"The Mother Box is active in the heart of the city," Victor rasped. "If we don’t pull the plug in the next ten minutes, Darkseid doesn't even need to land. Earth becomes a husk."
The sky over Gotham wasn’t black; it was a bruised purple, choked by the smog of Apokoliptian terraforming engines. High above the ruins of the Wayne manor, the Knightmare had fully taken hold.
A blur of yellow lightning crackled across the floor as Barry Allen skidded to a halt. His suit was held together by scrap metal and prayer. "The Parademons are breaching the lower perimeter. Arthur is holding the line at the seawall, but he’s losing water."