderclap.
Air exploded outward in every direction.
Nearby trees splintered instantly, rocks vaporized under the pressure wave. Batman and Catwoman were already ducked behind solid cover, and Thea shot upward, barely clearing the shockwave.
The sheer force was absurd.
No wonder Batman couldn't stand him—how could anyone compete with that?
All those years of martial arts mastery meant nothing when the other guy could level a mountain by accident.
Even Thea, with all her confidence, felt a pang of envy twist in her chest.
So this is why people hate Superman. You can't spar with him—you just get flattened.
Still, she comforted herself with a thought: Kryptonians might be walking tanks, but they had one glaring weakness—magic.
If she ever advanced her spellcraft enough, one good charm or mind-control hex could make the big blue boy scout kneel and sing "Conquered."
Feeling much better, she focused on the battlefield again.
The fight had turned cataclysmic. Superman darted around Grundy at blinding speed, weaving in tight circles, punching from every angle. Grundy swung wildly, but most of his attacks hit empty air.
Where his fists did connect, entire trees and boulders shattered. The landscape was being torn apart. Craters, fissures, and uprooted terrain stretched for hundreds of meters.
Watching from above, Thea realized she was safer in the sky than she'd ever been on the ground—but even that wasn't saying much. Superman's habit of grabbing enemies and hurling them halfway across the battlefield made "safe zones" meaningless.
And he kept doing it.
Grab. Throw. Pose dramatically.
Who taught him to fight like this? Thea wondered, exasperated. Is this some Kryptonian wrestling tradition? You've got a punch that could knock planets out of orbit, and you're playing bowling with corpses?
Grundy, to everyone's disbelief, started mimicking him.
Superman threw him; he threw Superman.
Back and forth they went, a contest of strength and sheer destruction, turning the once-green valley into something out of a nuclear apocalypse.
Thea eventually gave up staying airborne and dropped down beside Batman, who was calmly watching from a shallow crater.
"Now you see why people hate working with him," he muttered.
"He's like a walking demolition company," Thea agreed. "We could shoot a post-apocalyptic movie here now—don't even need CGI."
Ten minutes passed. The earth was ravaged, the mountains half-flattened. Grundy was visibly weakening, but Superman still hadn't managed to finish him off.
Frustration flickered across the Kryptonian's face.
Then, seeing an opening, he darted behind Grundy in a blur of red and blue—
and drove a full-force punch straight into the back of the zombie's skull.