DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

The Brotherhood was founded by three brothers.

Jetley was the youngest of the three, the most educated, and the smartest.

From the very beginning of their rise in the slums, his strategies had been indispensable. Whether it was dealing with rival gangs or developing a reputation for their fierce and ruthless resolve, "If you mess with us, we'll take you down with us", Jetley's cunning ensured their survival whenever other gangs attempted to challenge them.

The Brotherhood was also the only gang with no ties to the metropolis's central districts. Through Jetley's efforts, they had become a neutral buffer, maintaining a fragile balance between the slums and the city. The gang's ability to survive relied heavily on his careful maneuvering and strategic cooperation with other groups.

Jetley himself was a dark-skinned man, so dark that at night, he could easily blend into the shadows. His most distinguishing feature was his large, sharp eyes, brimming with intelligence, a trait that made it instantly clear to anyone that he was a thinker, a man of strategy.

When one of his men hurried to report that someone unusual had entered the Brothers Nightclub dressed all in white, exuding the aura of a high-ranking figure Jetley immediately sensed trouble.

"Describe them in detail," Jetley ordered.

The man carefully described the group: Bardi, dressed in white, emanating an air of authority; Mike, a burly Russian who looked every bit the bodyguard; and Leon, a young man who seemed inexperienced, like someone who hadn't seen much of the world.

A strange combination.

Jetley's unease grew. He couldn't pinpoint the reason, but something about this sudden and unexpected appearance felt wrong. It disrupted the order of things, and his instincts told him it wasn't right.

Logically, they had no scheduled meetings with any distinguished guests today. And even if they had, any such meeting would have been planned in advance, with his two older brothers consulting him as usual. The three of them always made decisions together, and nothing about their operations had ever deviated from this pattern.

Tonight, his eldest brother was on the nightclub's third floor, tallying up the money and preparing to distribute their earnings.

The more Jetley thought about it, the stronger his sense of foreboding became. The three brothers, being triplets, shared a subtle telepathic bond, and the anxious tremors in his chest now filled him with dread.

Acting on his instincts, Jetley quickly sought out his second brother, Miley.

Miley was a former soldier, a deserter who had killed his racist superior before fleeing. As luck would have it, Miley happened to step out of a room just as Jetley arrived.

"I've got heart palpitations," Miley said with a grim expression, clutching his chest.

The two brothers exchanged a tense glance. Without hesitation, Jetley called for the Brotherhood's men and led them in a rush toward the Brothers Nightclub.

"Ahhh!"

By the time they arrived, the nightclub was in chaos. Screams of terror filled the air as panicked patrons poured out of the doors, their faces twisted in fear. The glass door shattered under the pressure of the fleeing crowd, and several people fell to the ground in the stampede. Those who fell were trampled, never managing to stand back up.

This kind of hysteria only occurred during violent gang fights, when bystanders scrambled to escape the crossfire.

Jetley and Miley's unease deepened. Miley, impulsive by nature, wanted to rush straight through the crowd and into the building to see what was going on.

"We can't go in through the front," Jetley said, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. Remaining calm, he grabbed his brother and directed him toward the side entrance, where there were fewer people.

Jetley didn't hesitate. He shot a few unlucky individuals blocking their path and stormed through the side door, with the Brotherhood's men following close behind.

Inside the nightclub, chaos reigned.

Mike stood on the stage and casually tossed the severed head of the Brotherhood's boss onto the platform. The sight of the bloodied head sent shockwaves through the room. Screams erupted as dancers scrambled off the stage, their legs trembling so badly they could barely move.

The audience, once entranced by the spectacle of flesh onstage, was now consumed by terror. They shouted and screamed, their voices hoarse with fear, as they trampled over one another in a desperate rush to escape.

The death of the Brotherhood's leader meant one thing: a gang war was about to begin.

In the past, countless innocent bystanders had been caught in the crossfire of such conflicts, and no one wanted to stick around to watch this play out.

Bardi leapt onto the stage. As the severed head landed, the nightclub's lights abruptly switched to bright white, illuminating the grisly scene for all to see. The horrifying clarity of the sight only added to the panic.

Bardi scanned the crowd coldly. The fear in their eyes was palpable, they looked at him as though he were a predator and they were prey. Some cowered, others scrambled to flee, their terror almost animalistic.

Leon stood at the edge of the stage, his body trembling uncontrollably. His face was still sticky with blood, and his fear was etched into every inch of his expression.

Onstage, Bardi's presence was like that of an immovable mountain. His white coat fluttered slightly, exuding elegance, but his actions were cold and ruthless. He killed without a second thought, as if human lives were meaningless to him. He had casually ordered Leon to cut off a man's head, an order Leon could hardly comprehend even now.

Leon's hands and feet still shook uncontrollably. His body felt like it wasn't even his to command anymore.

"Wipe the blood off your face, rookie," Mike said, tossing a triangular piece of cloth at him.

Leon caught it clumsily and began wiping his face without thinking. It wasn't until later that he realized the cloth was a dancer's panties, but in his state, he didn't care. His voice trembled as he muttered, "Was it… was it really necessary to do that?"

"Necessary?" Mike sneered, his tone laced with indifference. "Maybe you need a reason, but the boss doesn't. Maybe he wanted you to mature, or maybe he didn't. Maybe he wanted you to fear him, or maybe he was just in the mood. With the boss, it doesn't matter."

Mike smirked faintly and added, "In the end, you just do what you're told."

Leon looked at Bardi, who stood at the center of the stage in his white trench coat. In the dim light, that figure seemed almost otherworldly, like an evil spirit exuding an overwhelming, suffocating aura of dread.

"Isn't this… just like a moody tyrant who only cares about himself?" Leon's voice trembled as he whispered the words. His gaze dropped, and he dared not look at Bardi any longer, his eyes filled with fear.

Mike shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe! Tyrant, huh? The boss might actually like that title. Pay attention, rookie—watch and learn."

The chaos inside the nightclub had mostly subsided by now. Nearly everyone had fled, leaving behind a few bodies trampled beyond recognition. The room was a wreck: scattered debris littered the floor—coins, clothes, and even underwear. Broken glass sparkled amidst pools of cheap liquor and blood, their mingling odors thick with sweat and grime. The stench was suffocating, an unpleasant mix that churned the stomach.

Suddenly, two anguished roars broke through the disarray.

"Sam!"

"Sam!"

Jetley and Miley, the remaining two brothers, burst into view. They froze when they saw their eldest brother's lifeless body at Bardi's feet.

Their bodies trembled with rage, and their fury erupted like a volcano. Jetley's and Miley's faces twisted in anguish and fury, their eyes bulging as if they might burst from their sockets.

Their expressions were terrifying. Miley's fists were clenched so tightly that his fingernails dug deep into his palms, blood dripping from his hands. The veins on his skin bulged like writhing serpents, pulsing with his seething anger.

"I'll kill you!!!" Miley roared, his voice cracking with fury. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, glowed with murderous intent.

Without hesitation, he drew a dagger from his waist and charged toward the stage.

The bright white light illuminated his every move as his black silhouette surged forward, the cold steel of the dagger gleaming ominously. It reflected the ferocity of his anger and the intent to kill.

The blade, sharp and unforgiving, streaked through the air, aiming directly for Bardi's chest.

It stopped just three centimeters short.

Bardi didn't flinch. He didn't so much as blink.

At the same moment, a green-bladed saber pierced through the air, slashing across Miley's path.

The blade stopped him in his tracks.

"Calm down, pick up your brother's head, put it back where it belongs."

Who knows? Maybe there's still a heartbeat."

***

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