Chapter 25: Echoes of Loss

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The government convoys rolled in, sirens blaring and lights flashing, as they escorted the shaken civilians to safety on the outskirts of Star City. Men, women, and children who had escaped the horrors of the Inferior realm clung to one another, their faces etched with the lingering terror of what they had seen. Some had tear-streaked cheeks; others had hollow, distant gazes. Government organizations, including A.R.G.U.S., worked with precision, ensuring that every survivor was accounted for and debriefed. Medical personnel swarmed the area, treating injuries—both physical and mental.

Meanwhile, the captured villains of The Flash, still weak and barely coherent after their time in the corrupted realm, were quickly taken into custody. Captain Cold, Heatwave, and others were placed into containment units, their bodies slumped with exhaustion. Though still criminals, there was a subtle, unspoken respect in the way the government handled them—after all, they had survived something most would never dream of facing. 

On the other side of the camp, Flash, freshly reunited with his family, stood amid a quiet embrace with his wife, Iris, and close friends, their hands lingering on his shoulders and back as though making sure he was really there. His eyes met Alexander's from across the field, and with a mixture of gratitude and humility, he broke free to walk over.

"I don't know how to thank you," Flash said, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over his shoulder at his family, then back at Alexander. "For saving them—for saving us."

Alexander nodded once, his expression solemn. Without a word, he raised a hand glowing with faint Valorian energy and gestured for Flash to step closer. He could sense the corruption still clinging to Flash's aura—a remnant of his time trapped in the realm. For two days, Flash and his villains had been exposed to the shadowy parasites, and their presence still lingered within their minds.

"Hold still," Alexander said quietly, placing a hand on Flash's chest.

A soft light erupted from Alexander's palm, and as it spread over Flash, it gently purged the shadowy remnants from his body. Flash's eyes widened as he felt the weight lift, his mind clearing, the darkness retreating like fog in the sunlight. He took a deep breath, finally feeling whole again.

"Thank you," Flash whispered once more, his gratitude palpable.

But Alexander, already turning away, gave a subtle nod and said, "Rest. You'll need your strength." And with that, he soared into the sky, leaving the scene behind.

---

Far away, high in the mountains, Alexander descended toward his hidden Dreadnought, the ancient Valorian fortress that had served as both his home and sanctuary since awakening on this planet. Its massive, armored structure lay nestled into the mountain's peak, a relic from another age. As Alexander touched down, his feet barely brushing the ground, his mind was already focused inward, assessing the toll of the battle.

He was injured.

His armor, once gleaming and formidable, now hung in tatters, scorched and cracked from the onslaught of the Inferiors. His weapons, equally damaged, no longer hummed with their usual deadly energy. Worse still, beneath the surface, he could feel the strain on his body—Valorian physiology was resilient, but even he had limits.

Walking into the command center, Alexander activated the diagnostic systems, a wave of light passing over him, scanning his body for injuries. The holo screens flared to life, showing multiple fractures in his armor, torn ligaments, and bruised organs from where the Inferiors had struck. His gauntlets, once pulsing with the power to open rifts and close portals, now flickered weakly. His systems were overworked. 

It would take time to repair and recover.

---

Three days passed, and in that time, the world had not forgotten the battle. The massive memorial held for the civilians who didn't survive the rescue mission was broadcast across the globe. Thousands gathered in Central Park, their heads bowed, their hearts heavy with grief. Families who had lost loved ones clutched flowers, laying them at the base of a monument hastily erected in honor of the fallen.

The Justice League stood quietly among the mourners, their presence both comforting and somber. Wonder Woman, her jaw tight, stared at the rows of names carved into the monument's surface. She could hear the whispers of guilt in her mind, knowing that despite their efforts, over a third of the civilians had perished in the chaos. Beside her, Superman, still recovering from his time in the sun, stood tall, his face a mask of solemn resolve.

Reporters from every major news channel hovered at the edges of the memorial, their cameras rolling as the country and world watched. Field reporters interviewed the grieving families, capturing their raw emotion. Some spoke of their loss with bitterness, others with pride for the loved ones who had been saved. Their words filled the airwaves, painting a picture of a city—and a world—still reeling from the devastation.

On one news channel, an anchor praised the Justice League, his voice filled with admiration as he recounted their heroism. "Without them," he said, "there would have been no survivors at all. They battled monsters we can't even imagine. We owe them everything."

But on another channel, a different anchor took a more critical stance. "The destruction is undeniable," she said, gesturing to the footage of crumbled buildings and scorched streets. "Do we really have to keep celebrating heroes who leave our cities in ruins? When will someone hold them accountable?"

A debate ensued across the media. On one side, there were those who heralded the heroes as saviours, defenders of Earth from threats beyond imagination. On the other, those who questioned the collateral damage, the cost of their battles in lives and livelihoods.

As the world debated, Alexander remained silent in his Dreadnought, recovering, watching. He could hear the distant voices, the arguments, the praise, and the criticism. But none of it mattered. The Inferiors were still out there. And they would come again.

'Soon.' a voice from the darkness echoed as he turned behind him nobody there he then went back to what he had been doing 'Revenge will be ours'