Superman in Marvel: Multiverse Ascendant

Leon observed every movement of the terrorists with perfect clarity.

Yet, he didn't attack immediately. Instead, he stood still, waiting patiently.

Soon, a barrage of explosive weapons—grenades, rockets, and more—was fired in his direction.

Leon remained unmoved, like an immovable mountain, ending the round with a single sweep of his heat vision.

It wasn't until vehicle-mounted missiles began to launch that he took off.

"Jarvis, are there any satellites overhead?"

"Master Leon, there is a U.S. military satellite currently operating over Afghanistan," Jarvis responded instantly. "It monitors any small to medium-scale conflicts in real-time."

"There's also a journalist filming secretly about seven hundred meters away."

"A reporter? A war correspondent?" Leon nodded, puffing out the golden 'S' on his chest. "Seems like the audience is in place. Superman's first battle can't go unnoticed."

Glancing around, he quickly located the journalist.

The terrorist base was nestled between small hills, making it easy to defend but difficult to attack. The reporter lay hidden in the bushes on a hillside, dressed in traditional local clothing. His half-black, half-white beard suggested he was middle-aged, likely someone who had witnessed Afghanistan's peaceful past, the brutal invasions, and the desolation of war.

People like him loathed the Ten Rings and were willing to risk their lives to expose their atrocities in pursuit of peace.

"Is that really… Superman?" The journalist saw the figure hovering in the air.

A tall man with a bright red cape, a strikingly handsome face—just like Superman from the movies. Yet, as unforgettable as he appeared, trying to recall his features felt impossible.

No matter how you looked at him… he was Superman.

Could it be that superheroes truly existed in this world? Was he here to fight the terrorists below?

The idea seemed absurd.

But his camera had recorded everything—Superman facing thousands of enemies alone. It was real.

"It doesn't matter if he's real or not. If Superman can save this country, I'll spend my life supporting DC and Warner Bros.!"

Just then, flames ignited in the terrorist camp. Six vehicle-mounted missiles roared into the sky.

"M-missiles?! No!" The journalist's voice trembled as he locked onto Leon. "Superman, dodge! Get out of the way!"

Leon, however, didn't evade. Instead, he rushed forward.

Accelerating in midair, he extended one fist while holding his phone in the other. Like a missile himself, he met the incoming projectiles head-on.

BOOM!

One missile detonated—then another. A chain reaction followed, filling the night with deafening explosions. Smoke blanketed the sky, flames devoured the landscape, and shockwaves bent the surrounding trees.

The reporter's headscarf was torn away, revealing dry, yellowed hair that stood on end from the blast.

He stared at the smoke-choked sky, his blue eyes reflecting the inferno. His heart pounded.

No one could survive a direct hit from six missiles. Even finding an intact body would be a miracle.

But… this was Superman.

The bullets had done nothing to him earlier, yet he had taken those missiles head-on. Could he really have—?

As if answering the journalist's desperate prayers, a sudden gust of wind surged through the clouds.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The wind dispersed the thick smoke, revealing an unharmed figure.

Superman.

His cape still fluttered behind him, not a single scratch on his body.

No burns, no soot, not even a speck of blackened gunpowder.

"By God…" The journalist gasped. "I knew it! I knew he could do it!"

He leapt up, his face red with excitement, punching the air in exhilaration. He no longer cared about remaining hidden.

He had just witnessed a miracle.

In the terrorist camp, the reaction was quite different.

Panic erupted. The fighters shouted in terror, their voices trembling as they screamed, "Monster! That's a monster!"

Gunfire rang out. It was the sound of terrorists executing those too afraid to fight.

Hovering above, Leon arched an eyebrow.

"Oh? So they've finally brought out the Jericho missile… Are they planning to go down with me?"

The Jericho missile's destructive radius was enormous. Once detonated, everything within two kilometers would be engulfed in flames.

These terrorists were insane. They intended to launch the Jericho at such close range, willing to destroy themselves just to take him down.

"Perfect. I've always wanted to see Tony's masterpiece in action."

"Jarvis, record this and send it to Tony. Add a note asking how he manages to sleep at night."

"Already recording, Master Leon," Jarvis confirmed, ever efficient.

After minutes of fumbling, the terrorists finally figured out how to operate the missile launcher. They loaded the Jericho and ignited it.

Three Jericho missiles launched simultaneously, emptying their stockpile.

The missiles soared through the air, rapidly disintegrating mid-flight into dozens of micro-warheads, forming an inescapable firestorm.

A no-blind-spot bombardment. Tony's invention truly was top-tier.

"Gotta hand it to Tony—this thing is a work of art," Leon mused.

Then, remembering the journalist, he glanced toward the hillside.

"I'll be right back."

Before the missiles could close in, Leon vanished in a blur.

In the blink of an eye, he appeared beside the journalist, lifted him effortlessly, and whisked him three kilometers away, placing him safely on another hill before returning just as swiftly.

"Alright, I'm back. Didn't miss anything, did I?" Leon smirked, facing the incoming fire.

The Jericho was designed for rapid, large-scale destruction. It had already closed in.

Leon, however, didn't plan on letting his suit get singed.

He moved.

Fists blurred as he unleashed a storm of rapid punches in every direction, his movements so fast it seemed as if he had grown multiple arms.

Within seconds, every missile was obliterated mid-air.

BOOOOM!

The explosion was devastating—greater than any before.

A fiery mushroom cloud erupted into the sky, the force tearing apart the surrounding landscape. Trees collapsed, mountains cracked, and the shockwave spread outward, consuming everything in its path.

Three kilometers away, the journalist was thrown to the ground. He tumbled several times before staggering to his feet, dazed.

He clutched his tattered clothing and turned to the distant mushroom cloud, horror-stricken.

Even from this distance, he could feel the searing heat.

"What kind of missile… has this much power?" he muttered, shell-shocked.

He vividly recalled how the Jericho had split mid-air, raining destruction with no escape.

If such a weapon were used against Afghanistan's defense forces, the devastation would be unimaginable.

And Superman…

"Where is he? He just saved me…"

The journalist leaned weakly against a tree, gazing at the towering cloud. "He knew I was there… That's why he saved me. What a man… But… did he go back?"

As the thought struck, another mighty gust of wind scattered the smoke.

Superman emerged, unscathed.

The journalist's breath hitched.

"My God… he's simply a god."

...

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