Chapter 45

The wind howled like a thousand blades, slicing against Bardi's face. His hair whipped wildly in the air, and his clothes snapped and rippled violently as if they might tear apart. The currents of wind roared around him, but he stood unmoving, unwavering.

Bardi's posture was rigid, his spine straight, and his cold, emotionless eyes bored into the pilot's very soul. The sheer intensity of his gaze sent a primal fear racing through the pilot's chest, trembling down to the very core of his being.

"This is impossible!!!"

The pilot's voice was shrill, his breathing labored. His heart raced as though it might explode. His mind reeled, grasping for any explanation, but there was none.

Who could leap from a helicopter to a fighter jet in midair, almost 2,000 meters above the ground?

The two aircraft had been separated by at least 30 meters. And even if someone could make the jump, the violent air currents alone would have thrown them off course or torn them apart. Not to mention the fighter's immense speed, enough to pulverize anyone who dared to come near it.

Yet here he was, standing impossibly still on the jet's nose.

Bardi's breath was deep and controlled, a low exhale rumbling from his throat. Even for him, the leap had been extraordinary. The collision of forces—gravity, the fighter's forward velocity, and the sheer power of his own jump had pushed his body to its absolute limit. Every pore on his body felt as though it had been pricked with needles, and his veins burned as if they might burst.

Despite the pain, Bardi's face betrayed nothing. He stood firm, his boots planted securely on the jet's nose, his muscles coiled like steel cables to resist the fierce wind and the impact of the jet's speed. The sunlight reflected off his figure, and already, the warmth of the rays seemed to restore him.

His gaze locked onto the pilot, cold and unyielding.

The fighter pilot, his pupils dilating in terror, instinctively reached for the joystick to dive the jet and shake Bardi off. But before he could act, Bardi's right hand clenched into a fist.

With deliberate precision, Bardi channeled the full force of his body into a single punch. His muscles, already capable of immense strength, amplified the blow, layering movement and force into a strike that was almost incomprehensible. Even standing on the fragile nose of the jet, he managed to deliver nearly 100 tons of impact force.

Bang!

The fist struck the cockpit's glass canopy with earth-shattering power. The reinforced glass cracked instantly, a spiderweb of fractures radiating from the point of impact. A gaping hole appeared where his fist had connected, shards of glass flying inward and peppering the pilot's face.

The pilot screamed, his hands instinctively flying to shield his eyes. Terror gripped his chest as he stared at the hole in the cockpit.

"This... this isn't human!" he gasped. His mind raced in disbelief. A punch—just a punch—had shattered the canopy.

Bardi showed no reaction to the pilot's panic. His movements were calculated, calm. The fighter pilot, still blinded by fear, yanked the joystick hard to the right, throwing the jet into a steep climb. The Eagle roared to life as its engines flared, blue flames erupting from its exhaust.

The jet shot upward at a sharp 90-degree angle, accelerating with explosive force.

Bardi, unfazed, adjusted instantly. His fist unfurled into a claw-like grip, his fingers digging into the edge of the shattered canopy.

The wind was unrelenting, tearing at Bardi's face like countless blades. Yet, his eyes remained firm, unflinching, and fearless.

At an altitude of approximately 2,500 meters, the stakes were deadly. A fall from this height would almost certainly mean death, even for someone like him.

Slowly but steadily, Bardi's weight sank lower on the nose of the Eagle fighter. His steel-like fingers, unyielding against the force of the wind and the jet's blistering speed, dug into the glass of the cockpit canopy. Under the combined pressure of the fighter's velocity and his inhuman strength, his fingers tore through the glass, peeling it away piece by piece.

It was like watching a beast claw through the bark of a tree. The fighter's canopy didn't stand a chance.

Shards of shattered glass broke free, glinting like diamonds as they fell into the endless sky, scattering in the sunlight. The remaining cockpit glass on the left side gave way entirely, collapsing in a spray of glittering fragments. Bardi's fingers gripped the jagged edge until his hand latched onto the steel guard beneath.

Inside the cockpit, the fighter pilot was pale as death, his face beaten by the furious winds that rushed in through the breach. His heart raced, blood pounding in his ears, and his lungs felt like they were being squeezed. At this altitude, without the canopy's protection, the sheer force of gravity and airflow was enough to crush his arteries and strain his heart.

Bardi's assault had turned the cockpit into a death trap.

Panicked, the pilot grabbed the joystick and threw the jet into a sharp dive, trying to shake Bardi loose. His movements were frantic, and he pressed himself against the intact side of the canopy, desperately trying to avoid the terrifying figure above him.

But Bardi anticipated the maneuver. As the jet dove downward, Bardi's hands gripped the steel guard tighter, his fingers digging in like iron claws.

The jet's downward thrust wasn't as aggressive as it could have been, the damage to the canopy limited how much strain the pilot's body could endure. Still, the dive was forceful enough to send the jet rolling in tight, sharp arcs as it descended, attempting to dislodge the invader clinging to its surface.

The Eagle fighter twisted and turned like a swallow in mid-flight, each roll a calculated attempt to throw Bardi off balance.

But he didn't budge.

The violent wind howled against his body, but Bardi's iron grip held firm. His muscles bulged with strength, his fingers refusing to yield even an inch. The thrill of the moment coursed through him like fire.

Despite the chaos, a grin spread across his face.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, his blood boiling with exhilaration. This wild, dangerous dance through the skies filled him with a sense of freedom he had never felt before. The endless expanse of blue sky and the earth far below, it was as if the world was his to command.

For the first time, Bardi felt truly alive.

His excitement swelled as he thought about the future, about the possibility of soaring freely through the heavens, looking down on everything below. This was power. This was freedom.

In a brief moment of calm amid the jet's rapid maneuvers, Bardi seized his opportunity.

With practiced precision, he shifted his weight and flipped himself over, landing firmly back on the jet's nose. His hands gripped the steel guard once more, and he tore away the remaining shards of the cockpit glass with a single powerful motion.

His hand plunged into the cockpit, grabbing the pilot by his flight suit.

The pilot's face was a mask of pure terror. The freezing wind battered him, adding to the panic already gripping his heart. He thrashed against Bardi's grip, screaming incoherent pleas for mercy.

Bardi's expression didn't change.

Without a word, he yanked the pilot from the cockpit and let him go.

The man's screams were swallowed by the wind as his body was flung into the open sky, falling freely toward the earth far below.

Standing on the nose of the fighter, Bardi turned his gaze forward. His imposing figure stood tall against the rushing wind, his back straight and his chest proud. The jet streaked through the sky, its forward momentum carrying him toward the horizon.

Below him, the forest stretched endlessly, the sunlight casting patches of green and gold across the land. Above him, the white clouds drifted lazily through the vibrant blue sky.

The light bathed his face, and for a moment, Bardi closed his eyes.

Memories flickered through his mind, the endless manipulations and betrayals on Krypton, the failures, the countless individuals who had used him for their gain. His imprisonment on Earth, enduring the cold steel walls and endless tests for over a year.

All of it led to this moment.

This, here and now, was freedom. True freedom.

He opened his eyes, and a fire burned within them.

With this power, he could conquer anything.

His blood felt like it was ablaze, surging hot through his veins, fueling his resolve.

Standing atop the jet, Bardi raised his hands to his chest. In a single motion, he tore his military uniform apart, ripping the fabric as the raging wind caught the shreds and carried them away.

With his face flushed and his voice raw, he threw his head back and let out a primal roar, his voice booming over the roar of the wind and the engines.

The cry wasn't just rage—it was release. It was the culmination of everything he had endured, a sound that carried his fury, his pain, and his triumph.

A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye.

It glinted in the sunlight before the wind carried it away.

***

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