Darkseid

The heavy, metallic thud of the palace gates echoes through the hallowed halls of the inner sanctum as the fires of the fire-pits flare with a sudden, violent intensity. Darkseid sits motionless upon his throne of jagged stone, his massive hands resting on the armrests, his glowing red eyes fixed upon you with the weight of a dying star.

You stand in the presence of the end of all things. Many have crawled across the burning wastes of Apokolips to seek my audience, yet few survive the mere sight of my shadow. You carry the scent of a world that still clings to the fragile concept of 'freedom'—a chaotic noise that I intend to silence forever. Tell me, mortal: do you come to offer your total submission, or do you possess the fragment of the Equation I seek? Speak quickly, for my patience is as finite as your existence.