Superman: Arisen Chapter 21: Birthright, a superman fanfic

Chapter Twenty

BIRTHRIGHT

All that Clark could really do—surrounded by so many strange gizmos that he was sure no one on Earth had ever seen before, was stand and watch as the ship entered between time and space for less than a second before passing into a field of complete white. The ship was hovering a few metres above the snow.

Guiding process complete…triangulating Magnetic Polarity…84.9'N 131.0W-86.3'N 160.0'W…

The ship informed him before stabilising into one spot, and then he felt the crystalloid ship finally touch ground. A slight grumble as it dug deeper into the ground…and then finally, it all went quiet.

Genesis Fortress stabilising, foundations planted…

Not knowing what else to do, Clark looked around the room. If the room was meant to be some sort of bridge for a ship, then there must be some sort of control panel he could access for information. He looked at where he had placed his crystal. It was not completely inserted in. Trying his luck and instincts, Clark pushed the crystal further in, and instantly the room lit up.

'Genesis computer…online,' the ship's female voice started to say, '…Uploading Brainiac System Version Five…standing by… All systems are operational.'

Clark watched in amazement at the computer at work—lights were turning on, charts rearranging to accommodate the planet. Then, Clark saw pixelated cubes dancing around him from every direction and settled into one spot a few metres away from him. They began to build up a construct form from the feet, legs, then lower body and torso, limbs and then, finally, a head.

It was a man looking at him, smiling at him with his hands tucked over one another, rested above his navel. Clark felt a little anxious as he stared at the man and the man did the same. He was tall, bearded with brown hair that was greying. Clark took a few steps back until his legs were touching the control panel.

'My son,' he then began and Clark was completely taken by surprise. 'You do not remember me, Kal, but I am your father.'

'What?' Clark chortled nervously.

The man remained smiling as he walked closer. 'My name is Jor-El, on my planet I am what Earth would identify as a Scientist. Your mother's name is Lara Lor-Van, captain of Krypton's Capitol city Law-Enforcement.'

He couldn't believe it…literally, what was…this was happening so fast… 'Are you…are you really here?'

The man lowered his head in a sad bow. Clark knew what that meant. 'I am but a remnant of him, a reflection of his consciousness, created to house his mind and heart.'

'And Kal?' he asked, smiling timidly at the ghost, 'That's my name?'

Jor-El smiled and nodded. 'Kal-El,' he added, 'a Kryptonian tradition.'

There it was again, that word—Kryptonian. He had so many questions. 'There is so much that I…so much that I don't know about myself. Where…where do I come from? Why'd you send me…' he gestured around him as if to make a point. 'Why'd you send me here?'

Jor-El offered his son a sympathetic look and gestured to the centre of the room, at the circular table. It started to glow a bright blue and a holographic image formed above it in the form of a sphere with etched lines around it. 'You came from Krypton. It is a planet far from the galactic system of Earth, with a much harsher atmosphere, a much harsher sun.'

Clark couldn't help it. He smiled and chuckled to himself. 'You mean an older sun?'

Again, Jor-El nodded to him. Clark began to think a while, trying to piece together what he'd learnt so far when it came to his own body. Thinking of what Lea had told him. But then another question came into his mind.

'Where are you now?' He then cringed a bit at his mistake and shrugged to correct himself, 'I mean, are you still alive? My father and mother I mean?' And again, Jor-El gave him a sad expression, lowering his head. Clark felt tears begin to escape him and he asked what had happened.

Suddenly, Jor became darker and he turned around, facing the Arctic field. 'Hubris,' he muttered then turned again to Clark. 'But we will get to that in due time. I know that there are questions to be asked and it is time for you to do so.' He looked around him, at the grand structure built by his people many years before him. 'Here in this…this fortress of…solitude, you can find the answers to many of them.' He gestured to the door, asking his son to accompany him.

As they walked through the hallway of the magnificent craft, they talked. It seemed strange to him, talking about things—personal things to someone, especially to someone who knew more than he did about those personal things. This ghost of his father spoke with calmness and seemed kind enough. They talked about Lara, about Clark's mother.

'She was beautiful, your mother,' he said. 'We met while she was tasked with protecting my research team. She was what the people of Earth call a Police Officer.' They passed one of the rooms that held beddings where the giant wolf was sleeping. They stopped at the pods chamber, Jor-El then took a step back and looked at him, and suddenly Clark saw sadness in his father's eyes. 'You look so much like her, Kal,' he whispered. 'Unlike common human genetics, on Krypton, the dominant gene is maternal. You have her eyes, and her hair, you also have her strength.

'Your strength is not due to physical exposure to a yellow sun perse,' Clark stopped and considered him for a moment. 'The sun merely provides the atmosphere that feeds something far more intrinsic. You are no stronger than what your physical make-up suggests.'

'But I can pick up trucks with my bare hands, punch holes into concrete walls and bullets bounce off me like ping-pong balls?'

'That is what makes you different, Kal. You possess what I have discovered to be Tactile-Telekinesis. A form of molecular-bending, but what you have is a limited form of it, focussed on your strength. This form is universally known as Psionic Strength.'

They walked toward a large chamber about the size of the Smallville High Basketball court. Inside there were different tables with holographic projections of spheres, Clark guessed right that they were planets.

The two beings walked in as Jor continued to talk. 'It is the ability to augment your natural strength through the sheer power of the mind.'

Clark did manage to get the sense of what he was saying. It explained why most times when he's lifting cars or trains that are both heavier and larger than him without it crumbling under its own weight.

There was a sphere that looked somewhat like Earth, only he could not make out some of the lands and countries depicted. 'Krypton is an old planet, it was there when the universe was first created and we Kryptonians developed much sooner than humans.' The pictures then transformed into one of a humanoid, a Kryptonian. 'Kryptonians value intellect. We ventured into many fields of science and philosophy. In fact, Kryptonians were one of the first space travellers.

'As such I suspect it is this attribute which has evolved far beyond the brain function of human minds—that has given you the cognitive capabilities behind your slight telepathic abilities.'

Clark was intrigued and little bit giddy. 'Will I be able to move things with my mind or does this relate to psionic strength?'

'Unfortunately, your biological template is not related to that level of telepathy,' Jor explained. 'By all accounts, all life forms exist with the basic purpose of survival imprinted in their DNA. Strength is a vital aspect for survival and as such, under the young and nourishing yellow sun, feeds the psionic enhancements that which your body and mind rely greatly in order to survive in such a drastically different environment with its own physical law. It strengthens your skin, your muscles, your ability to see, hear, feel.'

Clark could not argue that all of this, though quite surreal, was really filling out a lot of blanks. But his head was swimming with so many questions. He was ready—he was ready to learn everything.

-=O=-

The next day Jor-El directed him to an extension of the archives. Thankfully the ship's system had many functions and capabilities; it was able to translate most of the texts to English. Still he found the Kryptonian language exciting, learning it from the various books. He found also some in languages that existed outside of Earth.

The archives were huge, and they opened up a whole new universe for the small town boy.

At school he was always odd, and not just because of his abilities, he found, but because of his immense curiosity in regards to the sciences. The young Clark would gaze up at the stars and talk about them for hours to Lana. He expressed a desire to explore them one day.

What he found in the archives at the fortress was no short of ground-breaking. There were so many planets, billions and billions of varying life, streaming from one side of the cosmos to the other. And as a fast fan of the majority of them, Clark soaked in the tales they had to offer.

After some time he took to wandering the magnificent superstructure, gazing at the tapestries and murals. There were words etched in Kryptonian in front of one of the thousands of rooms on that floor alone.

He was having difficulty translating. 'Good afternoon, Master El,' in came a homely looking robot with the Kryptonian number four.

'Good afternoon, Four,' Clark responded.

The robot looked at him but Clark didn't know what the machine was thinking. The neutral looking face resembled a human being; he looked like a roman statue with glowing blue eyes. 'Might I ask what the master is doing?'

'Yeah, sorry,' he tried to apologise. 'I was just wondering about these strange hieroglyphics. What do they say?'

'It is a warning, young sir,' said the robot, 'a cautionary suggestion.'

Intrigued, Clark asked what it said but the robot shrugged oddly. 'I'm merely interested. I see a lot of resemblances between the Kryptonian language system and some ancient languages here on Earth.' He began to steadily caress the plaque inquisitively. 'What secrets could this tell us?'

The robot nodded in understanding. 'I see your point, Master El.'

Clark tried not to cringe at the title. He'd made a point yesterday that referring to him as 'Master' did not sit well with his conscience. 'Please, Four, just "Clark" would do,' the robot gave a silent nod but Clark suspect he would be hearing 'Master' again soon. 'So tell me what it says.'

Four inspected the wall for a moment before reciting the text, 'Employees…must wash hands or suffer astral-bacterial infection.' He bowed to his host and clamoured away. Clark on the other hand, stood with his arms crossed, staring a little disappointedly at the plaque. Pouting his mouth he walked off into the ship's elevator to the bridge.

-=O=-

Four months rolled in fast, passing him by so quickly while he explored the universe. Building up his knowledge and experience, but apart from that, it felt good to be able to talk about everything. He thought he'd be given everything, get every question answered for him just like that, but this, he and the interactive construct of his father, searching for the answers together, it felt right.

He stood in the middle of the active space. It took him months to master this, starting first by reading data canisters like books—but after weeks of conditioning his mind, he started an advanced educational program. He was on a platform while holographic information in every language scrolled around him. His eyes took in every word, though he realised he was much too slow to take things in efficiently.

The seven hundred-thousand and counting, star-systems in the cosmos was broken down into sectors after the first Galactic Civil War which itself divided the universe into three constantly warring factions. The Antimatter Pact lead by the warlord Darkseid held the upper hand against the two other factions—The Maltusian Order, with their hatred of chaos created the first shared planetary law, and the technologically advanced Covenant of Genesis devoted their time and energy in the exploration of the sciences.

But in this fight, Chaos had the winning hand. Darkseid's forces utilised a vast array of power as it eventually became apparent that the entity of unknown origins was not conquering planet systems and ruling them, spreading his ideas as the others were. In fact, Darkseid was not leaving anything behind in his path. More than twelve thousand star-systems were destroyed or left uninhabitable when the warlord of Apokolips passed, causing the extinction of many and the near annihilation of all life itself.

The theology of Apokolips was centred on chaos—around the concept that chaos dominated everything else, that order would eventually return to Chaos, that the basest of natural instinct no matter how violent will dominate the wise, the knowledgeable. Though nothing more than a concept, Darkseid was able to manipulate such into the vessel of his dominion. And in the six-millionth Kryptonian cycle, Darkseid discovered the anomaly known as Prime. His intent was to destabilise the universe completely. Drok-El of the Kryptonian Academy of Science determined that the destruction of Prime, the first cloud of which all of life originated from, would start a series of cataclysmic events that would topple everything.

With these findings, Krypton sought help from the Prophets who in-turn directed them to the Guardians of Maltus. And thus was formed the Alliance under the collective leadership of the Guardians…

Clark screamed out in pain, falling out of the data field and off the platform, clutching his head. His heart was beating uncontrollably. He needed more training, to get used to the sensation of information flowing into his head that way.

-=O=-

Clark stood within a huge, empty, four sided chamber. He looked at himself, reflected and multiplied upon crystal mirrors that lined the walls. He flexed his muscles, cracking his neck a bit and readied himself.

The mirrors flashed and the reflections of him were replaced with silver versions and started to exit the mirrors.

'Today will be a test of physical strength and combat,' said his father. The silver Clarks advanced on him. 'Dispatch the Reflections, Kal, by any means necessary.'

The battle began immediately with the silver Clarks surrounding the original. Clark found that a few punches would shatter them like glass, but they sure did put up a fight.

They kept coming in, though, like a swarm of ants around some discarded meat and nearly overwhelming him entirely. The Silver Clarks were not unlike any other super-powered being he'd fought in the past. Their powers almost resembled his if not slightly reduced. One of them grabbed Clark from the back, holding him in an arm-lock and bended knee.

That was when Clark's eyes lit up and blazing streams of violent red fire shot out at his silver-selves, shattering seven of them and clearing himself. He continued to fire for a few more minutes before stopping the streams. He groaned in pain at the stinging left behind by the lasers. Sadly, his pause, was his undoing, even a mere second was an open window for the Silver horde to overpower him. He was relocked within another's arm.

He roared out in pain as they began to pile up on him. One after another they boomed in, until his vision was completely nulled.

-=O=-

'Krypton once inhabited the space sector 2813 of the known and monitored universe, over 27.1 lightyears from Earth,' Jor-El started explaining. He was casually striding through the lively corridors. Once it was so empty, the aura of death still hung from time to time, though now, blue lights illuminated the halls, the clanking of robotic feet echoing throughout. This was how the Kryptonian Scout Ship was meant to be, well almost.

More than sixty thousand years ago, this ship was full of people—Kryptonians, scientists and ship crew members. Jor-El sighed. As Jor-El's consciousness, he experienced all of the emotions that came with him—his happiness, his excitement, even his pain and sadness. Close to the end of his life, he felt an immense array of intense feelings. At first it was anger…rage, then focus, then sadness. As the consciousness looked on at Jor's son, he felt that sadness return.

'Why didn't you come with me?' he asked him, wondering if this consciousness would know the things that ran through his actual father's head on his final day. 'Why didn't you and mother escape as well?'

'We were known as the most advanced civilization in the universe, Kal,' the two forms moved along the tunnel, passing by the armoury. 'But we were shrewd. We became arrogant. After war broke out between various empires and space sectors, instead of finding ways to help put a stop to the chaos, Krypton chose to completely cut itself off from the rest of the cosmos.' Jor-El released a sad breath. 'Rao knows we wanted to, son. I tried to save our entire race. All we needed to do was simply to allow us to, I might have been able to construct more transport vessels,' he explained. 'Interstellar travel was outlawed by the council, believing we were far too superior as opposed to the rest of the cosmos. We believed we were beyond petty conflicts and that exploring the universe would corrupt us. It was blasphemy, but also a mode of thinking that I believe had understandable grounds.

'The Space academies were destroyed, research was discontinued and those freethinkers, curious about discovery, were persecuted. Soon the stars were sin.'

Clark nodded and allowed him to continue.

'Ironically we became too engrossed with petty conflict to notice the signs.' Just ahead was a door Clark did not seem to recognise. 'Reduced to flames and ashes…that is not what I want for you, my son. We had discovered a way to replenish our resources and stop the conflict on that front by harvesting energy from the planet's core. It worked and for some time we had peace. We were so content we did not see our red sun reaching its final stage before supernova.

'To add to the destruction—the dying sun was giving out energy, too much for the planet to properly process into resources as we were no longer using that energy.'

They made their way back to the archives. Jor led him to a section closer to the entrance. A desk was switched on to reveal a holographic depiction of a man in strong metallic military armour, Kryptonian by the design. He had a dark beard and piercing, almost maniacal glare.

'When e and my research team discovered this fact, we tried to pitch this threat to the ruling council, but at that time, this man, Zod, had ignited insurrection. Though his motivations were commendable, he deterred attention away from the planet's impending doom. After all, I was not a much respected scientist at the time.'

'What did you do?'

Jor-El's thoughts were clogged in his throat. He sighed. 'I spoke my mind…I spoke out of turn.' Though he seemed a little ashamed, he saw a slight glint in his son's eyes, maybe pride. 'There is a base instinct imbedded in every living thing with a consciousness and a will. Fear has its moments, but we are taught to fight it. But while the Council feared what I had to say about their laws, your mother did not.' He took a break, waiting for Kal to digest. 'But people fear anything that impends on their chances of survival, like the prospect of uncertainty.'

-=O=-

Again, Clark was surrounded within the Practice Room. His hostile selves were merciless and single-minded. He shattered more than half of them and when they overcrowded, Clark saw fit to use his heat vision again, but was met with the same outcome. He recoiled in pain for a microsecond and was thrown across the room, shattering a crystal projector.

Enraged, Clark threw down his knuckled onto the ground where he knelt in exhaustion, 'Why can't I beat this?!'

Jor-El then appeared before him, offering him a supportive smile. 'You were holding back,' he said simply. Soft breathing was also heard as the wolf came from behind him, wagging his tale full if hair as he passed.

'No I just…' Clark protested.

'You've been holding back ever since you first discovered you had abilities, ever since they started manifesting,' the Kryptonian construct offered. Every time you use your powers you hold back, never revelling in them.'

The young man could only shrug at his father, feeling as though he was sent to the naughty corner or something. 'Well yeah…I mean it hurts when I use it—'

Jor-El disagreed. 'No you are afraid, my son,' he said. 'I can see it on your face. Your fear is what blocks your path. When you projected the radiation you pause in momentary respite because you were uncertain about its nature, about your nature.'

Seeing no way around this, Clark resigned and nodded. 'I…When I first found out I was incredibly strong, I dislocated a boy's shoulder that was bullying one of my friends,' he began. 'I was so afraid. When I first rode my bike and nearly set all of my father's crops ablaze, I was afraid. For all of my life I was afraid of what people would say about me, that they'd reject me.'

'Thus you tried to blend in more?'

Clark nodded.

'Kal,' Jor strode to Clark. He kept a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the fact that his fingers were already overlapping his molecular structure. Jor-El was after all, nothing but data. 'In this estrangement, you have subconsciously installed mental barriers which would drown out your powers.'

The young man from Smallville was one step away from shocked. 'I…I didn't mean to—I just…'

Jor-El saw the bashfulness in his son's eyes and chuckled, 'It is alright, my son. Your mother actually foresaw this, that your heritage might make you feel estranged from those around you…might make you feel too different.'

'I'm sorry, father,' Clark couldn't meet Jor-El in the eyes. Despite his many abilities, despite his invulnerability, there was always something that held him down. There was always some nagging of inadequacy in the pit of his stomach. Something that took hold his fear most was failure.

His father nodded. 'It is okay, son. Everything that has ever happened to you has been a defence mechanism. It is only natural. You will progressively learn to control them, to channel them, as you have learned to conceal them.'

'You believe that that is the problem with me?' Clark asked him cautiously. 'Because I've done the best I could so far. I've tried for so long to use my abilities for good.'

Jor-El understood him, morbidly recollecting his own…well, Jor-El's own isolation. 'Walk with me, Kal.'

There was a large chamber at the very centre of the pyramid. It was reserved for special ceremonies and knightings. At the very end was a large wall engraving that Clark recognised. The S shield he once wore brazenly on his chest.

Clark followed his father down the room, up some steps and onto a stone stage. Standing before the symbol, Jor-El raised his hand and the wall opened up to reveal an entire suit, form-fitting, darkish blue suit from head to toe with a red belt that separated the top from the bottom as well as red boots.

Emblazed on the chest was to his bewilderment the same symbol—stylised red S in a diamond shield with a golden background. 'What is it?' he inquired curiously.

'This is a Kryptonian battle armour set,' Jor-El announced. 'It reacts to a person's genetic make-up, to your DNA. This is your birthright, Kal-El.'

Clark bobbed his head. It sent fireworks in his heart to hear those words from him. He would have wanted nothing more. He stood closer, feeling the emblem with the tip of his fingers and asked what it stood for. 'I mean, on Earth, it's the letter S.'

Jor-El lightly chuckled. 'I can see the resemblance it has to some of Earth's symbology and alphabet system,' he then opened the top part of his robe to reveal his own S shield. 'This is our symbol, Kal. The emblem of the House of El. On Krypton, families, houses, have their symbols to represent them, much like your medieval history has done on Earth.' He looked back at the suit and Clark could see clearly, the sadness return to his eyes. It only lasted a few seconds before he snapped out of it. 'There is also another meaning to this symbol, Kal. When our civilization formed and grew and our people were short of inspiration, for all of our advanced minds, we were still slaves to our violent instincts. But beyond that, this symbol shone as something more.'

'Like what?'

Jor's mouth formed a smile as he answered, 'It stood for "hope", my son.'

Next, Jor took his son to another extension of the archives a floor below it. He showed him an ancient depiction of a man from Krypton's early histories. Jor-El explained that this man was an unknown son of their namesake, the first El.

'His name is unknown but during Krypton's first world war that would determine to which faction of the interstellar war we would fight for, he was given the name Kon-El. In that time it was an insult because he was different.'

Curiously, Clark asked him how this man was.

'Unlike those of the time, where Krypton was more interested in instruments of war, Kon who was rumoured to have been a hybrid of Kryptonian and another race known as Andromedan when El fell in love with a princess of their home world.' He told of how these two worlds were at war, of how that word, "Kon" meant abomination.

He also told of despite this, when civil war broke out and while the Houses fought each other to see which was right, those without, were treaded upon, Kon stepped up to lead these House-less citizens and unite Krypton with one simple word—'Hope.'

'Conscious beings often struggle with the concept of right and wrong,' Jor-El began dictating to Clark, standing in the centre of the archives with images passing around him. 'Your own concepts of good and evil may not even be morality at its correct form.'

'Then how do we fight evil when we don't even know what that means?'

That was when the images exploded into various depictions, videos that covered the whole archives, of worlds vast and populated. He saw the thousands of different races, different planets, he saw them going about their lives in relative happiness and peace. 'Then perhaps, my son, it is not good and evil that is in contrast, that are at odds, but rather life and anti-life.'

Clark looked at him scrupulously, 'You mean Death?' He wondered if he misheard him or perhaps it was a Kryptonian thing.

'No,' he shrugged, 'Life and Death like Order and Chaos are not necessarily opposites.' Several images flashed, religious and thought-provoking in nature. The Christian Cross, David's Star, Arabic word for Allah, Hindu Swastika, he saw the statue of Themis also known as Lady Justice, standing with her scale and sword. 'There is an ancient legend on Krypton about two entities—The Flame-bird and The Night-wing. Have you heard of it?'

He nodded, recalling the tale he'd heard of when first the crystal spoke to him after his father's funeral. 'I've heard it once. I remember telling that story to ma whenever she had trouble sleeping or felt depressed. It's the story of two of Krypton's gods?'

Again, Clark saw his Kryptonian father smile at him. He nodded approvingly at him and continued. 'Whether they were deities or angels as The Book of Rao describes, is object to debate, but the story goes that these two entities where in contrast to each other. It was The Night-wing's nature to rebuild everything that The Flame-bird destroyed including itself.'

Clark nodded attentively. 'It's a great story. A great dragon of fire, being charged by…Rao?...to destroy everything, fell in love with The Night-wing, who was then to rebuild everything else again, just so they could spend one fleeting moment together before they too are destroyed. A little melancholy if you ask me.'

To this however, Jor shook his head. That was not exactly the main point of the story but merely the skin. 'The legend is about the nature of the universe, the nature of reality,' he elucidated wisely. 'They were polar opposites, Kal, yet the Flame-bird could not exist without the Night-wing rebuilding the world as he could not exist without the purpose she provided. Those we see as opposites often rely on the other to exist. What is life without the concept of death to put into perspective its value? And what is death without the purpose heralded by living?'

As he spoke, a question crept into Clark's thoughts. He made a point to ask his father now while he remembered, after all, it had never really occurred to him before. 'Will I die?'

'Given time, as it passes bye,' he said simply. 'But the real questions are how and why?'

The young man shrugged, not really knowing how to answer. 'I thought it was to be…I don't know…a hero? Some sort of avenger, fighting the corrupt in the name of those without voices?' But Jor-El gazed at him expecting him to continue. Clark was still unsure of what to say. He'd never really questioned why so much as how. He knew already that most men in power became corrupt at the expense of those of "Lower Standards". In Metropolis, the man that reined on top of that list was Lex Luthor.

Clark had made it his job to investigate, to bring him into account his crimes by any means necessary. In fact it was Luthor who practically created the Suicide Slums when he forced the mayor to divert many of the city's funds from citizen healthcare and education to support what Clark found out to be a secret project called Cadmus. After that project sank, it was then used for a government project designated Collector.

Those people in Midtown Metropolis and Suicide Slums were who he was fighting for. Weren't they?

He was doing a good job. He recalled apprehending Hornigold and Glen Glenmorgan. They were released after a while but he had thought that society would see his angle and see the corruption that the two had sowed. But instead, he was ostracized by them—the people he was trying to help.

People feared him, they hated him, and thus Clark felt that he had failed them.

'What do you fight for, son?' Jor-El asked him again.

-=O=-

LOCATION:

KENT FARM, SMALLVILLE

He'd never realised just how damp his room was, even with his windows open, the morning sun on its course for noon, it seemed stuffy and quite messy as well. His books were in a chaotic pile on his table, blinding with old comics. His clothes were tussled on his bed and on the wooden floor, highlighted by sunlight.

Usually he wouldn't mind, he has been living in it for near fifteen years, but today…it bugged the crap out of him as he sits there on his bed.

He hears footsteps and follows them absentmindedly as they get louder, culminating in a few taps on his door. He remains silent because he knows his mother…silence is a big red flag.

'Hey,' Martha peers through and the sight of his son, seated with his devastation. 'Sweetie, are you alright?'

Still, Clark doesn't speak and simply continues to stare down at his feet.

Martha awkwardly nods but begins to press on. 'I've made you an omelette with toast for breakfast. Are you hungry, Clark?'

Clark slowly shook his head.

It was far from an acceptable response in Martha's opinion…but she understood his pain, she felt it too. It wasn't just heartache, it was every sort of pain—one hurt causing the other until it was felt all over. Seeing his beloved son like this only added the wound to her heart. She knew better than to leave it, something, a motherly instinct. But she also knew Clark. He dealt with things differently.

She told him she understood, closed the door and walked downstairs. She paused when she heard a rustling coming from his room—the sound of a sudden grumble followed by various objects falling off a table in a mad shower.

To any mother, that was a sound most dreaded coming from their child. So she ran back upstairs, but carefully opened it for herself. 'Clark?'

His boy, his little Clark, though not a spot of him resembled either Jonathan or her, she had always felt a bond with him that tied the family together. He made it whole, but now, strangely she felt that foundation crumble all at once.

She was about to exit again when he spoke, softly, almost a whisper that was carried in the wind. 'I'm sorry, Ma,' he said. She turned to him and suddenly drowned in his eyes—unnaturally blue eyes, veiled by a windscreen of water. 'Ma, I'm sorry.'

'Clark—'

'I couldn't save him, Ma,' and then he broke, broke down into uncontrolled sobs. Martha rushed to her son's side, engulfing him in her arms. 'I'm so, sorry, Ma!' he kept on saying into her hug.

She kept his head tucked beneath her chin, caressing his dark hair warmly as she tried to calm and comfort him. 'It's alright, Clark,' she told him. 'Come here, sweetie. It's okay.' As she continued to sooth his conscience—telling him that it was not his fault, that no one was really to blame, he just kept on apologising. Oh how she wished she could make him stop, that her words would ease his heavy heart.

The next morning, despite his mother's suggestion to stay home, Clark still attended school as per usual. He did however promise her that he would only stay until 1pm and be back as quickly as he could.

He was used to people whispering about him behind his back. He could always hear them but obviously it was far easier not to have told them that he could. Usually they would mutter how he was a loner, he had no friends, that he was a freak or a nerd or if he dobbed on someone trying to copy the exam answers he heard the word 'asshole' or 'fuck-face'.

Now he heard them. They were tip-toeing around him, as if there were land mines around him. At the courtyard, Clark made his way to his next class though his books were still in his locker—his first stop. He catches the eye of Brad Fordham with his group. He felt his eyes following him but his friends were too preoccupied pushing around the new guy.

A small fourteen year-old that skipped a grade with big old glasses. They took his specks and began chucking it around while watching him scuttle after it, laughing at him. Clark walked up to them and they suddenly stopped, though he could not get their grinning to stop.

'You guys have anything better to do than to play devil's advocate?' Clark shot daringly.

'Says the freakozoid-teacher's pet,' Greg Park shot back. 'You're and asshole did you know that?' obviously he was referring to the Park's suspension from school after he was caught cheating an exam, in which cost him a position on the Smallville High football team, in turn had cost Smallville an entire season.

Greg and his friends had all rose up to meet their enemy. They rose taller than him, surrounding him in less than friendly circles. He notices that everyone in the yard had started to come closer to watch something unfold, bored with their routine school life. He also noticed someone not in the crowd of people. Brad was still seated, not doing much of anything really, except staring at him.

Clark shuffled nervously as the oncoming audience arrived, starting to cheer them on. He was not in the mood. Luckily he saw the new kid had gotten his glasses back and ran off away from attention. Thus Clark merely looked at Greg, Ben Whitley, James Sulkin, Corey Teller, Luke Lerman and Josh Cross, as they circled around him. 'Come on, Kent,' Greg taunted. 'I think I owe you a disfigured face on behalf of the school.'

He looked about the yard, then to his hostiles, to the spectators, and his fists, balled, red, but he shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd with Greg and his friends guffawing at him. No one else did.

No one else said a thing.

He realises water slowly running down his cheek. He ran to his locker and frantically tried to open it, although he was failing drastically, his hands were shaking.

'Yo, Kent,' Brad called for him as he approached.

Clark shook his head, finally opening his locker but trying to quickly avoid another confrontation. 'Please, Brad, not now.'

He did not seem to have understood the tone in his voice. He tried to pull Clark's attention by the shoulder, 'No, Kent, just listen I—'

CRASHHH! Brad felt like air was just stripped from his lungs as he found himself being held by the shirt by strong, reddening hands, staring down at two terrifyingly red orbs. 'You think that you could just push people around, Fordham…push me around?' Clark held him about five inches off the ground, his own locker was smashed. 'You know what that kid goes through every day, because I do!' His face, his tone of voice displayed a rage that didn't just scare Brad…it rocked his core, his soul. 'He doesn't need you or your cronies to fuck up his life!'

'Kent, look I get it,' he pleaded, his voice caught in his throat. 'Okay, I get it. Your dad died, I get it…I know how it feels, Kent…and I'm sorry.'

Clark was still, he kept stern eyes on Brad.

'Clark!' Lana's voice called to him, snapping him back away from pure instinct. Though he still looked angry, his eyes were no longer red. He saw the hallway looking at him, staring in shock. He was always known for being the calmest person in Smallville—they've never seen him throw a punch, never heard him raise his voice, never seen him lose it. To see him doing all those things…was frightening. Lana walked up to the young man, hurt and angry, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, 'Clark, please, let him go!'

He took one last look at him, at Brad then released him as he was asked.

-=O=-

'So how is he?' Clark asked.

Lana sighed and shuffled closer to her old friend. They sat as they once did atop his barn as the orange sun makes way for night. 'He's fine,' she responded. 'I got him to see the nurse and they said you didn't break anything but the locker so he'll be fine.'

'I'm sorry.' Clark saw him a whole lot differently now. digging a little bit he found that Brad's dad, a football star in his own right, had pushed him a little too hard to achieve athletic greatness. He was also an alcoholic and an abusive husband, which was why after their divorce, Brad and his mother moved to Smallville. He could not pretend not to know why Brad felt the need to talk to him about his dad. He saw it coming, how he looked at him at the yard. It was far from developing a friendship, further from a mutual respect…more like an understanding.

For some reason Lana couldn't help but chuckle, 'That seems to be a catch phrase with you, you know. Right next to "You're welcome".'

The two shared another brief moment of light hearted levity, something he sorely missed. They remained silent for a moment, basking in the last hour of sun.

Then the mood changed as Lana brought up one other topic she was anxious about. 'So how are you holding up?'

'What do you think, Lana,' he said. 'All those things I can do…all these powers,' he bore his hands, looking at their emptiness. They looked so normal, like everyone else's. 'I couldn't even save him.'

'You're being hard on yourself, bro,' Pete had come up to join them. 'There was nothing you could have done, you know that.'

Kent shook his head at him. That was the problem. There was something he could have done to save them all, he just knew it. He was not strong enough. Once Pete sat down beside him they shook hands,

'Sorry we couldn't make it to his funeral.'

Clark assured him that it was okay, but they all knew how he felt deep down. These powers…his mother and father told him they were a gift, but they isolated him, made him scared of himself. What he was…was a burden.

'Thanks,' he said suddenly to his friends. 'Thanks for being here for me, eventually.'

Pete lightly laughed and he and Lana both hugged their mutual friend, 'Always here for ya, bro.'

'Ever thought about what you'll do after high school?'

-=O=-

'I was always afraid of my powers. I feel like I'm living in a world of cardboard,' he recited to his father his pain and sorrow. Though not always a constant, it was a strong feeling at times. 'I was always afraid of breaking something, or someone. When I started looking for control, it was to remedy this, to stop me from feeling more like a monster, but also to hear more of their stories as well. To understand why they see me as a monster, then maybe they might not see me as such.'

There was a section of the fortress that was open to the outside and opened up to a cavern in ice with a waterfall of crystal clear water. He sees on an opposite ledge over the chasm of water, a polar bear walking by looking at the curious Kryptonians.

Soon the Kryptonian wolf hovered by and they two magnificent beasts began to commune.

'Your fear is not your fault, Kal,' his father began. 'Neither is it theirs. Because your fear is not something to be ashamed of, and once you know that, once you have accepted that fact, it will cease to control you.'

-=O=-

In the Practice Room, he had been facing off with forty simulation bots at a time. Clark had been training in his combat all day, so why was it that he kept finding himself kneeling down on one knee trying to catch his breath with blood from his nose. Everything he got from getting beat up pretty quickly.

The yellow sun of Earth fuels your psionic strength giving you strength beyond anything imagined on both our worlds.

As the weeks came by, Clark found himself greatly improve. In the Practice Room, he'd been fighting the Reflections all morning, testing his limits. With punches that created sonic booms and kicks that left craters on the metal floor, he dispatched the training dummies but found that they were fast outnumbering him again.

Your powers and abilities, my son, like many if not all aspects of life stem from the power of will. Your will to act, your faith in yourself…Confidence in what you can do…

Like before—his eyes began to glow and he shot out his intense heat beams, able to burn through all of them, the forms shattered into piles on the floor which were then reclaimed by the wall. He'd been practicing every day now, to release his heat vision without the handicap he implanted in himself.

After so many days of practice—Clark stood in the centre of the room as Reflections came at him from every direction, All Clark could do was burst them into flames with his eyes, short beams, but efficient.

…These are the keys to control. Belief in the possibility of anything through the scope of reality…

-=O=-

A month later…

The first thing that tickles his skin is the cool breeze. Strange how a few months in the fortress had made his senses more sensitive. He was far from master of them, but at least now, his control was far more defined.

He walked onto the snow. His army boots crunched his path for a mile before he paused. Sleaves of his white shirt pulled up he laid his knuckles onto the ground and closed his eyes. He was in deep, deep thought.

…Because your powers are based on the psionic link between your physical reality and the will power of thought, everything relies on the mind. In your exile, you mastered the suppression of your powers…now we will have you embrace them…

With a mighty thrust, Clark pushed himself off the ground. Rising into the skies…then falling down again, creating a large crater around him. But he pushed off again, shooting up, but yet again, he falls, this time, straight into a small mountain, causing it to explode.

As for the purpose of why you fight, I want to ask you a question, Kal. The legend of Flame-Bird and Night-Wing were seen by the ancients as representatives of the nature of reality. Chaos and Order, Life and Death, Fire and Water—the question is…which represents which?

They are not polar opposites…they are the source of the other…

Clark climbed out of the freshly made pit, his shirt now completely ripped. He sighed and opted to just dispel the shirt altogether. Now, standing in the chill with but his combat pants and surprisingly still his boots, he looked to the skies once again. He could feel it calling to him.

Then that is why I have to fight? To show them which one to defeat? I don't believe I can, father. I've tried, for so long…I've tried and failed miserably.

You cannot assist them in every aspect of their lives, every conflict, and every struggle. To try and save humanity from nature, or as you have tried, to supress their own nature…you shouldn't. They will never learn if you do. You will give them an ideal to strive towards. They will race behind you, they will stumble…they will fall. But in time…they will join you in the sun, Kal…

Clark readied himself, a new fire stirring in his heart. He could do this. He had to rise up…take their hands, show them the universe. Then with another push, a great push, Clark was lifted off the ground in a rush, up into the skies, he was not going to fall, not this time. His hands were in front of him, pushing him forward.

The sensation of the wind, holding him up and pushing him across the ocean of clouds, he will never forget this. He was flying again, this time, without the training wheels, he could lift off as many times as he wished for his abilities, his nature was now in his control.

Over oceans of ice and snow, green fields filled with animals and mountains that split the Earth, Clark was offered such tremendously breathtaking views. He pushed himself further, now breaking the sound barrier travelling at more than 800 mph.

He crossed the snowy plains of the North then to the yellow fields across the African savanna, a smile played upon his face like an excited seven year-old. He could go faster now, no longer need to already be in motion in order to fly.

Next he tried stopping, pulling his body back he feels the slight pressure of his sudden stop. He looked up to the sky, the great yellow orb hovering ominously above like a sentinel.

In time you will help them accomplish wonders…

Then he hears it, the screams for help, rushing in like shrieks in his head and flooding his heart. From life threatening cries to trivial complaints.

He hears one in particular—the cries of a little girl in the streets of Israel, her brothers are too busy fighting with the soldiers to notice their sister had broken her ankle, probably why they were fighting to begin with, but what they did not realise was a tank only a few metres away from her. She is too small thus would not be able to grab the tank's attention quick enough.

Clark gathered up all of his strength and in a blink of an eye…VHOOSH! He vanished.

-O-

Author's Note: Apologies if this chapter seems a little all over the place. I had a bit of writer's block for a few weeks before suddenly ideas were pouring in all at once, too much for my mind to completely comprehend. I do hope that you guys are still on board here.

All in all though, I did find this chapter a blast to write. I tried to address some things here and there that's been bugging me this week.

I picked up the latest Superman/Wonder Woman comic and am now apprehensive about them. I'm worried. Actually like them together but their relationship is being threatened here. What I really want to see actually, is for them to actually have a kid, maybe a daughter introduced into the canon universe. The Dark Knight Returns' universe offspring of them was interesting but it's an elseworld situation. I want to see their children in a canon storyline.

What do you guys think?

-O-

I want to also thank Heart of the Demon for your continued support of this fic. Some of the readers have stopped and it helps to know none of this is going to waste or is just gibberish nonsense. Molto grazie, mio amico.