A/N: His suit, along with his phone, is enveloped in his bioelectric field. Don't question why the phone isn't getting destroyed and the suit isn't getting dirty lol.
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Lyon observed every move made by the terrorists with perfect clarity.
He didn't imdiately counterattack but instead stood quietly on the ground, waiting.
Soon, a barrage of grenades, rockets, and other explosive weapons was launched toward him.
Lyon, however, remained as still as a mountain.
"My turn~" With a single sweep of his heat vision, he neutralized the incoming projectiles.
It wasn't until the vehicle-mounted missiles began to ignite that he took to the sky.
"Jarvis, is there a satellite overhead right now?"
"Master Lyon, there's a U.S. military satellite currently operating over Afghanistan," Jarvis imdiately responded, beginning his analysis.
"It will comnce surveillance as soon as any dium to large-scale conflict occurs."
"And 700 ters away, there's also a local journalist secretly filming."
"A journalist? A war correspondent?" Lyon nodded, puffing out his chest, where the golden 'S' was prominently displayed. "Looks like the audience is all set. After all~ Superman's first battle can't go unnoticed!"
His gaze swept the area, quickly locating the journalist.
The terrorist base was nestled between several small hills, making it a stronghold that was easy to defend but hard to attack.
The man was lying in a bush on the side of one of the hills, fully camouflaged in attire typical of the local culture.
His beard, a mix of black and white, clearly indicated that he was not young—an experienced middle-aged journalist.
Such a person had lived through both the peaceful tis in Afghanistan and the subsequent invasion, enduring the most dangerous warfare and the most destitute displacent.
People like him often held a deep-seated hatred for the Ten Rings, and they were unafraid of sacrifice.
This was a group that sought to expose the atrocities of terrorist organizations with their lives, hoping to bring peace to their holand.
"Is that really... Superman?" The middle-aged journalist also saw the figure flying in the distance.
The man was flying, had an S symbol, was wearing a cape, his posture tall, and his face as handso as the Superman in movies—unforgettable, yet strangely elusive when one tried to recall the details.
By all appearances, this was Superman incarnate!
Could it be that Superman truly exists in this world? Is he here to eliminate the terrorists below?
The journalist found the notion absurd.
But the footage he had just captured, showing Superman facing off against an entire army alone, was all too real.
"Real or not, it doesn't matter! If Superman can save this country, I'll spend the rest of my life supporting DC and Warner Bros. with every penny I have!"
(DC Comics was acquired by Warner Bros. in the mid-20th century.)
The middle-aged journalist gritted his teeth, and suddenly saw a flash of firelight in the camp. Then, with a burst of fla, a few two-to-three-ter-long vehicle-mounted missiles shot into the sky.
"That—those are missiles! Oh no!" The journalist watched Lyon with wide, terrified eyes. "Superman, get out of the way, move!"
However, Lyon didn't retreat; instead, he flew straight towards them.
In the air, he moved quickly—one hand holding his phone, the other clenched into a fist in front of him, as he collided head-on with the missiles like an arrow.
Boom!
One missile exploded, and then the remaining missiles followed in quick succession.
The deafening sound of the explosions echoed between the hills, smoke quickly spreading, and the firelight illuminated every branch of the trees.
The blast's fierce wind bent the surrounding trees one by one.
The middle-aged journalist's headscarf was blown away, revealing his withered yellow hair, now standing on end as if he had been uprooted.
He stared blankly at the smoke and clouds in the sky, his blue eyes reflecting the fiery glow, filled with anxiety.
Under a direct hit from several missiles, no one could survive—even leaving an intact corpse would be wishful thinking.
But that was Superman—bullets hadn't hurt him just monts ago, and he had actively intercepted the missiles… What if?
As if in response to the middle-aged journalist's hopes.
Suddenly, a fierce wind blew through the smoke and clouds.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind was strong but not rapid, and within seconds, it cleared away the rising mushroom cloud, revealing an unscathed figure.
It was Superman!
Superman's cape still fluttered behind him, and he hadn't suffered a single injury!
No, not only was he unhard, but the missiles hadn't even left a trace of soot on him!
"Praise Allah!! I knew it!! I knew he could do it!"
The middle-aged journalist jumped up, his face flushed with excitent, punching the air in elation, not even caring that he had exposed his position.
He looked at Superman, and in that mont, it was as if he had seen hope.
So many days and nights of anticipation—no intervention from international organizations had arrived, but a miracle had descended instead.
The terrorists in the camp were just as agitated as the journalist.
They were also jumping up and down, shouting, but what they were yelling was, "Monster, he's a monster!"
In no ti, the chaotic group of terrorists was interrupted by a volley of gunfire as yet another batch of deserters or those unwilling to be cannon fodder were executed.
Lyon floated in the air for a mont, a look of interest crossing his face.
"Oh? Finally bringing out the Jericho missiles? This must be their plan to go down together."
The Jericho missiles had an extrely wide range of firepower, and after they exploded, an area within two kiloters would be engulfed in flas.
For these terrorists to use the Jericho missiles at such close range, they were clearly planning to drag Lyon down with them.
"Perfect, I've never seen Tony's masterpiece in action before. Now, I finally get to experience it firsthand."
"Jarvis, don't forget to record this and send it to Tony. Leave a note asking him how he manages to sleep at night."
"Of course, Master Lyon, I'm already recording," Jarvis responded, always attentive.
After a few minutes of waiting, the terrorists finally managed to operate the Jericho missiles, pushing them out into the open and preparing for launch.
Three Jericho missiles were fired simultaneously, depleting the base's entire stockpile in one go.
The missiles sped through the air, and as they neared their target, they disintegrated, releasing dozens, if not hundreds, of smaller missiles that blocked every possible escape route for Lyon.
This was a full-scale, no-escape bombardnt.
Tony's design was indeed top-notch.
"No wonder this is Tony's finest creation," Lyon remarked, even giving it a bit of praise.
Suddenly, Lyon thought of sothing. He glanced toward the reporter on the hillside.
"But I need to step away for a mont."
With that, Lyon's figure instantly vanished from the encirclent of missiles.
Ti was of the essence.
He reappeared beside the reporter in a flash, lifted him out of the bushes, then in the blink of an eye, flew three kiloters away to another hilltop where he set the reporter down, before instantly returning to the center of the missile barrage.
"Don't worry, I'm back. Hopefully, not too late," Lyon said to himself, watching the missiles rapidly close in.
The Jericho missiles were incredibly fast, designed for strategic, indiscriminate bombardnt in the shortest ti possible.
Just as Lyon returned to his position, the missile barrage was upon him.
However, Lyon didn't want to roleplay as a 'wall' this ti, so he quickly unleashed a series of rapid punches.
Countless fist shadows appeared simultaneously from all three hundred and sixty degrees around him, as if Lyon had sprouted countless arms.
In an instant, all the missiles were detonated at once.
Boom! bOoommM! booOOOoom!
The explosion that followed was even more intense and violent than before.
The sound that tore through the heavens, the flas that shot skyward, and the smoke that covered thousands of ters filled the air.
At the mont of the explosion, a powerful shockwave spread out, shattering everything within its range—trees, hillsides, all crumbled and were then consud by the blast.
Three kiloters away, the reporter felt as if his surroundings had suddenly changed. Then, he was thrown to the ground by the shockwave.
He rolled over several tis on the ground, stumbling as he clutched his disheveled clothes, dazedly staring at the towering mushroom cloud in the distance.
The intense heat from the explosion could be felt even from where he stood, far away.
"What kind of missile was that? How... how could it be so terrifying?" the reporter muttered in disbelief.
He still rembered the scene he had just witnessed—missiles breaking apart in mid-air into dozens of smaller missiles.
Missiles like that were simply impossible to counter.
If they were used against a holand defense force, the devastation would be unimaginable.
"And where did Superman go? He was the one who saved just now!"
The reporter, his legs weak, leaned against a tree, gazing at the mushroom cloud. "He knew I was hiding there, so he saved . What a good man... Wait, could it be that he went back to deal with the missiles again!?"
The next second, a strong wind blew the mushroom cloud apart, revealing Superman's figure, once again confirming the reporter's guess.
"Oh My... he.. he's practically a divine being! A GOD among mortals!" the reporter exclaid, looking at the unhard Superman in awe.
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