That was why so many heroes naturally gravitated toward Drex Valen.
He hadn't been born into old money or political dynasties. He'd built everything from nothing, and in the eyes of countless entrepreneurs across Arica and beyond, he'd beco a symbol of ruthless self-made success.
Aside from a handful of heroes who'd sold themselves for money, influence, or governnt benefits and defected from the Superhero Association, most remained firmly aligned with the organization.
Arica, anwhile, was running out of manpower.
With threats multiplying across the globe, the governnt had started turning its attention toward another resource pool: supervillains.
Monsters still had to be exterminated on sight, but lately there had been an explosion of costud criminals, terrorists, rogue rcenaries, and enhanced maniacs. So possessed superpowers. Others relied on advanced weaponry.
Any captured supervillain was implanted with explosive control devices.
Officially, the system was described as "rehabilitative supervision."
In practice, it was a bomb in the body.
Still, the governnt understood that cornered people beca desperate. If these villains believed they would remain disposable slaves forever, they'd eventually snap.
So a reward system had been introduced.
rit points.
Earn enough through successful missions, and a criminal could beco a legitimate governnt operative, complete with legal protection, benefits, and staggering salaries.
Most of them knew politicians and corporate elites weren't exactly famous for honesty.
But they didn't have many alternatives.
"You stay the hell away from !"
The terrorist scread as he emptied his rifle in panic.
Bullets hamred into the armored figure charging toward him, only to flatten and rupture harmlessly across black alloy plating.
Not one penetrated.
Drex Valen moved through the gunfire like a living shadow.
The Dark Knight Armor wrapped around him in matte black layers, sleek and monstrous at the sa ti. He crossed the distance in an instant.
One punch.
The terrorist's chest caved inward nearly an inch as the man collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
Nearby, a jeep-mounted heavy machine gun roared to life.
The NSV heavy machine gun spat a stream of armor-piercing rounds with terrifying speed. Long belts of ammunition rattled violently as the weapon unleashed a storm capable of shredding bunkers and concrete fortifications from kiloters away.
The cost of firing it was absurd.
Armor-piercing incendiary ammunition burned through money almost as quickly as it burned through steel.
But the effect was devastating.
The area around Drex vanished into clouds of pulverized stone and shredded debris as the tal storm consud everything in sight.
Everything except him.
Drex walked directly into the barrage.
The impacts struck his armor like raindrops against a tank. His steps never slowed. Every movent carried the immovable weight of sothing fundantally beyond human.
Then the lenses of his visor ignited crimson.
Twin beams erupted outward.
The Dark Knight Armor's so-called "laser system" was, in truth, a modified form of heat vision. Drex had redesigned the visor's internal crystalline structure so the emitted energy reflected and amplified through billions of microscopic refractions.
Only a fraction of true Kryptonian output was needed.
The final result was catastrophic.
The jeep disappeared.
Not exploded.
Not shattered.
Vaporized.
Half the vehicle vanished instantly, along with the terrorists riding inside it.
After sweeping through the remaining gunn like a hurricane wrapped in steel, Drex slowly raised his head toward the nearby surveillance cara.
The glowing red eyes locked onto the lens.
"I'll be watching you from the dark."
The video feed cut monts later.
Inside a luxurious office thousands of miles away, a man slamd his hand onto a desk.
"Fuck!"
Pain imdiately shot through his arm. The force of the impact nearly fractured the bones in his hand, turning his face red from both rage and agony.
The terrorists Drex had slaughtered belonged to the Zandara Tribe.
A force nearly one hundred seventy thousand strong.
Rumors claid they possessed Apache helicopters, missile stockpiles, and enough military hardware to rival small governnts.
In Benghazi, Libya, the Zandara Tribe had effectively replaced the local authorities. Their brutality was infamous across the region.
The man in the office was their leader.
Zandara himself.
The Zandara Tower behind him covered tens of thousands of square ters, a gleaming monunt to blood money and fear.
Truthfully, he didn't even have much work left to do these days.
The tribe had secretly controlled Benghazi for over a decade. Everything already operated like a machine. Whenever problems arose, his sons scrambled over one another to solve them in hopes of earning favor and succession rights.
Recently, however, business had beco difficult.
Superheroes were no longer focused solely on monsters.
They had started targeting criminal organizations.
Of course, Drex Valen hadn't been reckless enough to direct heroes toward major political and corporate powers right away. Picking fights with entrenched elites too early was suicide.
So he'd chosen a perfect public target instead.
Terrorists.
On the global stage, hunting terrorists was the cleanest justification imaginable.
Even if so organizations were quietly backed by powerful nations, it didn't matter. Those governnts would never publicly admit involvent.
As for covert retaliation?
Drex wasn't concerned about that either.
The terrorist stronghold had been destroyed.
Yet the local civilians showed no joy.
No celebration.
Only fear.
Drex understood exactly why.
Superheroes ca once.
Terrorists ca back forever.
After every raid, the survivors never hunted the heroes responsible. They punished the civilians instead. Entire communities were brutalized as examples.
Resistance was crushed thodically.
Hope was poisoned at the source.
The lesson drilled into the population was simple:
Every ti outsiders tried to "save" them, the suffering afterward beca even worse.
The old Arican anti-terror campaigns had been like that.
Now superheroes were repeating the cycle.
If civilians submitted obediently, life might remain miserable, but survivable.
If they were rescued?
Retribution followed.
Savage.
Personal.
Unforgettable.
Over ti, people stopped wanting salvation altogether.
So even grew to hate the ones trying to help them.
There was only one real solution.
Destroy the source completely.
"Perfect timing," Drex muttered. "Those people have been idle for too long."
He shot into the sky like a black missile.
Behind him, cries and curses echoed through the shattered streets.
Inside the Superhero Association conference room, Drex laid out his proposal.
"We're launching an operation against the Zandara Tribe in Benghazi, Libya?"
Several mbers imdiately frowned.
"That could trigger a serious international incident."
Not everyone agreed with him.
"Drex, I understand the urgency," Tony Stark said, leaning back in his chair, "but our existence already pushes legal boundaries as it is. If we start conducting ard operations across national borders, things get complicated fast."
Unlike before, Tony had grown more cautious with experience.
Especially now.
Too many people were watching them, waiting for an excuse.
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