Lois cradled his body in a crater. Bruce stood apart, armor cracked, watching the hero he’d tried to kill. “I failed him,” he whispered.
Lois Lane ran in, breathless. “It’s his mother’s name. Luthor has her. Please—you have to save her.”
Superman looked at Lois. Then at Bruce.
Across the Atlantic, in a dark cell, Lex Luthor laughed at the wall. Behind him, a holographic projection of a demon with three omega-shaped scars grinned back.
Bruce fired everything: sonic cannons, lead-shrouded machine guns, a grappling hook that yanked Superman face-first into concrete. But the Kryptonite gas grenades were the true equalizer. As green smoke filled the air, Superman dropped to his knees, veins darkening. Bruce beat him. Punched him through a wall. Stamped his boot on the Kryptonian’s throat.
Diana touched his shoulder. “Men are still good,” she said.
It tore through Metropolis. The military was useless. Superman and Batman fought side by side—one drawing its attention, the other luring it to the Kryptonite spear. But Doomsday was too fast.
“This is my world.”
