- Doomsday - Volume One: Gods and Monsters

Chapter 85: Desolation

(AN: How the hell are we at 70k read-throughs? I swear we were at like 50k not that long ago, but damn. I said 100k would be the next target as a joke and wishful thinking, but it doesn't seem that outlandish now... Also, I'm writing on a laptop since I'm away from home for school, so pretty much all my notes are back on my proper computer. When I get back in a week or so I can show some of my notes for this arc, though I'll have to blur parts because I pivot pretty heavily, especially towards the end, if anyone's interested...)

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Strike after strike after strike, the harsh crash of the Mongul's immense strength hammering down upon Lobo, an unrelenting force of nature, the biker messy and bloodied from head to toe. Lobo had always seen himself as the biggest man around, stronger than any fool who questioned his raw power, however now he was no different to an impudent insect, crushed under heel. His face was black and blue, cracked and bruised upon his once pale complexion, with red blotches staining the skin and missing teeth lined up along the concrete floor. He wasn't even putting up a fight anymore, reduced to simply a punching bag for the Mongul to release all his pent-up anger and hatred towards, again and again and again.

However, even though the biker was moments away from losing consciousness, and potentially close to death, that didn't matter to him one bit, because getting beaten to a pulp was still achieving the goal. The longer he could distract the warlord, the longer the Doomsday would have to wake up and sort him straight, or at least that was what the biker was hoping, given no assurances that the slumbering giant was anywhere close to reawakening.

In the background, Lobo could vaguely make out the remainder of the Warzoon warriors surrounding Bizarro, kicking and hitting him, letting out pained groans after every hit, however they showed no signs of stopping, continuing their attack. The clone understood the mission just as well as Lobo did, all that was important was stretching out seconds as long as possible, every moment they could keep the warlord busy was just as important as their lives. Doomsday could beat the Mongul all day, and they would support him wholeheartedly, there was no reality now where they could turncoat and flee, they had bound themselves intrinsically to [Y/N], and they would give their all to see his vision through.

A tight clasp gripped Lobo's dreads, the biker wincing in pain as his face was brought right up next to the Mongul's, who scrutinised his entirety, disdain and contempt oozing off of his face, which appeared even more monstrous under the power-room's limited lighting. Looking him up and down, Lobo was soon dropped to the floor, his legs unable to support him, crashing on his chest, "Compared to the Doomsday's strength, it's almost embarrassing that this is the sort he associates himself with, how should he have any faith in two useless fools who can't even die well. Loyalty is only useful when those subjects have the power to serve their leader to the fullest..."

Mongul turned his back on the biker, his presence of equal importance to a small pebble on the march, looking around the room analytically, "We reside within the foundries of war, the bowels of the crisis that spurred conflict and bloodshed, and forced humanity once again to evolve and harden their resolve. And yet, humanity survived no stronger than it originally went into the crisis, rather they have been infected with peaceful rhetoric and a new machine minority infecting them from slowly within, twisting the knife deeper." He grabbed one of the large tubes coiling around the room, small sparks escaping its metallic carapace, but noticeably less than then when they had first entered the room.

"Humanity has always been sitting upon the edge of annihilation and extinction, yet through the abilities of a key few, somehow they spread out and flourished across this ball of rock and dirt named Earth, growing fat and complacent, forgetting the sacrifices made for them by so many that allowed them to progress to such a point..." Lobo rolled his eyes, not interested in the maniac's psychopathic monologue. "Humanity does not see, or want to see, the crisis that awaits for them upon the horizon, while still recuperating from the last war, fighting and squabbling between themselves. At this rate the planet will be little more than a barren waste, not that dissimilar to where we currently reside..."