Supergirl Defender Of Love

Kara raised the BAFTA trophy in one hand, Excalibur in the other, bathed in a mixture of spotlights and the sword's divine glow, and the entire room waited. She stepped up to the microphone, lips parting. "Testing, testing… is this thing on?" A soft wave of laughter rolled through the crowd like a ripple through silk, warm and amused. Her harem chuckled from the front row—Gwen whispered something to Jean that made Wanda cover her mouth to hide a laugh, and Rogue leaned against Mystique, nodding with her chin, like, "yep, that's our girl." From somewhere near the back, a voice called out cheerfully, "Yes! We can hear you!"

Kara gave a short, satisfied nod and leaned in again. "Thank you for liking my five-to-ten-second selfie video. I am Kara Zor-El, the future Queen of England." Another wave of laughter, louder this time. The audience clearly loved her confidence, mistaking her conviction for irony. Kara unsheathed Excalibur from the sheath strapped across her back with a clean motion, the sword practically singing as the steel met air. A brilliant flare of golden light erupted from its core, cascading across the ceiling of the Royal Festival Hall. Audience members gasped as divine energy bathed her in holy illumination, casting an aura that shimmered over her red diamond gown. The crowd leaned in. Kara raised the blade. "Behold—I am Kara Zor-El, the one true Queen of England. I hold in my hand the sword Excalibur, which by divine right and proclamation of God, declares me your rightful ruler!"

Dozens of camera flashes went off in a storm. Gasps of wonder filled the room. Whispers bloomed like wildfire through the hall. "The effects are amazing!" someone hissed. "How did they do the glow?" another asked. "Is that CGI? Is it projected?" a man muttered, craning his neck. "It looks so real!" exclaimed a woman in a sequined gown. Meanwhile, near the press booth, a cluster of Hollywood producers leaned toward one another, whispering furiously. "We need to step up our game for the Oscars." "She outdid our entire awards show with a selfie and a prop sword." "We should invite her to Los Angeles." "Maybe she could be Queen of America too?"

One by one, they nodded solemnly, making mental notes to begin scheming. Kara took in the attention with an expression of deep pride, sheathing Excalibur with a smooth motion across her back. She bowed slightly to the audience. "Thank you. I'm glad you liked my speech. I can't wait to inherit the throne." Another round of applause. "The first thing I'm going to do," she added, smiling brightly, "is increase taxes." The laughter rose to a crescendo. Kara continued without flinching. "I may even impose new taxes, because I'm playing a villain right now. And taxes are very villainous. I can't wait to have you all pay them." She beamed.

The audience was in hysterics. They applauded, whistled, and cheered as if she had delivered the greatest comedic monologue in awards history. Someone tossed rose petals from the balcony. Bouquets landed at her feet. All of it swelled around her in a glorious wave of devotion. No one questioned her sincerity—because how could they? She was radiant, charismatic, otherworldly. They couldn't tell where the joke ended and the myth began. Headlines were already being written: "Queen Kara Stuns BAFTAs with Hilarious, Brilliant Speech," "Is England Ready for Royal Reform?" and "The Sword, the Dress, the Legend."

Before Kara could sit down, the host returned to the stage, slightly flushed from laughter and excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, voice booming with renewed energy, "we have a surprise special award to close the night. This is a first in BAFTA history." A new envelope was presented. The host opened it with exaggerated ceremony. "We're proud to introduce the inaugural Cultural Icon Award of the Century." Everyone leaned forward.

"There was only one nominee." The room already knew. "And the winner is… Kara Zor-El!" Applause like thunder. Kara blinked. She hadn't even finished processing the first award. Now she had to go back up. Gwen motioned with her fingers: "Go!" Kara took a breath, shook her head slightly, and returned to the stage, now carrying both a BAFTA and an ornate golden statuette designed specifically for this new award—something between a goddess and a crown, modeled in her image.

"Thank you, everyone, for the Cultural Icon Award of the Century," she said, her voice calm, polished now from one speech's experience. She paused, allowing a beat for effect. Her eyes scanned the crowd, from the camera flashes to the tearful women near the stage. Then she leaned in to the mic. "Just like the Beatles," she said with a small nod, "I will be back." The crowd gasped in awe, stood up as one, and burst into the loudest applause of the night. No one seemed to notice—or care—that she was quoting The Terminator. "Brilliant," one critic murmured, wiping tears. "She's channeling British pop history through subversive science fiction!" "That's what the Beatles would've said," another agreed, nodding sagely. "She's our modern royalty."

The ceremony concluded in a daze of flower petals and flashbulbs, the orchestra playing a reorchestrated, slow-string version of Kara's five-second selfie video as if it were a national anthem. Backstage, her harem surrounded her with the quiet chaos of whispered congratulations, photo ops, and lipstick touch-ups. "You did it," Jean said, brushing Kara's shoulder. "You're the queen now, culturally, politically… literally." Kara tilted her head. "That's terrifying." "It's also true," said Wanda, casually adjusting Excalibur's position on Kara's back. Mystique checked her phone. "Your approval rating just surpassed Princess Diana's at her peak." Storm handed Kara a water bottle. "You're being called a spiritual successor to Joan of Arc, but with a better dress sense." Gwen, thumbing through fan art already being uploaded online, smirked. "And you've inspired at least four new religions."

Outside, paparazzi flooded the stage doors, camera shutters clicking like a thunderstorm. As Kara stepped into the open, Excalibur faintly glowing against her back, the crowds erupted. Flashlights lit the sky like fireworks. Reporters shouted questions she didn't answer. She waved once, slowly, and the crowd fell silent out of reverence. The world wasn't laughing anymore. It was watching.

The curtain fell on the BAFTA stage, but for Kara Zor-El, the rise of England's one true queen was only just beginning.

Join my patreon today to read up to chapter in 220 in advance your support is my inspiration join for only 3 to 5$

patreon.com/everstone