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Anchor: Part II – Kal-El
By Bek
Rating: PG-13

Summary: In this second installment of Anchor, Kal-El makes the ultimate sacrifice to save the people of New Krypton from the atrocities of Lord Nor’s attempted coup. His return to Earth, made possible through a series of chance events involving his doppelganger from another universe, lands him back home with those who care about him most. Will he be able to recover the life he once had? Or will his experiences on New Krypton prove to be too much to handle, even for Superman? An alternate universe story. Part 2 of 3.

Author’s note: When I started writing Anchor, I did not intend for it to be more than a one-part story. However, about half way through, I realized I wanted to explore more than was possible from the first-person narrative I’d created; I wanted to see the events as perceived by the other two main characters. Thus, even as I finished writing part I, I started working on part II and then part III.

I’d like to think that this story is quite different from part I, even though it covers many of the same events as part I. And although there is a lot of overlap, there are also many parts that are not shown in part I.

Thank you in advance to anyone who ends up reading this story (and to everyone who read Anchor Part I). I wrote it without the intention of ever sharing it, since at the time I had not yet come out of “lurkdom.” I guess I figure since I wrote it, I might as well share it! (Huge personal growth here! I used to be too scared to share anything at all… Thank you all for being kind and encouraging and for making this a safe community to share with!)

As with Anchor Part I, I will plan to post several chapters a day, depending on the chapter length and content.

The story is rated PG-13 for depictions of violence. Some chapters also have nfic versions, which will be posted separately in the nfic forum.





Three months has seemed like an eternity. And I guess it may as well have been. I’ve changed. Hell, almost everything has changed, except how much I love her and miss her.

Today is the day, however. Today is the day we are expecting to finish this war. And if I’m able to complete my mission—the mission I was brought here to do—then I’ll get to go home. After three long months, I’ll finally get to hold her again and tell her how much I love her.

My lovely Lois. I miss you so much. My fingers trace along the chain around my neck, but I stop myself before I can relive our final day together in my apartment, when she gave me this precious gift. It seems like a lifetime ago. And it’s too painful.

A firm, decisive knock comes at my door. I don’t move from my seat at my desk, but I know it’s Lieutenant Ching.

“Lord Kal-El, our troops are all in position, and we are ready to go,” he says in crisp, clear Kryptonian. As always, his tone is direct and emotionless. They are all like this, the Kryptonians. In fact, everything here is bland, cold, and detached.

I miss colors and laughter and smiling.

Without turning around, I answer him in his native tongue, which still feels foreign to me. “Thank you, Lieutenant Ching. I will meet you at the transport vessel shortly.”

My voice is impersonal and detached now too. I’ve learned that this is how they prefer it. Emotions confuse them. Anger and fear are to be kept concealed, and even kindness and love must be hidden. Zara assures me that this is Kryptonian nature—my true nature. Although I disagree, I’ve realized that I’m taken much more seriously if I act like them. Emotionless, logical, direct, and impassive.

I close the journal in front of me and set my pen next to it on the desk. My entry for this morning is short, and a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach warns me that I won’t be back to finish it later. However, that feeling has been haunting me for several weeks now, and I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring it. After all, I have to come back later. There is no other option. I can’t die here on this barren, hot, desolate planet. I have to return to her. I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.

I close my eyes and try, as I do every morning, to project my thoughts across galaxies and light-years of empty space. I try to reach her with a simple message. Lois, I love you. I will be home soon. And just like every morning, I cannot sense her. It’s not surprising. After all, telepathy doesn’t work between Kryptonians and humans. However, a great emptiness fills me, and with desperation, I try one more time.

Something different happens. For a moment—a very brief moment, only milliseconds maybe—I’m hovering in a familiar red, yellow, and blue spandex suit over a brightly lit city, a regal red cape billowing out behind me. The city is Metropolis. But something is off. I can’t pinpoint the difference I perceive before the vision ends abruptly and I’m back in my sterile white room, sitting in my rigid white chair at my plain white desk. My eyes open, and I scan the room. Nothing has changed here. But what was that vision? And how did I do that? It was me hovering in the sky. But at the same time, it wasn’t me.

I shake my head and stand. My gaze falls on my journal and pen sitting in the middle of my desk. Quickly, because I know they are all waiting for me at the transport bay, I move the journal to the corner of the desk, where its two predecessors sit neatly, and I place the pen into a drawer. I have one task today, and I need to finish it. I have to be successful. Everything depends on it. Everything depends on me. I clench my jaw and force the unease out of my mind.

I will not fail.

And I will not be distracted by…whatever that vision was.

I pull a plain, well-fitted white tunic over my usual black suit, emblazoned with the familiar ‘S’ shield of my family group, the House of El. Ching insists that I wear the white tunic; it is woven from a special material that he says will protect my thoughts from intruders as long as it remains undamaged. He’s probably right that I need it. Although I’m quite skilled at telepathic communication by now, everything is more difficult in the heat of battle when you’re trying to avoid getting stabbed or shot or blown up from multiple angles. But the tunic also blocks out friendly contacts, so now I’m unable to communicate with Ching, Zara, or any of my other officers.

I tug the tunic straighter and then strap my dagger onto my right hip. The rest of my weapons will be given to me when I reach the transport bay. The dagger has already saved my life more than once. Like the tunic, it has some special protective type of energy, though I don’t completely understand it.

I glance around the room one more time. I feel like I’m forgetting something, which isn’t an unusual feeling for me, but it is a bit disconcerting right now. I swallow hard and turn toward the door as I clear my mind and force myself to focus on my task at hand.

Today is the day. I will meet Lord Nor on the battlefield, and I will kill him.





The long corridors of the palace are white and sterile, like my room. I walk at a brisk pace through the passages, occasionally passing someone walking the opposite direction. As is prescribed by my position, anyone passing me stops, kneels, and bows their head with respect. And as is prescribed by my position, I continue walking without acknowledging them. This usually bothers me. However, right now, I’m too fixated on my goal to allow myself to worry about this awkward formality.

I make the final turn around a corner, and the space opens up into a massive room—the transport bay. The gray walls of the room rise up maybe thirty meters, accommodating a variety of transport vessels, equipment, and machines. However, most of the transports are closer to the battle front right now, ready to move troops and prisoners as needed, and the huge room seems somewhat empty. To my left, several officers kneel and bow their heads as I stride in. I continue on straight toward the front of the huge room, where my personal transport vessel will be waiting.

As I pass another row of officers, who again kneel and bow as I pass, I notice Lieutenant Ching waiting for me up ahead, an unusually taut expression on his face. I carefully control my own expression to avoid showing any concern. I nod a greeting to him, and he bows formally before joining me on my march.

“He is there,” Ching says quietly in English. Not everyone here speaks or understands English, but Ching will sometimes use my native language to make me feel more at ease, I know. And I need that little bit of home right now. His words send a chill down my spine.

“You are sure?” I ask, switching back to Kryptonian. It is a dumb question, I realize, and Ching doesn’t answer immediately. I know him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t say something like that if it weren’t true. We stop in front of a silver-colored pod, about ten feet tall and large enough to transport maybe fifteen soldiers. Or one commanding officer and his lieutenant.

“My Lord Kal-El, yes, Lord Nor and his officers have been spotted by our drones. They are atop Ganadar Plateau, as we had postulated,” Ching explains. He reaches into a container next to the transport vessel and pulls out a long broadsword, which he hands to me carefully. The heavy three-foot-long blade glistens black and, as always, feels alive and malevolent in my hand. He then pulls out another blade for himself, which he sheaths in a scabbard attached to his belt, and motions me toward the transport vessel.

I begin to follow him up the ramp into the transport. From behind me, rapid footsteps approach, and I stop one step from the top of the ramp and turn around. A woman about my age with dull green eyes and long brown hair tied up in a neat braided bun halts at the base of the ramp. Her dark gray dress is tied with a woven cord around her waist, and a green sash drapes over her right shoulder. She kneels and bows her head.

“My Lord, peace be with you.”

I close the distance between us and place my hand on her shoulder, the signal that I have acknowledged her and that I will speak with her. I swallow back bile at this custom, as I always do, but Zara stands up solemnly, emotionless and looks up at me expectantly.

“Lady Zara,” I greet without a smile. I clasp my hands in front of myself formally, and my jaw tightens as I watch her lower her eyes submissively. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“My Lord, my husband, I have come to see you off,” she explains quietly. My shoulders tense; she knows I do not appreciate being addressed as ‘husband,’ and yet, she has deliberately done so. Her eyes dart past me to Ching and then back to the floor in front of her. I bite back a retort and turn away from her.

“I appreciate your taking the time, Lady Zara,” I say brusquely.

I immediately hate myself for the hint of anger in my tone, but I can’t help it. I march back up the ramp and shoulder my way past Ching, who stands staring at Zara with a carefully controlled expression. I pause next to Ching and add quietly in English, “Be quick about it. We have somewhere to be.”

And then I step forward to the weapons container and press my palm to the sensor. It beeps as it recognizes my signature and opens to reveal a mass of guns, grenades, drones, and other gadgets. I pretend to search around the weapons, keeping my back to them, but I hear Zara step onto the ramp and Ching approach her. They keep their voices low, as always, but as I’m only a few feet away, I hear every word of their brief verbal exchange.

“Lieutenant Ching, peace be with you in your quest today,” Zara whispers. Her tone is softer than normal, though still formal.

“Lady Zara, peace be with you. Lord Kal-El and I appreciate your support,” Ching responds in a low voice.

There is a pause in their verbal communication, though I know they are communicating silently with each other now. I pick out a lightweight nanoray gun to complement my broadsword as I wait for them to finish their conversation. Even before we’d left Earth, I’d realized Zara and Ching were in love—or at least as ‘in love’ as Kryptonians can be. Since Zara was already betrothed to me at birth, they’d both hidden their feelings from everyone, including each other, until I’d given them permission to be together, albeit covertly. The Elders and Council would never understand or condone such a relationship, particularly because Zara is my ‘wife’ and I’m their leader.

I’m not angry about this; on the contrary, I’m glad they have each other. But their timing today is terrible, and I’m in a bit of an irritable mood. Also, Zara’s use of ‘my husband’ to address me feels like a purposeful attack. To her, it is just a word for our formal relationship as the ruling couple. To me, the word means much, much more. It means love and commitment and trust. She and I have had this conversation. She usually respects my preference to not be addressed in this way. Yet today of all days, she decides to use the two words I’ve asked her not to use. I angrily holster the gun on my right hip next to my dagger and close the weapon container.

“Lieutenant Ching, we must go now,” I say firmly, turning around to face them. They stand about two feet apart, their eyes locked on each other. At my words, Ching blinks once and then nods.

“Of course, my Lord.”

Zara lowers her eyes again and bows slightly. She glances at me through long eyelashes, a trace of concern hidden in her eyes. My jaw tightens again.

“Lady Zara, stay safe. We will meet you back here when our task is complete,” I tell her, and I turn back toward the control panel at the front of the transport vessel, next to the weapons container. I click a couple buttons, and the vessel hums to life. A string of white lights brightens up the space, and the front surface of the pod phases out into a transparent material, revealing the open doors of the transport bay. A reddish hue from the mid-morning sunlight illuminates the path toward the outside world, and my stomach churns slightly as I imagine the blazing heat we’ll be stepping into out on the battlefield.

“I appreciate your words, my Lord,” Zara answers formally. I suppose she actually means it. She knows I will do everything in my power to see the end to this bloody war, despite what that means, and she knows I will protect my people, including Ching, to the best of my ability. I hear her footsteps retreat behind me, and Ching steps up to the control panel.

He addresses me in English as he presses several buttons to close the ramp and get the vessel moving forward. “Please accept my apologies, Lord Kal-El. Lady Zara and I intended to meet earlier this morning, but I was held up in a meeting with the Council.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Ching. Let’s just get going,” I say, also in English, my tone much less formal now that it is just the two of us. Without waiting for him to respond, I press a green button etched with a diamond-shaped symbol, and the vessel raises off the ground several feet and then launches off out of the transport bay.

I shudder inwardly and close my eyes as I focus on my goal. We have about ten minutes until we will reach our destination, and I’ll need that whole ten minutes to prepare myself mentally. Ching navigates the vessel silently as I run through my usual routine of visualizing the battle to come.

I see myself and Ching at the battlefront, leading the way through the last stronghold of Nor’s troops to finally reach Lord Nor himself. In my visualization, we move through the enemy lines with ease. Those standing in my way are an afterthought. This does not upset me; I am beyond that now. Killing in battle is a necessity I have accepted.

At least, that is what I must tell myself.

I tighten my hold on my broadsword as I imagine Ganadar Plateau, a barren hill overlooking the once-great city of New Kandor. I feel the heat and wind atop the hill, and I screw my eyes shut as I imagine how Nor will look in person. I’ve only ever seen him through holographic projections, but I expect him to be tall, confident, hostile, and condescending. Ching has told me he is agile and extremely skilled in battle, and I expect nothing less. After all, he has trained for this moment his entire life. My shoulders tense as I try to avoid reminding myself that I’ve only been training for less than three months.

I am strong. I can do this. I will do this.

These are the reminders I need.

I visualize my deadly nanotech-coated broadsword slicing through Nor’s armor with ease. Blood spills on to the ground in front of me, and Nor falls to his knees and then collapses completely. And cheers erupt from my soldiers behind me, celebrating the death of a would-be tyrant at the hands of their leader.

I feel nauseous.

My eyes fly open. No, I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this.

“He must die, Kal. That is the only way.” Ching’s clear words from a heated conversation we’d had nearly two months ago echo in my head, fueling my determination.

Of course, I had argued with him at the time, shakily insisting, “There has to be another option. We have to break this cycle of bloodshed. There needs to be peace.”

But he had raised his voice in an odd moment of passion, switching to English for my benefit. “Killing him is the only way to bring peace, Lord Kal-El.”

He must die. That is the only way. Killing him is the only way to bring peace. Death is a necessity.

I will kill Nor today.

I am no Superman.

Not anymore.

“I am ready, Lieutenant Ching.”





Next to me, Ching stands up taller and slows the vessel as we approach the battlefront. Our army stretches out around us, gathered and at attention.

“We have arrived, my Lord,” Ching says.

I nod and sheath my sword on my left hip, and together, Ching and I step over to the ramp to exit the vessel. Ching takes his customary place one step behind me on my righthand side, and I swallow hard and fix a controlled, detached expression on my face as the ramp lowers. A line of officers waits just outside the vessel, and as I step out onto the top of the ramp, a blast of hot air bombarding me, the officers kneel in unison. Behind them, the entire army—over one thousand men—follows suit, bending down to rest one knee on the hard, unforgiving ground.

“Lord Kal-El!”

The sound that erupts from the massive battalion is deafening, and I have to force myself not to flinch. I look out over the soldiers gathered in front of me and raise my own voice, the language of my ancestors rolling easily off my tongue.

“Stand and fight with me, great warriors of New Krypton! Today, we shall finish what we started and return peace to this planet—to our home! Today, we shall defeat Lord Nor and his followers!”

The troops all push themselves back to their feet and begin chanting, “Kal-El! Kal-El! Kal-El!”, stomping their feet in unison. The ground under my feet shakes, even as a dry, hot wind whips around us. I feel Ching’s presence at my back, and he motions to me. The row of officers splits off into groups, moving quickly into position with their platoons as the chanting dies down.

Ching and I march toward the leading edge of the group, up a slight slope overlooking a vast valley bathed in red sunlight. I gaze out over the land as I pull my sword out of its sheath and my nanoray gun out of its holster. About five hundred meters ahead of us, across the barren, dry land, a large army marches toward us, creating an orange-tinged cloud of dust that envelops them. Farther away, Ganadar Plateau rises above the valley. I cannot see anyone atop the flat hill because of the distance; however, a heavy line of soldiers and artillery at the base of the hill suggests that it will not be easy to get through to the top. Beyond Ganadar Plateau, the city of New Kandor is on fire, flames and smoke billowing up from the two twin towers at the city’s center.

Next to me, Ching pulls a small quarter-sized black chip out of his pocket and presses his thumb into its middle. The chip morphs into a large, sleek multi-laser blaster gun—his weapon of choice—and he rests the gun on his right shoulder as he removes his sword from its sheath. He turns toward me, and his eyes meet mine as he straightens up to his full height. His short curly brown hair is already covered in a thin layer of dust, and sweat drips off his brow from the intense heat, but his expression is determined and fierce.

“We will get you through to the plateau, and there, you will defeat Lord Nor. Remember your training, my Lord. He is skilled, but so are you. You will be victorious,” he assures me.

He shifts his gaze to the distant plateau, maybe five kilometers ahead. I follow his eyes, squinting slightly as I now am able to register movement on top of the hill. My jaw tightens.

“I will be. We will be,” I agree. “Peace will be brought to this land when Nor dies today.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I see him nod, and in unison, we turn back around to face the army amassed behind us. Five platoons, each with just over two hundred soldiers, are lined up at the base of the hill, standing at attention. As I’ve often found I must do, I spend a brief moment meeting the eyes of the closest soldiers, and I remind myself that these men are my responsibility. I want as few injuries and fatalities on our side as possible. One man standing tall in the front row of the second platoon blinks as our eyes meet, and I realize, not for the first time, that I’ve got it backwards. These men are here to protect me—to get me up to that plateau and see that I get a chance at defeating Lord Nor in one-on-one combat, as is prescribed by Kryptonian war code. They will gladly give up their lives to protect me. I swallow back nausea for the second time already this morning and refocus out over the entire battalion.

“We fight for New Krypton! Join me in our final day of victory!” I shout, thrusting my broadsword up into the air toward the approaching hostile army. In my hand, the nanotech particles on the sword seems to quiver, sending a shudder down the sword and into my arm.

I ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the army behind me shouts, “Victory! For New Krypton!” And with Ching and I in the lead, we sprint off down the slope toward the enemy.





Sweat pours down my forehead, and I suck in a deep breath of hot, dusty air as I wipe the perspiration out of my eyes with my right arm. My legs burn as we continue our sprint, but I don’t slow or pause. Ching keeps pace with me, occasionally shouting orders to the officers now also running alongside us.

Ahead, the enemy lines erupt in a chaotic mix of gunfire, laser blasts, and yelling as the hostile soldiers begin their counterattack. Soldiers from the third platoon move up alongside and then in front of me, reaching the front line and taking the brunt of the first attacks. I try not to let this bother me as I parry a heavy blow from an enemy scythe. Ching steps in and stabs his sword into the enemy’s gut. He then pushes the man back into two other hostiles and yells at me in Kryptonian, “Keep moving!” He fires his gun ahead of us, taking out three more hostile soldiers, and we forge ahead, skillfully dodging explosions and gunfire as we push on.

We reach another group of hostiles, and both Ching and I raise our swords as we are surrounded by six enemy soldiers clad in black armor. I fire a blast at one hostile, and he falls to the ground as blood seeps out the fresh wound in his neck. Two others jump at me, and I expertly parry one attack while dodging the other. My sword lashes out with incredible speed and slices into the side of the nearest enemy. He growls in pain and falls to his knees as the nanotech particles coating my sword do their job, infiltrating and shutting down his system. He is no longer a threat. From behind me, I hear Ching grunt as he takes on three soldiers, his sword clinking loudly as he deflects an attack. I sweep my sword around to block another attack and then jab the point into a hostile’s shoulder and shove him back away from me and Ching. A blast from a laser gun whizzes past my ear, and I drop down to the ground just in time to avoid a second blast. I then kick my leg out to trip another nearby soldier, and Ching fires his gun directly at the downed soldier, killing him instantly. A trickle of blood slides down Ching’s face from a cut just above his right eye, but he ignores it and grasps my arm, pulling me back to my feet. We push on deeper into the chaos.

Our progress toward Ganadar Plateau is slow, and we continue taking down enemy soldiers around us as we go. Leaving enemy soldiers alive is a bad idea, as Ching has told me many times, and I remind myself of this as I push my sword deep into a man’s chest, watching as the life leaves his eyes and he falls onto his back on the dusty ground, blood pouring from his wound. The harsh wind howls around us, blowing reddish dust over the corpses littering the ground; I see all of this—I see how the death toll is rising by my own hand, how the enemy ranks are thinning as we approach victory—but I no longer feel the pain of taking someone’s life. Instead, my vision is clear and focused on the hill rising ahead of me, where Nor waits. Ching grabs my arm and pulls me back a step as a laser blast hisses inches from my face. I don’t even pause to thank him. I fire my own nanoray gun to take out another two soldiers in front of me and break into a fast jog, Ching right at my heels.

Several soldiers from our first platoon move into a formation ahead of us as we approach a line of enemy troops at the base of the hill—the final barrier between me and Nor. My soldiers leap into battle as wind whips up the earth around us, bathing us all in a fresh coating of orangish-red powder. Ching, who has somehow lost both his firearm and sword, swings his fists and kicks out with his feet in a skillful display of martial arts-type moves to continue clearing the way. The howling wind roars in my ears, but I hear Ching yell, “Lord Kal-El, I am with you! Keep moving!”

And I oblige, my dusty boots digging into the ground as I push myself up the hill to the plateau. Every muscle in my body screams at me as I reach the top of the crest. Although he had been at my side only a moment ago, I hear Ching shout a warning from some distance behind me now. His words are incomprehensible, however, lost among the loud explosions, thunderous winds, and general ruckus on the slope below me. With a jolt, I realize that he has fallen behind; I have reached the barren plateau alone. The sword in my hand feels heavy as my arms ache, and my chest heaves with every breath, the hot air stinging my lungs. I am exhausted.

Ahead of me, a tall, thin man in clean, untarnished black armor emblazoned with the symbol of the House of Zod stands confidently, flanked by three guards. My eyes narrow as I rest the tip of my sword in the ground and straighten up to my full height.

This is bad.

Lord Nor grins mockingly at me and takes a step toward me. His guards advance with him, but he casually waves them off. Scowling, they halt and retreat one pace each, their eyes remaining trained on me. Like Nor, the guards appear fresh and well rested; they have not been engaged in intense fighting for the last several hours. My jaw tightens as I shift my eyes back to Nor. Leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world, he tilts his head sideways and moves another step closer to me. His right hand reaches to unsheathe his sword, a sleek black blade similar to mine. He holds the sword in front of him and seems to study it for a moment, his icy blue eyes running up and down the blade. Almost as though it is aware of his scrutiny, the blade vibrates, catching the light of the red sun. Nanotech. I suppress a shudder as fear grips me. But I resolve to not let him see my apprehension, and I exhale carefully to control my expression as my left hand grips my own sword tighter.

Nor moves yet another step closer. He is now probably less than five meters away. His face contorts into a malicious scowl as he says, in clear, perfect English, “Kal-El, the abomination—the alien. You are not one of us.” The sword shifts in his hand, and he changes his stance, the balls of his feet settling into the ground about shoulder width apart, his left foot slightly ahead of his right. His eyes gleam cruelly, and the sword again vibrates as though feeding off his malice. I lift my own sword at the ready as he continues his diatribe. I must stay focused. “You don’t belong here, Kal. I am the rightful ruler. I know what is right and just for my people. And I will kill you and lead them, as I was born to do.”

Despite all my training, despite my intense focus, his unexpectedly abrupt advance catches me off guard. And, just as Ching warned, he is fast and agile. He feints to my right, but as I attempt to dodge, lifting my blade to counter the attack, he shifts in the opposite direction. His sword swings with incredible speed and cuts deeply into my left side. Pain radiates from the wound, and I stagger forward, barely managing to stay on my feet.

No, no. Dammit.

From the hidden sheath on my right hip, my special dagger hums, reminding me of its protective power. What had Ching told me about the dagger? Something about the blade repelling nanotech particles, I think. Maybe? My mind is fuzzy with exhaustion, but I shake my head as I spin around to face Nor, lifting my sword with both hands on the hilt now to increase my dexterity. I cannot lose my focus.

He seems slightly surprised that I’m still standing, but the expression quickly fades as his self-assured air returns.

“Your version of justice involves enslaving and torturing those who don’t see things your way. That is not leading. That is not morality. You are not fit to be a leader, Nor.” My voice is strong and clear. I ready myself for another attack as the pain from my wound spreads up from my side and into my left arm. Nor laughs.

“You are severely injured, Kal-El,” he sneers, gliding his finger along the edge of his blade. He then turns his palm up and rubs his thumb over his fingers, examining the dark red blood with disdain. “Even if you have some sort of protective aura, the nanotech will find a way to overcome it. You are as good as dead already.”

I don’t falter at his words, though I know them to be true. I can already feel the power of the dagger fading, and my side is on fire now, pain pulsing with every beat of my weakening heart. I must find a way to end this—to end him—now. My hands tighten again on my sword, and I lunge at him. He anticipates my move and dodges to my left as I swing the blade, just as I have predicted. Ignoring the intense throbbing in my side, I spin around quickly and raise my right elbow, landing a striking blow to his jaw. He goes down with a grunt, but so do I as a wave of pure white-hot pain reverberates through me.

My knees hit the rocky surface of the plateau, and my sword clatters out of my hands, landing several feet away. I close my eyes briefly and press my left hand into my side, a sticky warmth seeping into my fingers. The wound is deep, I realize. A strong gust of wind blows dust into my eyes, and without thinking, I lift my left hand, now dripping with blood, away from my side to block the dust and wind. Another wave of pain courses through me, and I fall forward, my hands scraping against the solid, rocky ground.

I can’t die here. No, no, no. Lois, I love you…

It is the first time I’ve thought of her since leaving my room at the palace. I had to stay focused, after all. But it seems like I’ve lost, so I allow myself to picture her, only for a moment. Her beautiful smile and long, dark hair that smells like strawberries. Her soft skin and kind eyes. Her joyous laugh that brightens any room. God, I love her.

I’m so sorry, Lois. I tried.

The metallic taste of blood in my mouth brings me back to the present. Nor has recovered from the blow to his face, and he now stands in front of me, the tip of his sword pressed into the ground. He laughs as a gust of wind nearly blows me over, and a strong hand reaches down, grasps the front of my tunic, and hauls me roughly to my feet. I stagger, nausea nearly overcoming me, and grip my left side. Risking a glance down, I see that my once-white tunic is now torn and stained dark red with my blood. I raise my eyes to Nor’s and move my left hand to grasp the base of his blade, which presses into my chest. Anger fills me, even as a disconcerting numbness spreads from the wound in my side and up into my chest and arms, and I allow myself to feel it welling up, boiling over. My desire to kill him is overwhelming.

I sense Ching behind me, albeit too far away to make a difference. There is no time left. I must make my final move now.

Ching, I will not fail New Krypton. Please tell Lois I love her.

I hope the message reaches him. My tunic has been damaged, so it should; however, I remain intensely focused on Nor, and I do not sense any response from Ching.

Nor hoists me up another few inches, my feet leaving the ground, and the tip of his blade penetrates my skin as he pushes it into me slowly.

God, the pain.

My vision blurs, but I force my eyes to stay open.

His face is only inches from mine now, and I can feel his hot breath as he snickers and says, “Nice try, Kal, but now, you die.”

With the last of my energy, I hold tight onto his blade in my left hand, the sharp edge cutting into me as my other hand flies to my hip. The hilt of my dagger burns as I grasp and unsheathe the short silver blade. As Nor’s sword pushes deeper into my chest, blood oozing down the front of my tunic, a blinding white light emanating from my dagger envelops us, and I feel a momentary surge of power enter me. Channeling that energy and ignoring the piercing pain in my chest, I thrust the short blade deep into his neck. His eyes widen with realization, and his lips move as though to speak, but only a raspy gurgling sound comes out. Blood dribbles out the corner of his mouth, and my feet touch the ground again as he staggers forward. My head swims and my vision blurs. Together, we stumble and fall, his sword lodging the final few inches into my chest.

I am vaguely aware of Nor’s now lifeless body draped over top of mine and the cloud of dust rising up around us. I try to breathe, but it is as though there is a massive weight on my chest, and my lungs refuse to fill with air. A pair of solid hands pushes Nor off me and reaches out to the sword still embedded in my chest.

You are too late, Ching. I am as good as dead.

But so is Nor. I have done my job.

My eyelids are so heavy that I can no longer keep them open. Darkness welcomes me as my eyes close. Distant voices seem to be calling out to me in a foreign tongue, but I can’t make out the words. Numbness spreads all the way down to my toes, and the pain I felt earlier is gone.

Through a fuzzy haze that swathes my thoughts, I reach out telepathically, but I cannot connect with Ching or anyone else nearby. In a final act of desperation, I try to contact Lois again, reaching out across vast empty space. I picture her beautiful face and bright smile. Lois, my love, I’m sorry. Instead of her, I feel a fleeting connection with the same man I’d envisioned earlier that morning, and I have the same perception of hovering over a Metropolis that is not quite mine late at night, taking in the sights and sounds of the city with supersenses.

A cold fog enshrouds the vision, the lights of the city growing dimmer, and I communicate one final thought, directed at this Superman that I’ve never met.

Take care of her for me.