Title: Smallville: Lorien Chronicles
Characters: John Smith/Four, Jane Doe/Six, Clark Kent, Chloe Sullivan
Rating: T
Genre: Sci-Fi/Friendship
Summary: While looking for the Stones of Power, Clark meets two teenagers in the desert and soon discovers that they share the same brand of secret. He offers them a sanctuary in Smallville, but when you're being hunted down, no place stays safe for long.
Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville, I Am Number Four or any characters therein.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Special thanks to shadowglove for breaking the fertile ground that is the soil of this particular crossover. Her Chloe-crossover Numbers series is utterly fantastic, and I hope to see it continued. Bravo.
This story is set in a slightly alternate, merged universe following Numbers Four and Six's departure from Ohio. The Smallville timeline will be slightly twisted, with some elements occurring out of canon order.
Chronicle One: Not Alone
A dry wind stirred the red sand, burned by the sun like pale flesh, and sent it twisting in wisps across the barren flatness. Here and there, small pillars of rock pointed accusingly at the sky, watched by the far-between figures of brooding cacti and loose cages of withered sage. The sun sat low on the western horizon, a brilliant ball of orange and crimson made hazy by the gathering darkness that had yet to soothe its biting heat. Massive within its village of emptiness, a small plateau stretched across a gap of blankly smooth sky, its jagged, lopsided face all but hiding the narrow mouth of a dark cave that was fading from sight in the approaching night. From a distance, eyes could not see the thin beam of light that danced within.
Clark passed the flashlight over the sienna walls, squinting at the faded symbols carved in stark whiteness, disappointment settling in his heart. Not one rang familiar to his eyes, each as foreign as his own birth-language had once been. Whatever they were, whatever story they told, it was unlikely they would help him in his search, his father's great crusade. Frowning, he turned back to the cavern entrance, anxious to be back home, to find another lead to track down.
A not-so-far-off pulse rumbled through the earth, barely absorbed by the sunbaked sand that the plateau nested on. The walls shook around him and a piece of the ceiling shook loose, dropping a large boulder across his shoulders. On reflex, he tucked his head under the safety of his arms, remembering it was unnecessary as the stone broke against his back, shattering to dozens of head-sized pieces. A quick series of aftershocks abused the fragile structure further and Clark decided once again that it was time for him to leave.
It was almost nightfall but a dark red layer still remained in the sky, casting a surreal glow on the desert. Another quake rocked the ground, closer and stronger than the first and Clark struggled to maintain his balance. It was a wasted effort as he pitched himself to the ground anyway, diving to avoid a steaming Jeep that fell from the air. Instincts awakened, his head swiveled in the direction of the blast, apprehension tightening in his gut.
Yards away, the silhouettes of a man and a woman were close to the ground, obviously recovering from some jolting experience. If he had to guess, it was jumping from their vehicle before it was blasted sky high. Beyond them, less than a half-dozen tall figures stood side-by-side, indistinguishable with the sunset at their backs. Neither party took any notice of Clark, not seeing him as his brain quickly assessed the situation.
He was witness to a cartel assassination, or maybe a trafficking kidnapping. Anyone else might have slunk back into the cave and prayed to remain unseen, but he could do something; he had the power to protect the couple. He could save their lives without them ever knowing what had happened. Crusade aside, this was his destiny.
One of the tall figures raised a weapon that Clark could not identify, pointing it at the man on the ground. Instantly, the world slowed around him and he was moving, his eyes watching a long finger squeeze a trigger that, in the shadows, seemed to be part of the hand as well. A trickle of shocked fear shook him as a bright red glow flowered from the muzzle of the weapon instead of the muted orange starburst of gunfire. He caught sight of the woman's – no, she was a girl, really – mouth opening in a worried scream as she twisted to shove the targeted boy aside. Her hands had just reached when time resumed its natural pace and the red ball exploded against Clark's chest, a wave of intense heat wrapping over him, trying desperately to reach its victim. The force pushed him back and when the assault faded, he found his heels brushing against the girl's knees.
He exhaled slowly, ignoring the smoke rising from his clothes and hair. Smoldering patches of embers ate away at what remained of his shirt. Shaking a nonexistent fog from his head, he raised his eyes to the attackers, feeling uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. A nauseous feeling coursed through him as one of the men spoke, addressing him.
"Foolish boy. Your life might have been extended a while longer if you had not interfered here. Please tell me you are Number Five, so that I will not have to wait to kill the girl. Or you for that matter."
"Leave them alone," Clark demanded. He had no idea what the man was talking about, but no one was going to die if he could help it. "I won't let you kill anyone." An intense hatred bubbled in him as the man laughed.
"You won't let us? Fool, you can't stop us."
Another gun raised and Clark's reaction was instantaneous. He shot forward in a blur, smashing his fist against the barrel. It exploded in a hail of shrapnel and brilliant crimson fire that bounced off his skin and melted into the desert sands. He may have lacked the finesse and technique of Lex, Lana, or Lois, but he made up for that with his brute strength and near invincibility. A second reach-around punch connected with the man's gut and sent him flying back against a rickety pile of stones that crashed down around him. Clark did not take the time to pity his plight, flitting out of the way as a long knife swiped at him, completing his twist in a tackle that would have had his coaches torn about making him quarterback. The man beneath him went down and he slammed his knee into his jaw before springing to his feet, going after the next attacker whose intent and weapon were trained on the young couple.
Before he made it, the man was flung forward, hurtling towards the girl, murder in his eyes despite his unplanned charge. Clark faltered as she ducked beneath the barrel of the man's gun and rose up to plunge a knife of her own into his chest. As he fell dead, Clark felt a sharp pain flower in his shoulder, glancing down to see the knife he had evade a second ago buried deep in his skin. The man at its hilt twisted it viciously, coaxing a roaring cry of pain from Clark. A primal instinct rose in the boy and he pivoted, crashing his arm against the man's head, his fingers closing around his throat as he slammed him into the ground.
It took him a minute to recognize him as the man who had spoken, but that moment of clarity shunted aside the pained rage and he faltered. He did not like to kill; even twisted monsters deserved to live, even if it was behind bars and stone walls. He had fought so hard to be human; he could not toss it all aside even if the man held under his gradually loosening grasp wanted him dead. He wavered, his raised fist shaking.
The man grinned dementedly, a strangled laugh rising from his throat once more. "Not Numbered. Your people and mine are more alike than you think. The only difference is the race you destroyed was your own…Kryptonian."
He laughed harder as Clark's face tightened, and then he cut off in a gasp. As the life drained from his face, Clark glanced down, surprised to see a knife plunged in the man's chest. Numbly, he turned to stare at the boy who returned the gaze grimly.
"You killed him," he stammered in disbelief, falling to his hands and knees as the corpse collapsed into ash beneath him.
The girl walked up, sliding her knife into a sheath on her leg. She rested her hands on her hips, looking bored, and her voice was impassive. "Them or us."
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Clark hissed as the girl pulled the knife from his shoulder. "Pussy," she scoffed, dropping the blade to the sand. "I'd bandage that for you, but our first aid kit got nuked with our Jeep."
"I'll be fine."
"Yeah, in a year or so." She shone his flashlight on the wound, eyes widening as it closed seamlessly. "Or sooner."
Clark stood up, rotating his shoulder. "Who are you?"
"John Smith," she answered, indicating her companion over by the destroyed vehicle. Then she pointed at herself. "Jane Doe."
Clark raised an eyebrow, but extended a hand. "Clark Kent." When she had shaken it, he stooped and picked up the knife that was coated in his blood. His gaze roved over the empty desert, still stunned by the absence of bodies. "What were they? Why were they after you?"
"Mogs. They need to finish off our race in order to decimate the humans." She said it like he was supposed to know and he was strongly reminded of Lois.
"Mogs?"
"Mogadorians. Homicidal, world-burning psychopaths."
Clark nodded slowly, though in truth, he still had no idea what was going on aside from the fact that he was not the only alien on the planet. The thought was an odd mix of comforting and horrifying. "Where will you go now?"
Jane shrugged, falling back into her bored stance, turning her head as John walked over with what little he had been able to salvage.
"Power Bar?" he offered, holding one out to Clark. "They're not completely awful and you had to have used up a lot of energy."
He politely declined, insisting that he was fine, and traded Jane the knife for his flashlight. "You could come back to Smallville with me," he offered suddenly. The younger pair traded dubious looks that were almost lost in the darkness. "At least until you can rest up and resupply. You'll be safe."
"Can we train our Legacies on you?" Jane asked, her attention focused on John.
"Legacies? Do you mean abilities?" She nodded. "I don't see why not."
"Then we've got a deal. But if you double-cross us, this," she twirled the knife, "goes right back in. And my aim is a helluva lot better than that Mog's." Not waiting for a response, she lowered her sunglasses over her eyes and slung a worn-out backpack over her shoulder. "Lead on, Smallville."
Clark groaned.
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Author's Note: Ehhhhh…..I kind of lost steam in that second half, but I didn't want to cut off right after the fight sequence. It might have been a better cliffhanger, but would have been an awkward jumping off point for a new chapter. Anyway, I did what I did and it's done now. Please review.