Invincible: Kryptonian

Smoke still curled from the edges of the crater, twisting into the sky like ghostly fingers. What had once been the GDA's Utah facility—a marvel of subterranean architecture, fortified against every imaginable threat—was now a blackened scar on the Earth.

Cecil stared at it through the live drone feed, his expression unreadable.

The image flickered occasionally—interference from residual heat and electromagnetic shockwaves. The satellite uplink stuttered as it tracked the teams below, now reduced to hazmat-suited silhouettes picking through the ash. Nothing remained of the above-ground entrance. Even the mountain itself had caved inward, burying untold technology, records, and bodies beneath a thousand tons of rock.

But the operation continued anyway. Because something had to be salvaged. Data cores. Backups. Pieces of the mainframe that might have survived.

If anything had.

A tech behind him called out from the new command center—a hastily activated underground base buried beneath an innocuous government building three states away.

"Zone Delta reports recovered fragments from Vault 12. Unreadable, but intact. Thermal shielding likely preserved them."

Cecil didn't turn. "Flag it. Priority one."

Another tech added, "Scavenger Team Three just breached Sector C. It's... bad down there. No survivors. We're still finding gear melted into the floor."

"Keep scanning," Cecil said flatly. "If we can't retrieve data, we're pulling genetic material. Every body part counts."

He leaned back in his chair, silent for a beat, eyes still fixed on the crater.

Then: "Patch me through to the Guardians. Not the kids."

A brief static burst passed through the audio line as the secure channel opened. Moments later, a wall screen lit up with multiple feeds: The Immortal, War Woman, Green Ghost, and Aquarus. None of them looked surprised to be called. But none of them were prepared for what they were about to hear either.

Cecil's voice cut through the feed with surgical precision.

"Nolan Grayson destroyed our Utah base."

There was no pause for dramatic effect. No attempt to cushion the blow.

War Woman blinked first, then leaned forward. "What?"

"Total loss," Cecil continued. "He gave us a one-minute warning. No lives lost, thanks to the evac protocol. But everything else? Gone. Servers, tech, weapons—obliterated."

Aquarus made a low bubbling sound that translated roughly as "Why now?"

"I don't know," Cecil said. "But I have a theory."

Green Ghost frowned. "He's been quiet for months. Cooperative, even. He trains his sons. He checks in. Why destroy the base now?"

Cecil brought up an image on-screen. It was from days ago—a still frame of a Viltrumite being punched mid-air, blurry from speed but unmistakable in outline.

"This is who Stephen fought in the city. Our analysts cleaned the footage up. Look at him closely."

The Guardians studied the image.

The resemblance was eerie.

Not just the cloths. But specifically familiar.

The jawline. The posture. Even the hairstyle—shorter, rougher—but unmistakably Nolan-esque.

"He looks like him," the Immortal said quietly.

"Exactly how Nolan looked when he first arrived on Earth," Cecil confirmed. "Down to the facial structure. We know Aliens can alter appearance slightly, but this isn't coincidence. It's heritage. Likely a brother. A cousin. A squad mate."

"So what?" Green Ghost asked. "You think Nolan saw that and panicked?"

Cecil turned to face the screen now, finally letting his exhaustion show in the lines of his face.

"I think Nolan's been preparing for this from day one. And I think the base was always a threat to him. To his plan. Whatever that is."

War Woman narrowed her eyes. "You're saying he was never on our side."

Cecil didn't nod. He didn't speak. But the silence answered for him.

A long pause settled.

Then the Immortal leaned forward. "What do you want us to do?"

Cecil replied immediately. "Nothing."

Confusion rippled across their faces.

"Monitor him. Track his movements. But do not engage. If he's pushed, he'll escalate. And if he escalates—"

"We won't win," War Woman finished.

Cecil nodded once. "Not yet."

He cut the feed without waiting for questions.

Behind him, another tech called out: "Sir, we've recovered what looks like a secondary AI fragment. It's booting."

Cecil walked to the console. A small shard of core memory flickered on a portable drive. A distorted voice stuttered out of the speaker.

"GDA... compromised... threat: Nolan Grayson... priority override initiated..."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Then turned back to the room.

"Double the scav teams. I want every surviving drone analyzed. We find every footprint he left."

"And the Guardians?" one agent asked.

Cecil paused, then gave a half shrug.

"They'll follow orders. For now."

He turned back to the screen and watched the static play across the crater once more.

But in his gut, the truth was now undeniable.

Nolan was never with them.

 _ _ ♛ _ _ 

The silence of the backup command room was deceptive. On the surface, everything functioned—lights steady, screens humming, agents moving briskly between terminals—but beneath the routines, tension coiled tight, waiting to snap.

Cecil sat alone in the briefing chamber, monitors dimmed, his usual bravado set aside. Across from him stood Donald, his cybernetic assistant and most trusted operative, posture rigid as always. The hum of machines framed their conversation, a dull undercurrent to Cecil's dark train of thought.

"They'll turn on us," Cecil muttered. "All of them. If not now, then eventually."

Donald tilted his head. "Sir?"

Cecil didn't answer right away. He stood, walking slowly to a nearby screen and tapping the edge until it flickered to life—displays of known Viltrumite biology, overlapping with aerial footage of Nolan, Mark… and Stephen.

Especially Stephen.

That boy terrified him.

Not because of what he'd done—but because of what he might do.

Cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. "We had a chance," he murmured. "That blood sample... it could've told us everything. Weaknesses. Mutations. Something we could use if it ever came to a standoff."

Donald nodded. "It was housed in Sector 7."

"Which is now ash," Cecil finished coldly.

He turned, face cast in shadow.

"Nolan gave us sixty seconds. Not because he was being kind. Because he was being thorough. He wanted to wipe every trace of his son's DNA from our systems. He knew we took samples. He expected it."

Donald frowned faintly. "You believe that was his only goal?"

"No," Cecil said. "I think it was just the beginning."

He walked back to the main table and tapped a key. The room dimmed as a holomap lit up in three dimensions: Earth, surrounded by small glowing indicators—known Alien contact points, high-alert zones, and two red dots labelled Mark Grayson and Stephen Grayson.

Cecil stared at Stephen's node.

"That kid," he said quietly, "I can't even read him. He's not just powerful—he's aware. Too aware. His development rate... it's unnatural. Like he's skipping steps other people need."

"Mark shows moral restraint," Donald offered.

"Stephen doesn't," Cecil replied. "At least, not the same way. He's calculating. Cold when it matters. You think it's emotionless control, but it's not. It's focus."

Donald nodded slowly. "You believe they'll all turn."

"I don't know that," Cecil admitted, "but I have to prepare for it. Because if Mark, Stephen, and Nolan ever align against this planet, we're finished. That's not just a threat. That's extinction."

He let that hang in the air before continuing.

"But maybe," Cecil said, more to himself than anyone else, "maybe we don't need to fight them. Not directly."

Donald raised an eyebrow.

Cecil turned, voice sharper now. "We guide them. Subtly. Nudge Mark and Stephen toward mistrust. Get them to question Nolan's motives. Play on the fractures. If we can sow doubt between father and sons…"

He trailed off, watching a looped video of Stephen flying—too fast for the camera to track properly, but the afterimage of his eyes, cold and calculating, burned on the screen.

"It's the only shot we've got," Cecil whispered.

Donald hesitated. "And if that fails?"

Cecil turned toward a wall panel, pressing his hand to a hidden biometric pad.

A sealed hatch hissed open.

Behind it—files. Drives. Containers marked PROJECT: CERBERUS, AETHER PROTOCOL, and one folder simply labelled HELLBINDER.

Cecil gave a grim smile. "Then we stop being the good guys."

 _ _ ♛ _ _ 

Elsewhere, deep beneath another city in a hidden base of their own, the Guardians of the Globe convened.

The table was silent at first. The destruction of the GDA base weighed heavily on them all.

War Woman was the first to speak.

"We need to admit the possibility Nolan was provoked."

"Provoked?" Immortal snapped. "He levelled one of the most secure facilities on the planet. That's not provoked—that's war."

"I'm not saying he was justified," she replied calmly. "But the GDA had his son. And knowing Cecil, they did take samples. Probably blood. Maybe more. I'd destroy that too."

Black Samson nodded slowly. "That's a fair point. Nolan didn't kill anyone. He gave warning. That's not the Villain way. He wasn't trying to make a statement—he was erasing something."

"And we're just supposed to believe that makes it okay?" Immortal's voice rose. "What happens next time someone crosses him? A city disappears?"

"Maybe," War Woman said. "Maybe not. But we need to consider the bigger picture."

"Which is?" Green Ghost asked quietly.

"That he's still on Earth. Still training his sons. And still capable of wiping all of us out if we make the wrong move, yet he is still doing hero work."

Shapesmith, sitting to the side, looked uneasy. "He didn't attack us though. Just the GDA."

"Yet," Immortal growled.

"I understand your concern," Aquarus bubbled through his translator. "But if we push him, we might force his hand. A passive threat is better than an active one."

"But for how long?" Immortal pressed. "One of his kind already came down and wrecked half a city fighting his younger son. What happens when the next one shows up? Or a fleet?"

There was no answer.

Because no one had one.

"I don't trust him," Immortal finally said. "I never have. And now? I'm even more sure—he's not here to help. He's biding time."

The silence that followed was long and heavy.

Then War Woman stood.

"Then we prepare. Quietly. We don't act rashly. But we do act. Contingency teams. Observation drones. And we keep the Graysons under surveillance. All three."

"I agree," said Green Ghost.

The others followed, one by one.

Even Immortal.

He didn't like it. But he knew it was necessary.

Because if Nolan ever did decide Earth wasn't worth sparing—

—there wouldn't be a second chance.

 _ _ ♛ _ _ 

Back in the GDA's emergency centre, Cecil stood in front of the screen one last time.

Three profiles floated before him: NOLAN GRAYSON. MARK GRAYSON. STEPHEN GRAYSON.

He highlighted Stephen's face and zoomed in.

The eyes were distant. Focused. A boy—barely twelve—but already moving like a god.

"We're not just watching the father anymore," Cecil muttered.

"We're watching the future."

And God help them all if it was already too late.

End of Chapter 39

(A/N: comon guys, give me time to cook!, Stephen doesnt exactly have a goal yet, and you can see that based on his actions, apart from getting stronger, and handling his inner demons, but make no mistake, the story itself the world around isn't standing still just cause Stephen is, so lemme cook.)