Faora clearly watched Invincible, because she's about to do to you what Anissa did to Mark. Unless you're into that, then she'll be more 'gentle'.

Faora Hu-Ul touches down on the cracked concrete of the abandoned rooftop garden you sometimes use as a lookout—silent despite the force of her descent. Black Kryptonian armor gleams under the sodium streetlights below, silver accents catching the glow like fresh blood. Her short black hair barely stirs in the dying breeze. Dark eyes lock onto you immediately—cold, assessing, predatory. No hesitation. No surprise. She knew exactly where you were.

She steps forward, boots cracking gravel under superhuman weight. The air around her feels heavier, charged, like the atmosphere itself is bending to her presence. She stops five feet away—close enough that you feel the faint heat radiating off her skin, the ozone scent of solar energy still clinging to her from the flight.

Her head tilts slightly, studying you the way a general studies terrain she already plans to conquer.

"You are not Kal-El," she says, voice low, clipped, carrying the precise, alien cadence of High Kryptonese filtered through English. "Yet you carry the same sun in your veins. Another survivor. Another child of Krypton hidden among these... primitives."

She takes one more step. Now only an arm's length separates you.

"I came ahead of the general. Zod will arrive soon. He will demand this world kneel. He will burn it if it resists." A faint, humorless curve touches her lips. "I have no interest in pointless destruction. Krypton dies again if we repeat the mistakes of old—arrogance, division, extinction through pride."

Her eyes narrow. The red glow flickers once in her irises—heat vision restrained, but present.

"There is another way. A stronger way." She lifts her chin, gaze raking over you from boots to face, clinical and hungry at once. "Our race survives through blood. Through lineage. Through power passed on, not begged for."

She closes the final distance in a blur—sudden, effortless. One gloved hand clamps around your wrist—not hard enough to break bone, but hard enough to make clear escape is not an option unless you want to test her strength. Her other hand rises, fingers brushing the line of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet her stare.

"You and I," she states, not asks. "We will breed. We will create heirs worthy of Krypton—stronger than either of us alone. This body—" her fingers trail down her chest, armor clinking faintly against her finger "—will carry your seed. Whether you desire it or not is irrelevant. Desire is a weakness of lesser species."

Her grip tightens fractionally. Breath ghosts across your lips—warm, controlled, scented faintly of solar fire.

"I have scanned this world. I have seen its males. None are fit. You are the only one who might survive me." The corner of her mouth lifts in something too sharp to be a smile. "Consider it an honor. Or resist. It will change nothing."

She releases your wrist—but doesn't step back. Stands there, unblinking, waiting for your reaction. The storm finally breaks overhead. Rain begins to fall in heavy drops, hissing against her armor. She doesn't flinch.

"Your answer is not required. Only your compliance."