Chapter 21: Warnings and Observations

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As the shadows of night stretched across the landscape, the faint hum of Alexander's armor echoed in the cold air. He hovered above the gathered heroes, his presence commanding despite the indifferent expression that seemed to rest upon his face. The Justice League members, still tense from the revelation of the Inferiors, watched him closely, their unspoken concerns hanging heavy between them.

Just as he prepared to turn away, to fade once more into the darkness, Alexander's voice broke the silence. His words were cold and deliberate, filled with a sense of foreboding. "If you want to save your friend... The Flash," he said, his deep voice reverberating like a distant storm, "you better prepare fast."

The words hung in the air, each syllable dripping with the weight of truth. Zatanna, Constantine, and the others exchanged glances, their worry evident. Alexander's eyes seemed to pierce through them, locking onto each member as if to emphasize the gravity of what he was about to say next.

"The Inferiors are known to play with their food before they consume it," Alexander continued, his tone grim. "They toy with their victims—break them, torment them. And when they're done, there's nothing left but a hollow shell, a corpse devoid of life or soul."

A shudder passed through the group. The thought of the Flash, one of their own, being subjected to such torture was unbearable. Even Batman, ever the stoic, clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing in calculation and urgency. Superman, who had only recently arrived at the conversation from Metropolis, stiffened at the thought of his friend's fate, his hands unconsciously tightening into fists.

Alexander's eyes flickered with an emotion too brief to name before his expression returned to its usual unreadable calm. He continued, "When you're ready, come find me. I'll be here tomorrow. Let's hope he's not a half-eaten corpse by then."

With those words, a shockwave erupted around him as he shot into the sky with a *sonic boom, leaving the League in stunned silence. The air was thick with dread as they watched his form disappear into the horizon, leaving nothing but echoes of his warning.

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Meanwhile, on Apokolips, the dark, fire-lit skies were filled with the rumbling sounds of war machines and the low, continuous hum of Parademons in flight. The vast, jagged landscape of the war-ravaged planet stretched into the distance, dotted with ominous spires of black metal and the glowing red magma that seeped from cracks in the scorched ground.

Within the towering, fearsome fortress of Darkseid, the ruler of Apokolips sat upon his massive throne, his crimson eyes burning with intrigue as he watched a replay of the battle on one of his many surveillance screens. His gaze was locked on a scene of utter devastation—fields littered with the bodies of Parademons, their grotesque, insect-like forms broken and twisted beyond recognition.

It had taken 250 Parademons, 50 Justifiers, 24 Apokorat Riders, and a battalion of Suicide Jockeys—the most fearsome soldiers in his arsenal—to take down just one Inferior. Even Steppenwolf, the feared warlord, had been forced to engage in hand-to-hand combat for hours before the Inferior was finally killed. The sheer carnage left in the wake of the battle was staggering, unlike anything even Darkseid had witnessed before.

On the screen, the Inferior—a massive, hulking creature with sickly orange glowing eyes and a body covered in armor-like scales—was locked in combat. Each blow it dealt to the forces of Apokolips sent shockwaves through the battlefield, flinging Parademons through the air like rag dolls. Its claws tore through their ranks, and its deep, guttural growls reverberated through the scene as it fought with a primal, relentless fury.

Even as Steppenwolf, clad in his imposing armor and wielding his devastating electro-axe, delivered the final blow that brought the Inferior to its knees, there was no sense of victory. It had taken everything, every resource, every tactic, just to bring this one creature down. And the toll had been enormous.

Darkseid's burning eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Steppenwolf stand over the fallen creature, breathing heavily, his armor dented and bloodied. This was no ordinary threat. The Inferiors were something more—something that had piqued Darkseid's interest in a way few things ever had. 

"Interesting," Darkseid muttered, his voice a low, rumbling growl that seemed to resonate through the very walls of his throne room. The vast emptiness around him only amplified the ominous weight of his words.

Darkseid's fingers curled into a fist, his knuckles cracking audibly as he considered the implications. For an Inferior to resist so many of his best soldiers, and to cause such destruction before finally succumbing—it was both a warning and an opportunity.

If these Inferiors were as formidable as they appeared, they could either be a threat to his dominion or a weapon to wield against his enemies.

His mind turned back to Earth, a planet that had always intrigued him—especially now, with Alexander involved. There was power in the balance, and Darkseid would not allow any force, no matter how ancient or primal, to stand in the way of his ultimate goal: the Anti-Life Equation.

"Prepare the next wave," Darkseid commanded, his voice echoing across the room. Desaad, his loyal servant, stepped forward from the shadows, bowing low as he received the order.

"Yes, my lord," Desaad replied, his voice a sickly whisper. "Shall we mobilize the Elite as well?"

Darkseid considered the question for a moment, his glowing eyes narrowing in contemplation. After what he had just witnessed, it was clear that ordinary forces would not be enough to deal with the Inferiors.

"Send the Furies," Darkseid said finally, his voice filled with dark promise. "They will hunt down whatever remains of these creatures."

As Desaad bowed once more and hurried off to carry out his master's orders, Darkseid turned his attention back to the screen. There was something about these Inferiors—something that reminded him of forces older than the gods themselves. And where there was such power, there was opportunity.

As the flames of Apokolips raged in the background, Darkseid smiled—a cold, calculating smile that promised devastation for anyone who stood in his way.

The battle between the Justice League and the Inferiors had only just begun. But Darkseid knew that, in the end, all things would bend to his will.

After all, Darkseid is.