It wasn't hard to see why everyone in the vehicle was terrified of Rook Tanner. His appearance alone was... hard to look at, to say the least.
With a monstrous, beast-like face and a body radiating raw savagery, even without trying to scare anyone, he looked terrifying enough.
No wonder they thought he was a demon.
Rook himself was well aware that his appearance wasn't exactly appealing, but what could he do about it? Was he supposed to just shapeshift into a handsome human form?
Ironically, just as he thought that, something began to shift.
His massive body started to shrink. From five meters tall, he rapidly reduced to a much more manageable height—just under two meters.
His bulky physique slimmed down. He was still strong and muscular, but no longer monstrous.
And then his appearance changed completely.
Gone was the terrifying bone armor that had once covered his body, lined with sharp spikes capable of tearing even Superman's steel-like skin. That armor had served as both offense and defense, a terrifying blend of biology and weaponry that even Superman couldn't easily destroy.
Now it had all vanished.
His skin, his face—everything transformed.
Rook Tanner was no longer a creature. He had become human again.
He caught his own reflection in the armored vehicle's side mirror and froze.
Short black hair, sharp and well-defined features, dark eyes, lightly tanned skin.
It was... him.
The face he thought he'd never see again.
Since becoming Doomsday, Rook had believed that his human form was lost forever. Yet here it was—restored.
Had he reverted to being Superman?
No. Deep down, Rook knew the truth. He was still Doomsday. This was just a change in appearance.
It was all because of his fifth-dimensional power. His form had responded to his subconscious will and reshaped itself accordingly. It was only his appearance that had changed, not his essence.
He was still the same being within.
The transformation left Tony and the three soldiers speechless.
"Okay, whoa... maybe throw on some pants first," Tony muttered, eyeing Rook's lower half with a complicated mix of envy and disbelief.
Rook had just been Doomsday a moment ago. That enormous body didn't exactly allow for regular clothing. And after spending one hundred thousand years in the Sun's core, there wasn't a single material that could've survived anyway.
With his armor gone, being naked hadn't mattered.
But now? It was definitely different.
Tony tossed him his suit jacket.
Rook casually tied it around his waist for some modesty.
He looked completely human now, but everyone in the vehicle had witnessed his transformation firsthand. They knew better.
Tony broke the silence. "So... what now?"
Rook tilted his head. His ears twitched slightly. "Someone's coming. Looks like you're popular, Mr. Stark."
Tony glanced around, deadpan. "Yeah, great. Love this kind of attention."
Sure enough, another group of heavily armed men appeared in the distance, charging toward them at full speed.
One of them lifted an RPG and fired.
"RPG!" one of the soldiers shouted, already reacting to dive for cover.
But Rook moved first.
Floating into the air, he calmly intercepted the rocket, catching it midair with one hand.
Because he caught it instead of blocking it, the warhead didn't detonate on impact.
Everyone—Tony's team and the attackers alike—froze in stunned silence.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, Rook hurled the missile back toward the direction it came from.
A chorus of screams broke out.
The man who had fired the RPG turned to run, but the rocket was already back on top of him.
An explosion ripped through the desert.
The man was gone.
The rocket had returned faster than it was originally launched.
The remaining soldiers stared at one another, pale-faced.
"Shoot him! Kill him!" their commander roared, raising his rifle and opening fire.
The desert echoed with gunfire.
Every barrel was aimed at Rook, who hovered in the air, arms crossed, letting the bullets rain down on him like a storm.
The sound of metal striking metal rang out as thousands of rounds hit him, each one bouncing off with a crisp clink. Because of the gunpowder, every bullet impact sparked tiny bursts of light, like miniature fireworks across his body.
But when the magazines finally ran dry, Rook was still floating in the air, completely unharmed.
Well, almost.
The suit jacket Tony had lent him was now shredded.
He was naked again.
Rook frowned slightly. One of the three soldiers was a woman, the driver.
"Guess it's my turn," he said calmly.
He'd waited until every bullet had been spent. He could've acted at any moment, but chose to let them finish.
Even without his current level of power, Rook had already surpassed Superman long ago. His steel body was more than enough to shrug off bullets.
That was why he let them shoot first.
And now?
It was his move.
Hovering in the air, his eyes began to glow. A moment later, twin golden beams shot out like lasers—his signature heat vision.
Heat vision was a classic Kryptonian power. Any Kryptonian who gained Superman's strength could use it.
But Rook's was different.
Unlike the usual red hue, his heat vision was golden. It used to be red, too, but after ten thousand years in the Sun, something had clearly changed.
Golden beams, at least as fast as light, locked onto every target. With precision and terrifying speed, he sliced through them like a living death ray.
The results were brutal.
Even Tony and the soldiers inside the vehicle turned away. The female soldier gagged at the sight.
Rook wasn't bothered.
They had attacked first. He had given them their chance.
Besides, these men didn't belong to any official army. They were mercenaries—intruders on foreign land.
So what right did they have to act innocent now?
He couldn't be bothered to explain any of that.
And frankly, some things were better left unsaid.
Not because of him, but because of the author.
Anyway.
With everyone dead, Rook closed his eyes. But when he sensed the last enemy alive, he chose not to use heat vision again.
Instead, he flew over personally.
He needed clothes.
At the very least, something to cover himself up.
He stripped the man of his jacket and pants, then flung him several hundred meters into the air.
Before the body could even land, it burst into flames midair, consumed by the friction of atmospheric drag.
A fiery arc lit the sky like a shooting star.
The man never hit the ground.