1The blood oozed thick and dark out of the gaping wound. His pale hands clutched his stomach in desperation trying to stop the steady flow. His flesh had grown so weak and thin that even the slightest touch of his fingers tore new gashes. Clark's hands and arms were soaked with his own blood, and more he tried to stop it, the faster it flowed. His head swam and the pain was unbearable, but he only gripped harder. The blood began to glow green and he felt his insides melting. White hot pain ripped through his veins, and he screamed in agony. He fell forward with a thud, and opened his eyes to darkness.
Clark looked wildly around as his pupils adjusted to the dark. He felt the cold hardness of the floor beneath him. He'd fallen out of bed. He rose slowly on trembling knees, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the nightmare. The white shirt he wore clung to his body in large wet patches. A drop of moisture fell from his brow, and he panted heavily. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate. Looking down, he noticed the shirt was shredded across his stomach and flesh and fibers were caked beneath his nails. Only faint red marks remained from where he obviously clawed his skin, and they faded before his eyes.
He peeled off his soiled shirt, tossing it into a corner. His throat felt sore from the screaming he couldn't remember. He stood there, trying to make sense of his nightmare; but he knew why they were growing more violent. In a few hours they intended to open him again. The very thought sent waves of nausea and panic through him. He lay down across the bed, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling. But his jaw was set and he swallowed hard; he knew what he had to do.
Lex never bribed, coerced and threatened so many people in his life. But every threat of imminent pain and death had been worth the list he held in his hands. He was going over it for the third time, wondering how he'd missed it. His father had managed to buy up almost all the property on the west side of the river over the past six months. Clark could be in any one of those buildings. He had men scoping the area, on both sides of the river, and he planned to go there himself the next day. His hand lingered over the phone, debating whether to call Mr. Kent. He'd promised to call as soon as he got any leads, but he feared what Clark's father would do. He had a tendency to act first and ask questions later, a trait Clark shared. If Clark were still alive and had gone through what Lex suspected he had, he'd need Jonathan there. There was no doubt the situation would be extremely dangerous, and there was a chance one of them would be injured or worse. But if he somehow managed to get Clark out of there, Lex wasn't sure if he could give Clark the emotional support he needed. He picked up the phone and dialed the Kent's number.
"Mr. Kent, I suggest you come out now, or we'll have to send someone in to get you."
Clark gripped the edge of the sink, and stood up slowly. He flexed his arms, standing perfectly straight, feeling strength and vitality coursing through him. His wet hair clung to his scalp, and he wore a towel tied loosely around his waist. The shower before the procedure—he imagined it was some form of control to make him prepare himself for his own torture. He pushed down waves of anxiety, praying he'd be able to do what was needed. He emerged from the bathroom, staring blankly at the doctor and the two guards accompanying him. He hooked his thumb inside his towel and let it drop to the floor. He raised his arms slightly, signaling to the guards to take hold of them. The guards and the doctor looked slightly taken aback by his sudden courage. The guards hesitated before flanking his sides. They guided him towards the door. Clark paused only briefly at the doorway. The door to the lab opened and Lionel Luthor walked in. Clark smiled slightly, sealing his resolve. Clark stopped at the threshold and focused. The room erupted in an explosion of flames. The metal of the table immediately began twisting and melting under the intense heat. Clark narrowed his eyes again, training them on every corner of the room, and the rest of the lab exploded in a fiery blaze. Lionel tried to run forward, but a blast of heat drove him back. Everyone seemed at a lost of what to do. The guards holding Clark moved away from him in shock and fear. Lionel's screams of anger brought them back to their senses.
"What are you doing? Stop him!"
Clark saw the look on Lionel's face. He looked terrified and enraged. Clark held his gaze before Lionel quickly left the room. The guards flicked a switch on their batons, exposing their kryptonite tips. Clark immediately fell to his knees from the pain, and they dragged him back into his room. The lab became a flurry of activity as more men rushed in with extinguishers to contain the fire. The guards slammed the door behind them and shoved Clark against the wall, striking him repeatedly. Each stroke of the baton burned his skin and he cried out in spite of himself. Something had snapped in the guards, Clark could sense it, because they were no longer trying to subdue him, they were beating him now out of anger. He felt his skin opening and blood beginning to flow, but the small smile never left his face. They could do whatever they liked to him. For now at least—he'd won.