"No!!!"
Zod dropped to his knees, hitting the ground like a Terminator arriving on-scene.
It took a long moment before his mind finally caught up.
"Did I… time-travel again?"
He looked around, baffled. A stretch of desert. A splash of vivid green.
A farm—an entire field of corn, lush and emerald under the sun.
"This is… Earth?"
The sight of the corn made it click. Had he arrived directly on Earth? But according to the timeline, shouldn't Clark already be grown by now?
Zod was a Kryptonian—and a transmigrator who had become a Kryptonian.
When he first realized his new identity, he practically lost his mind with excitement.
This was the ultimate pay-to-win race of the cosmos!
A Kryptonian's arsenal came packed with: super strength, super durability, super speed, enhanced senses, flight, a body like living steel, heat vision, freeze breath, accelerated healing…
Their genetic potential was staggeringly elastic, their upper limit almost unbeatable.
Under Earth's weaker gravity and the nourishing radiation of the sun, an ordinary Kryptonian could evolve into something transcendent.
Solar radiation filled Kryptonian cells with energy, amplifying their strength and sharpening every sense.
Their sheer power came from the tremendous reserves of stored sunlight—strength that branched into abilities like heat vision, super-hearing, telescopic sight, and more.
Although he shared the name "Zod," he wasn't that General Zod. Their surnames weren't even the same.
His full name was Heath Zod, whereas General Zod's was Dru-Zod.
Their appearances were also completely different. Heath was tall, and even among Kryptonians his looks were top-tier—around 190 cm, built like a classical Greek sculpture, every line sculpted and powerful. Not quite Henry Cavill-tier bulk, but more than qualified to be called a Man of Steel.
Heath had transmigrated into a newborn Kryptonian right as Krypton was on the brink of destruction. Desperate not to die as an infant corpse, he pushed boundaries again and again, violating countless taboos. Like General Zod, he was quickly suppressed each time—though Heath had the advantage of a good father. Despite his repeated infractions, he'd avoided being thrown into the Phantom Zone.
After Kal-El's birth, Heath took a gamble and stole the Codex, fusing it into his own body. While being hunted, Krypton exploded. The blast swallowed him whole—and as he raged against death, he seemed to slip into a wormhole and vanish.
"I need to figure out where I am… Hopefully it's not Gotham or Metropolis."
He barely knew the cities in his own country, much less foreign ones. He was the kind of guy who could get lost in his own village. Not full-on navigationally hopeless—but close. At least he remembered roads after walking them a few times.
He stepped into the farm. A middle-aged white man working in the cornfield spotted him immediately.
"Hey—stop right there! Who are you?"
The man reached for a gun, but froze when he took a good look at Heath.
Where did this movie star come from?
The strange black armor was certainly unusual, but Heath looked close enough to a regular white guy that the farmer simply tensed up in caution.
After all, this was Texas. Just a few dozen kilometers south lay the U.S.–Mexico border. Mexican smugglers dug tunnels like groundhogs. Cartels, drug mules—it was a vast, sparsely populated region long out of effective law enforcement control.
"Sir, I'm lost. Can you tell me where I am?"
Heath asked calmly. His armor was standard Kryptonian combat gear—the same high-tech suits that allowed new-arrived Kryptonians in the movies to fight Clark, who'd been soaking up sunlight for years, to a standstill… even overpower him. That alone proved how terrifyingly advanced the armor was.
And Heath's armor wasn't even standard issue—it was forged by his father from rare cosmic minerals and cutting-edge tech. Its durability put General Zod's suit to shame.
"You're near the U.S.–Mexico border. If you're lost, I can call the cops for you, but no guarantee they'll actually come out here."
The shirtless middle-aged man spoke as he revealed a rather impressive chest and set of abs.
U.S.–Mexico border…?
Heath frowned. He'd been on Krypton too long; geography was a blur. Thankfully, understanding English was no problem.
He decided to gather intel from the farmer.
After confirming that neither Metropolis nor Gotham existed here, Heath still had no idea which world he'd landed in.
At least he learned the man's name: Shelly King Juddrey, from Washington State. He'd ended up running this remote farm because he'd lost his previous job and needed to support his daughter's schooling—so he inherited the land from his father and made the move.
"Texas… the legendary Lone Star State."
Once Heath realized he was in Texas, his expression turned odd. Gun ownership here was sky-high, and there were endless places to buy firearms.
In Houston's Black neighborhoods and Chinatown, armed robberies were so common they made the news weekly. Houston's crime rate regularly sat in the nation's top ten.
And Heath had landed even further south—in the chaotic borderlands.
Fortunately, his armor kept him safe for now. Once he confirmed there was no immediate danger, he removed his helmet.
Just like General Zod and the others, the moment he exposed himself to Earth's environment, a wave of disorientation crushed him.
Countless streams of information surged into his mind like a flood. It felt as though he were drowning—every nerve screaming. Thankfully, he adapted quickly.
He never wanted to experience that feeling again.
At first, Juddrey refused to let him stay on the farm. Then Heath casually punched the ground and left a massive crater.
The farmer immediately changed his mind.
Taking advantage of it, Heath claimed Juddrey's only communication line to the outside world.
In just three days, Heath pieced together what this world was.
Only because the place was so remote and disconnected. Otherwise, he would've found out much sooner.
Everyone knew that if you ever transmigrated into the Marvel universe, all you had to do was spot the logo for Stark Industries.
That was exactly how Heath confirmed it—along with Oscorp.
Tony Stark, the arrogant, untouchable super-genius. The playboy who had slept with every model in every magazine, who just last night had a threesome with twin supermodels.
Heath stared at his smug face on a magazine cover.
Movies never showed that side of Tony Stark.