Smallville In the Yellowstone

by jasonlegree1234

Smallville Yellowstone is a unique fusion of two iconic worlds—the sprawling ranch life of Yellowstone and the legendary origins of Superman. Set against the rugged backdrop of Montana, the story follows the Dutton family as they discover an extraordinary child who crashes onto their ranch during a mysterious meteor shower.

22. Chapter 22

AN: This Chapter took a long time, mainly due to DB Sparking Zero coming out and me trying to beat all the story mode AU events lol, I loved this sequence in the series and i hope i did it justice blending the two series together. Enjoy.

Chapter 22: Exodus

The storm cellar was dark and silent, a cold, oppressive stillness hanging in the air. Clark's heart pounded as he stepped down into the small, enclosed space, his boots crunching softly against the dirt floor. The dim light from the single bulb above cast long shadows across the rough wooden beams, flickering slightly as if in response to the strange energy filling the air.

In the centre of the cellar, the small, sleek ship that had carried him to Earth lay dormant, its metallic surface glinting faintly in the dim light. Clark stared at it, his mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.

But before he could take another step, the ship began to glow.

A low hum filled the air, vibrating through the ground beneath his feet. The ship's surface shimmered, the strange, angular symbols etched into its hull flaring to life in a dazzling array of colours. Clark stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock as the ship lifted slightly off the ground, its shape twisting and changing before his eyes.

"Wha—what's happening?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

And then, a deep, resonant voice filled the cellar, echoing off the walls and vibrating through his bones.

"Kal-El," it intoned, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "You have come at last."

Clark took a step back, his heart hammering. "Who—who are you?"

"I am Jor-El," the voice replied, the words rich and powerful. "The culmination of your father's will and knowledge."

"My—my father?" Clark breathed. "But… how?"

"The ship you see before you was created to preserve the essence of your true heritage," the voice of Jor-El explained. "I am here to guide you, to show you your true path. The path you were always meant to walk."

Clark's gaze shifted to the ship, his heart clenching painfully. "What… what do you mean?"

"It is time for you to leave this life behind," the voice of Jor-El said firmly. "Time to leave this place and embrace your destiny."

Clark's breath caught. "Leave? But—I can't just leave my family! My friends! This is my home!"

"Your destiny lies far beyond this small world," the voice of Jor-El murmured. "You were sent here not merely to survive, but to rule. You must return to me at sunset. You will leave this place… and fulfil your true purpose."

Clark shook his head wildly, his heart pounding with fear and confusion. "No," he whispered. "I—I don't want to leave. I can't. This is my home."

"You have no choice," Jor-El said coldly. "Your future was decided long before you arrived on this planet. You will return here at sunset… or face the consequences."

Clark's jaw clenched. "What consequences?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

"The choice is yours to make," the ship replied. "But your path is clear. You will return to fulfil your destiny… or you will face the destruction of all that you hold dear."

And before Clark could respond, the light around the ship flared brightly, blinding him.

When the light faded, the ship was still and silent once more, its surface smooth and unchanged. But the words of Jor-El echoed in Clark's mind, filling him with a cold, gnawing dread.

Return at sunset… or face the consequences.

The morning sun bathed the rolling hills of the Yellowstone Ranch in a soft, golden light, the distant mountains shrouded in mist. Clark stood in the kitchen of the main house, his heart heavy as he looked out the large picture window. The events of the previous night churned in his mind, a storm of fear and uncertainty.

John and Evelyn Dutton exchanged worried glances as they watched their son, their expressions tight.

"Clark?" Evelyn murmured softly, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"

Clark turned slowly, his gaze troubled. "I—I went to the storm cellar last night," he said quietly.

John's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"The ship," Clark whispered. "It… it spoke to me."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her face paling. "What?"

"It said… it said it has the memories and the will of my biological father," Clark continued hoarsely. "It told me I have to leave. That I have to go back to the ship at sunset… and fulfil my destiny."

John's face darkened. "Leave?" he repeated, his voice sharp. "What do you mean, leave?"

"It wants me to go," Clark murmured, his voice filled with anguish. "To leave the ranch. To leave everything. It said I have no choice."

"No," Evelyn breathed, shaking her head fiercely. "That's not—no, Clark. You don't have to do anything."

John stepped forward, his gaze fierce. "That thing, whatever it is, doesn't get to decide who you are, son," he said quietly. "Your future is your own."

"But what if it's right?" Clark asked desperately. "What if… what if I was sent here for a reason? What if this is what I'm supposed to do?"

"Clark," John said softly, resting a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "You're not some… weapon to be used. You're our son. And your future is yours to make."

Clark swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground. "But what if I'm supposed to… to leave?"

"You belong here, with us," Evelyn whispered fiercely. She stepped forward, cupping his face in her hands. "You're a Dutton, Clark. And no ship from some long-forgotten world is going to change that."

"I… I love my life here," Clark whispered, his voice breaking. "I love this ranch. I—I love you."

John's gaze softened. "Then stay, son. Stay here. Stay with your family."

Clark hesitated, his heart torn. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I'll stay," he whispered. "I'm not leaving. Not now… not ever."

The grand study of the Luthor Mansion was filled with the soft, flickering glow of sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Lex Luthor stood by the large fireplace, his expression tense as he stared into the flames, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

"I did it," he murmured softly. "I did ransack your office."

Dr. Helen Bryce stood across from him, her arms folded, her expression cold and unreadable.

"You did," she repeated quietly, her voice flat.

"Yes," Lex said hoarsely, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I—Helen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have let my… suspicions get the better of me."

Helen's eyes narrowed. "Why, Lex?" she whispered. "Why did you do it?"

"Because I was afraid," Lex admitted, his voice breaking. "Afraid of losing you. Afraid that… that you didn't really love me. That you were working for my father, my paranoia got the best of me."

Helen's expression softened slightly, but the pain in her eyes remained. "And what do you think now?" she asked softly.

Lex took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto hers. "I love you, Helen," he whispered. "More than I've ever loved anyone. I… I don't want to lose you."

Helen's eyes flickered. "And what about your trust?" she murmured. "Because without trust, Lex… love isn't enough."

Lex's heart clenched painfully. "Please," he whispered. "Just… give me another chance."

Helen shook her head slowly, her gaze sad. "I don't know if I can, Lex."

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Lex standing alone in the fading light.

The warm afternoon sun bathed the meadow in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows over the swaying grass and wildflowers. The air was thick with the scent of earth and the faint perfume of the nearby pine trees. Horses grazed lazily nearby, their tails flicking in the breeze as they moved slowly through the tall grass.

Clark Dutton sat on the ground, his back resting against the thick trunk of an old oak tree, with Lana Lang nestled close against his side. The peaceful serenity of the scene should have put him at ease, but Clark's mind was a storm of thoughts, pulled between the tranquillity of this moment and the dark weight of what he knew was coming.

"You're a million miles away," Lana murmured, tilting her head up to look at him, her expression soft but curious.

Clark blinked, snapping back to the present, his heart aching as he met her gaze. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Just… a lot on my mind."

Lana smiled faintly and rested her head against his shoulder again, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his hand. "Well, I was hoping you had something else on your mind. Like… whether you'd officially ask me to Lex's wedding."

Clark glanced at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I was just getting to that," he teased. "Lana Lang, will you officially be my date to Lex Luthor's wedding?"

Lana laughed softly, the sound warm and sweet, her eyes twinkling with affection. "I'd love to," she whispered. "But only if we can be honest about it. Chloe's going to figure it out sooner or later, and I don't want to hurt her."

Clark's smile faded slightly. "I know," he murmured. "I'll talk to her. I want to be the one to tell her."

Lana sighed, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I hope she understands."

Clark squeezed her hand gently. "She will. Chloe's tough."

Lana nodded, her fingers intertwining with his. "Okay. But don't wait too long, Clark."

"I won't," he promised, kissing the top of her head. "But first, I have to head over to the mansion. I've got a fitting with the tailor."

Lana smiled. "You're going to look great."

Clark chuckled. "Let's hope so."

The grand, imposing structure of the Luthor Mansion loomed against the sky as Clark made his way through the expansive courtyard and up the stone steps. The heavy wooden doors creaked open as he entered, the familiar opulence of the mansion's interior greeting him. But something felt different—there was an air of tension, of something unravelling.

Clark found Lex in his study, seated at his desk with a glass of scotch in his hand. His expression was distant, troubled, as if the weight of the world had settled squarely on his shoulders.

"Lex," Clark said, stepping into the room. "I'm here for the fitting."

Lex looked up, his eyes clouded with something Clark couldn't quite place. He set the glass down slowly, his fingers lingering around the rim. "There's no need for that," Lex said quietly. "The wedding's off."

Clark blinked in surprise. "Off?"

Lex nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. "Helen… she won't marry me. Not after what I did. I betrayed her trust, and I couldn't win it back."

Clark's heart sank. "Lex, I'm sorry. I—I know how much you care about her."

Lex smiled bitterly. "Care? I love her, Clark. And I still ruined it." He leaned back in his chair, letting out a shaky breath. "You're one of the only people I've ever really trusted. Promise me… don't tell anyone. Let me pretend, just for one more day."

Clark hesitated, his mind swirling with questions, but he could see the pain etched in Lex's expression. "I won't say anything," he said softly. "I promise."

Lex nodded, his jaw tightening. "Thank you."

The air inside the Kawatche Caves was cool and damp, the ancient stone walls towering over Clark as he descended into the main chamber. The strange symbols etched into the walls seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light, casting eerie shadows across the uneven floor.

But something was different.

Clark's eyes narrowed as he spotted a series of new devices—small, high-tech pieces of equipment set up near the cave walls. Thin cables ran along the ground, connected to a central unit that hummed softly, its lights blinking in a rhythmic pattern.

"What is this?" Clark murmured to himself, moving closer to inspect the equipment.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Clark spun around, his heart skipping a beat as he found Lionel Luthor standing at the mouth of the cave, his expression one of cool satisfaction.

"Mr. Luthor," Clark said warily. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Lionel replied smoothly, stepping forward. "But I'll spare us the pleasantries. I'm here because I've made a fascinating discovery."

Clark's eyes flicked to the equipment. "What is all this?"

"Security, mostly," Lionel said casually. "But more importantly… this is the key to unlocking the mysteries of these caves."

Clark's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Lionel reached into his coat and withdrew a small, octagonal object, holding it up for Clark to see. It glinted in the faint light, a replica of the key Clark had hidden on the ranch.

"A duplicate," Lionel said with a faint smile. "Made of refined kryptonite. The only material on Earth similar enough to the original."

Clark's stomach churned with dread. "You had the key analysed?"

"Of course," Lionel replied smoothly. "And now, I plan to use it."

"You don't know what you're dealing with," Clark said sharply, stepping forward. "You can't just—"

"Oh, but I can," Lionel interrupted, his smile widening. "I believe that by inserting this key into the wall, I'll unlock the secrets these caves are hiding. And trust me, Clark, the knowledge they contain is far too valuable to be left buried."

Clark's pulse quickened. "You're making a mistake."

"We'll see," Lionel murmured, turning away and heading deeper into the cave.

Back at the farmhouse, Lana stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her reflection as she smoothed down the soft fabric of her dress. The sunlight streaming through the window gave her an ethereal glow, highlighting the pale blue fabric of the dress she had chosen for Lex and Helen's wedding.

As she turned slightly, a soft knock echoed from the doorway.

"Upstaging the bride, are we?" Chloe teased as she stepped into the room, her smile bright but tinged with something unreadable.

Lana laughed softly, turning to face her friend. "You know me, always trying to steal the spotlight."

Chloe raised an eyebrow, her smile fading slightly. "So… are you and Clark going together?"

Lana hesitated, biting her lip. "We're just going as friends," she said quickly, turning back to the mirror.

Chloe's eyes darkened slightly. "Friends," she repeated, her voice quiet. "Is that what it was when I saw you two kissing last night?"

Lana's breath caught in her throat, her fingers stilling against the fabric of her dress. She turned slowly, guilt flickering in her eyes.

"Chloe, I…" Lana began.

"Don't," Chloe interrupted, her voice tight. "I get it. You don't have to explain. But I know Clark wants to talk to me, so if he's looking for me, tell him I haven't seen him."

Lana's face fell as Chloe turned and left the room, her heart sinking with the weight of everything left unsaid.

The horizon blazed with the fiery hues of sunset as Clark stood alone outside the barn, watching the last rays of daylight slip below the distant mountains. The peaceful scene felt like a lie—his mind was filled with turmoil, his thoughts tangled with the warnings of Jor-El.

The sky darkened, and the weight of his decision pressed down on him like a leaden weight. What if he didn't return to the storm cellar? What if he defied Jor-El's orders and stayed here with his family, his friends, with Lana?

But as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared, a cold voice echoed in his mind, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

"Kal-El… it is time."

Clark's breath caught, his body tensing as he turned toward the entrance of the storm cellar. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding, before slowly making his way down the steps.

The cellar was bathed in an eerie glow, the ship humming faintly as it responded to his presence. Clark took a deep breath, his fists clenched at his sides as he stepped closer to the ship.

"You've come," Jor-El's voice rumbled, filling the small space.

Clark swallowed hard. "I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "I'm staying here, with my family."

"You cannot defy your destiny," Jor-El replied coldly. "If you refuse, those you love most will suffer."

Clark's heart raced. "No—"

"You will bring them pain," Jor-El warned, his voice harsh and unyielding. "And now, you will bear the mark of your ancestors."

Before Clark could react, a blinding light erupted from the ship, enveloping him in a wave of searing heat. He gasped in pain, his muscles seizing as the light intensified, burning into his skin.

"No!" Clark cried out, his voice ragged with pain as he dropped to his knees.

The light pulsed again, and a deep, agonising pain ripped through his chest. His vision blurred, his body trembling as the heat pressed into him, branding him with the scar of his ancestors.

Every nerve in his body felt as though it were on fire, the sensation searing deep into his bones. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it might shatter.

I can't… I can't…

The pain was overwhelming, blinding, but through it all, one thought kept fighting its way to the surface.

I won't let them suffer.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the light vanished. Clark collapsed onto the ground, his body shaking as he gasped for breath. The pain still throbbed through him, but it was duller now, an echo of the agony he had just endured.

With trembling hands, he pulled open his shirt, revealing the faint outline of a scar etched into his chest—an intricate symbol, one that pulsed faintly with the energy of his Kryptonian heritage.

"Do not forget," Jor-El's voice whispered. "You cannot escape what you are."

Clark lay on the cold, hard ground, his body weak, his heart heavy with the weight of his new reality.

He was Kal-El of Krypton. He was marked by his ancestors. And his destiny, whether he liked it or not, was far from decided.

The cool evening air settled over the Yellowstone Ranch as twilight deepened, the sky streaked with deep purple and orange. Rip Wheeler walked across the yard, his boots crunching on the gravel as he made his way toward the barn. He was tired, the long day of wrangling cattle and trying to fix broken fences weighing on him, but something gnawed at his instincts. Something didn't feel right.

Just ahead of him, Beth Dutton emerged from the house, her long hair swaying slightly as she jogged to catch up to him. At sixteen, she was already as sharp as her father, quick to notice when things were off.

"Have you seen Clark?" Beth asked, glancing around the ranch with a frown. "He didn't come in for dinner."

Rip shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkening yard. "Nope. Thought he was supposed to be checking on the horses."

Beth's unease grew. "Well, he's not with the horses, and it's getting late."

Rip's expression darkened with concern. "I'll check the barn. You head toward the storm cellar, see if he's down there."

Beth nodded, already walking toward the cellar. She had that same gut feeling that Rip did—something was wrong. As she descended the steps toward the cellar, a faint glow caught her eye, flickering through the cracks in the old wooden door.

"Clark?" she called, her voice edged with worry as she pushed open the door.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him—Clark, lying on the dirt floor, his shirt torn open, and a strange, intricate scar burned into his chest. His skin was pale, his body trembling slightly, as though he'd been through something none of them could understand.

"Rip!" Beth yelled, her voice sharp and urgent. "Get down here, now!"

Rip appeared at the top of the stairs in seconds, his eyes widening in shock when he saw Clark's motionless form. Without a word, he rushed down the steps and knelt beside Clark, his face a mask of concern.

"What the hell happened?" Rip muttered, his voice low as he gently lifted Clark's shirt to examine the glowing scar.

Beth dropped to her knees on Clark's other side, her hand brushing his face gently, her worry deepening. "Clark, can you hear me?"

Clark stirred slightly, his eyes flickering open. His breath was shallow, his body still racked with the lingering pain of what had happened with Jor-El. "Beth… Rip…"

"Hey, we're here," Rip said, his voice gruff but steady. "What happened, kid?"

Clark winced, his hand moving weakly to cover the strange scar on his chest. "The ship… Jor-El… he gave me this," Clark whispered, his voice hoarse. "He says I have to leave. If I don't… he'll hurt all of you."

Beth's jaw tightened, her protective instincts flaring up. "No one's taking you away, Clark. We're not letting some… alien ship control your life."

Rip frowned as he examined the scar, his instincts telling him this was far beyond what any of them could handle alone. "We need to get him inside," Rip said firmly.

Beth nodded, her heart racing. Together, they helped Clark to his feet, supporting him as they guided him up the steps and back toward the house. Clark stumbled slightly, his legs weak, but with Rip and Beth's help, he managed to make it through the front door.

The Dutton family had gathered in the living room, the atmosphere thick with tension. Clark sat on the couch, pale and shaken, his shirt open to reveal the strange scar glowing faintly in the dim light. His parents, John and Evelyn, stood nearby, their faces grim as they listened to Rip and Beth explain what they had found.

"An alien ship gave him a scar?" John muttered, pacing near the window, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

Beth stood with her arms crossed, her face set in defiance. "It's true, Dad. Whatever that thing is, it's trying to take Clark away."

Evelyn's eyes were wide with concern as she knelt in front of her son, brushing a hand through his hair. "Clark, sweetheart, what exactly did the ship say?"

Clark swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he recounted the encounter. "It said… it said I have to leave. That I have to fulfil my destiny. And if I don't… it'll hurt all of you."

John's face darkened, anger flashing in his eyes. "It's trying to control you, Clark. We're not going to let some machine tell you what to do."

Clark nodded slowly, but the uncertainty in his eyes remained. "What if… what if it's right?" he asked quietly. "What if this is what I was sent here to do?"

Evelyn's heart ached as she looked at her son. "No," she whispered fiercely. "You are our son. We raised you, we love you, and that's all that matters."

Clark took a deep breath, the weight of his fear pressing down on him. "Maybe… maybe we can destroy it," he suggested, his voice hesitant.

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Beth's eyes widened, her brows knitting in confusion. "Destroy it? How?"

Clark looked up, determination flickering in his eyes. "Lionel Luthor made a key out of the meteor rocks," he explained. "Those rocks make me weak… maybe they'll hurt the ship too."

Rip frowned, exchanging a concerned look with John. "Clark, are you sure that's the answer? Once you destroy it, there's no going back."

John shook his head, his face tense with the weight of the decision. "We're not going to rush into something we don't understand," he said firmly. "We've got enough on our plate right now without jumping into this."

Beth looked like she wanted to argue, but John's words carried a finality that held her back.

"There's more going on here than just the ship," John continued, his voice hard. "The fight with the reservation is heating up. Our cattle are still missing, and I've got men out there day and night trying to get them back. We don't have room for more problems right now."

Clark's heart sank. "I just… I don't want anyone to get hurt," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want to be the reason that happens."

John stepped forward, his gaze steady as he locked eyes with Clark. "We're not going to let that happen," he said firmly. "But we can't make hasty decisions. We'll figure this out, but not today. Right now, we need to focus on getting this ranch back in order."

Rip nodded, his expression serious. "Your dad's right, Clark. This situation with the reservation is getting ugly, and we need to deal with it before anything else."

Clark looked around the room, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. His family was standing by him, but the fear of what the ship might do, the fear of what he might become, gnawed at him.

"We'll handle this," John said, his voice steady. "But for now, we need to stay focused."

Beth stepped closer, her protective nature shining through. "We won't let anyone take you from us, Clark. We'll figure it out. Together."

Clark nodded slowly, his heart still heavy with uncertainty, but the support of his family gave him strength. "Okay," he whispered. "But… we can't wait too long."

Evelyn reached out, squeezing Clark's hand gently. "We won't," she promised. "We'll figure this out."

As the family gathered around Clark, the weight of the unknown still loomed large. But one thing was clear: no matter what was coming, they would face it as a family.

The Luthor Mansion, usually cold and imposing, was bathed in the soft light of a new day. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors of Lex's private study. The grand space felt eerily quiet, as if it were holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Lex stood in front of a large mirror, adjusting the collar of his tuxedo with slow, deliberate movements. His reflection stared back at him—calm, collected, but behind the carefully controlled expression, there was something deeper. A flicker of doubt. He had been preparing for this day, the day he would marry Helen Bryce, but now, everything felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.

The silence was broken by the soft click of the door opening behind him.

"Helen?" Lex turned sharply, his heart racing as he saw her step into the room. She was beautiful, dressed simply, her face a mixture of determination and something else—something softer, but guarded.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension in the room was palpable, thick and heavy between them. Lex searched her face, trying to read her emotions, but she was unreadable, her expression tight and controlled.

"You came," Lex said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. There was a vulnerability in his tone, something uncharacteristic of the man who usually thrived in control.

Helen's eyes flicked over him, taking in the tuxedo, the nervous energy that clung to him. She stepped forward slowly, crossing the threshold into the room, but she didn't close the distance between them entirely. "I almost didn't," she admitted, her voice soft but edged with the hurt she still carried.

Lex's heart sank. He knew he had hurt her—betrayed her trust in the worst possible way. And now, with his wedding day on the line, the weight of that betrayal was crushing him. He had been able to control almost every aspect of his life, but this… this was slipping through his fingers.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Lex began, his voice low, almost pleading. "Going through your office… it was a mistake. A stupid, paranoid mistake." He took a step closer to her, his gaze filled with regret. "But I swear to you, Helen, it wasn't because I didn't trust you. It's because I don't trust myself. I was afraid."

Helen's lips tightened, and she looked away for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest, not out of anger, but as if to protect herself from the emotional weight of his words. "Afraid of what, Lex? Afraid of me?" Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotions she was trying to hold back.

Lex shook his head, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Not of you," he said quietly. "Of losing you. Of losing the only person I've ever let in." His eyes softened, his voice growing desperate. "I'm not like other people, Helen. My world… it's dark, and I've done things—terrible things—that have made me doubt everything about myself."

He stepped forward again, his eyes never leaving hers. "But with you… I saw something else. I saw the possibility of being more than what I've become. I thought… maybe, just maybe, I could be someone different. Someone better. But I was scared. Scared that you'd see me for what I really am, and leave."

Helen's breath hitched, her resolve beginning to crack as she listened to the raw honesty in Lex's words. She had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so open, his usual walls crumbling right before her eyes.

"I don't want to be the person I've always been," Lex continued, his voice shaking slightly. "I want to be someone you can trust. Someone you can love. But I messed up. I let my fear take over, and I betrayed you. And I hate myself for it."

There was a long pause, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. Helen's heart pounded in her chest, her mind swirling with memories of the man she had fallen in love with—the man who had shown her glimpses of vulnerability before, but never like this. He had been ruthless in his ambition, calculating and precise in his decisions. But beneath it all, there had always been this—a man searching for redemption, for something good.

Helen took a slow breath, her arms dropping to her sides as she met Lex's gaze. "Lex, I've made mistakes too," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've done things in my past that I'm not proud of. We both have demons."

Lex blinked, surprise flashing in his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Helen's gaze wavered, her past creeping into her mind. "It doesn't matter," she said, shaking her head. "What matters is that we both have scars—emotional ones that we hide. But Lex… love is built on trust. It's built on believing in each other, even when we're afraid."

Lex's throat tightened, the rawness of the moment making it hard to speak. "I know," he whispered. "I know I broke that trust. But I love you, Helen. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be worthy of your love."

Helen's eyes filled with tears, her chest tightening at his words. She had spent so many sleepless nights wrestling with her emotions, trying to reconcile the man she loved with the man who had betrayed her. But now, standing here in front of him, she realised that despite everything, she still loved him. The wounds weren't healed, but they weren't fatal.

"I don't know if I can forget what you did," Helen said, her voice wavering. "But I know I can't walk away from you. Not when I still love you."

Lex's heart lifted, the weight of his fear beginning to lift, replaced by the flicker of hope. "You… you still love me?"

Helen nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I do," she whispered, stepping forward and closing the distance between them. "I love you, Lex. And I don't want to lose you either."

Lex let out a shaky breath, his hands reaching for hers. "Then let's put this behind us," he whispered. "Let's get married. Today. Like we planned."

Helen's lips quivered as she nodded, her tears finally spilling over. "Okay," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Let's do this."

Lex pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, as if he were afraid that if he let go, she would disappear. The cold, calculating exterior that so often defined him had melted away, leaving only the man who desperately wanted to be loved, to be forgiven.

"I promise you," Lex murmured into her hair. "I'll never let you down again."

Helen closed her eyes, leaning into him, both of them finding solace in each other's embrace. For now, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Clark's heart pounded as he revealed the glowing scar to Pete Ross. The intricate symbol, still pulsing faintly with Kryptonian energy, stretched across his chest, a reminder of Jor-El's control over his fate.

"So, what's the plan?" Pete asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Clark hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I think I can destroy the ship," he said, his voice low. "Lionel Luthor had a key made of kryptonite. If the meteor rocks hurt me, maybe they'll hurt the ship too."

Pete's eyes widened. "Clark, that's insane. You don't even know what kind of damage it could cause."

"I don't have a choice, Pete," Clark muttered, his voice thick with desperation. "I have to stop this. If I don't, Jor-El will keep hurting the people I love."

Pete shook his head, frustration flashing in his eyes. "Man, I get it, but we don't know what else the ship could do if you destroy it. What if you just make things worse?"

"I have to try," Clark insisted. "I can't keep living like this."

Seeing Clark's determination, Pete sighed, knowing he couldn't talk his friend out of it. "Alright, I'll help. But I still think this is a bad idea."

Pete created the distraction, storming into the caves where Lionel had installed high-tech security equipment. "You're a thief!" Pete yelled, his voice echoing through the cavernous chamber. "You stole my family's factory!"

Lionel raised an eyebrow, amused by the accusation. "That's quite the claim," he said coldly. "You should be careful who you accuse, Mr. Ross."

While Pete kept Lionel's attention diverted, Clark sped past the guards, moving too fast to be seen. In a blur, he reached Lionel's private equipment stash and retrieved the kryptonite key, slipping it into a lead-lined box to protect himself from its effects. In seconds, Clark was gone, leaving Lionel none the wiser.

The church was filled with soft murmurs and quiet anticipation as guests settled into the polished wooden pews, the air tinged with the scent of fresh lilies arranged in delicate bouquets along the aisle. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours onto the stone floor, painting the scene with a serene beauty.

Lex stood at the front of the church, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him. Dressed in his sharp black tuxedo, he looked the part of a composed groom, but inside, his mind raced with unease. His eyes kept darting toward the entrance, searching for his best man, Clark, who was nowhere to be seen.

His stomach churned with worry, though his expression remained impassive to the guests slowly filing in. His gaze flicked over to the side, where Helen sat with her bridesmaids, her face glowing with a mixture of nerves and quiet happiness. But even her beauty couldn't ease the knot tightening in his chest.

Where is he?

John and Evelyn Dutton stood near the back of the church, their faces etched with growing concern as they exchanged uneasy glances. John's broad frame seemed more rigid than usual, his hands fidgeting with the small wooden box he held, a special gift meant for Lex—a family heirloom passed down from Dutton father to son, symbolising guidance and trust.

But Clark's absence weighed heavily on them both.

"I don't like this," John muttered under his breath, his voice rough with worry. "Clark should've been here by now."

Evelyn, dressed in a simple but elegant navy-blue dress, glanced nervously at the door again, biting her lip. "He told us he'd meet us here," she said softly, but her voice lacked conviction. She reached for John's arm, squeezing it tightly. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

John nodded, his jaw tight as he scanned the church again. His gut told him the same thing—that their son wasn't just running late. Something was off.

Lana Lang entered the church, her soft curls falling over her shoulders, her elegant dress flowing around her as she stepped inside. Her eyes searched the room, hopeful for a glimpse of Clark, but when she didn't see him, her heart sank. She approached John and Evelyn, her face pale with concern.

"He's not coming, is he?" Lana asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the soft rustle of guests settling into their seats.

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

Lana hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her dress. "Clark told me he had something important to take care of before the wedding. He—he said he'd meet me here, but… I don't think he's coming."

John's face darkened, his hands tightening around the box in his grip. "Damn it," he muttered, his voice low. "I knew something was wrong."

Evelyn's eyes widened in fear, her hand going to her chest. "We have to go," she whispered. "We need to find him."

John nodded, his expression grim. "We can't just sit here and wait."

He turned toward the door, his steps purposeful but tense, and Evelyn quickly followed, her heart pounding in her chest. Lana watched them go, her own worry gnawing at her, but she stayed behind, unsure of what else to do.

As they left the church, the cool autumn breeze hit them, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The ranch wasn't far, but to John and Evelyn, every step toward their truck felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Back inside, Lex continued to scan the doorway, his jaw tightening as more time passed without any sign of Clark. The organist played a soft, melodic tune in the background, the music intended to soothe and set a peaceful tone for the wedding, but to Lex, it only deepened the anxiety twisting in his gut.

"Lex?" Helen's soft voice broke through his thoughts as she approached him, her eyes searching his face. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Lex forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he lied. But Helen could sense the tension radiating off him.

"He'll show up," she said quietly, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "Clark wouldn't miss this. You're his best friend."

Lex nodded, though he wasn't so sure anymore. Clark had been acting distant lately—something was pulling him away, but Lex couldn't quite figure out what. Now, with his best man missing on one of the most important days of his life, the feeling gnawed at him more than ever.

Helen gave him a soft smile, her own nerves fluttering as the ceremony approached. "We should start soon," she whispered. "People are starting to wonder."

Lex glanced around, seeing the questioning looks of guests, the slight shifting in their seats as they murmured among themselves. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Clark's absence stung in a way he hadn't expected.

With a deep breath, Lex turned to his groomsmen, giving them a slight nod. "Let's get started," he muttered under his breath.

As the music swelled, and the doors to the back of the church opened, revealing Helen's bridesmaids, Lex tried to push down the frustration, the worry clawing at him. This was supposed to be his day—their day—but the shadow of Clark's absence hung over him like a cloud.

John and Evelyn should have been there to witness the wedding, should have been sitting in the pews, but as Lex watched Helen walk down the aisle, all he could think about was Clark. And as the ceremony began, a strange sense of hollowness settled over him.

Scene: John and Evelyn on the Road – Noon

Meanwhile, John's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he sped down the gravel road leading back to the ranch. The truck's tires kicked up clouds of dust behind them as the rugged landscape of Smallville, Montana blurred past. Evelyn sat beside him, her heart racing, a gnawing pit of fear growing in her stomach.

"What if he's in trouble, John?" Evelyn asked, her voice breaking as she looked out the window, the ranch in the distance but still too far away. "What if he… what if something happened?"

John's jaw was clenched, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "We'll find him," he said, his voice tense but determined. "I'm not losing him."

The truck sped on, the horizon growing closer, but in both of their hearts, a heavy dread had settled. They didn't know what they would find when they got home, but they knew something was wrong. And as they neared the ranch, John could only hope they weren't already too late.

Back at the Dutton Ranch, Clark was in a state of turmoil. As he stood in the storm cellar, the lead box containing the kryptonite key in his hand, the weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him.

Before he could take action, however, Chloe Sullivan stormed into the barn, her face twisted with anger.

"Clark," she snapped, her voice filled with hurt. "We need to talk. I know about you and Lana."

Clark winced, turning to face her. "Chloe, I…"

"Don't," Chloe interrupted, her voice trembling. "You've been lying to me, Clark. I thought we were friends."

"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice low, but his mind was elsewhere, the countdown to noon ticking in his head. He could feel Jor-El's presence, pressing against his thoughts. "I can explain, but… not right now."

Chloe's eyes filled with tears as she shook her head in disbelief. "Not right now? That's all you have to say?"

"I can't—" Clark started, but Chloe didn't let him finish. She turned on her heel, storming out of the barn, her heart broken. "Good luck with Lana," she muttered bitterly before disappearing into the distance.

Clark stood there, guilt gnawing at him, but the weight of his plan pushed everything else aside. He had to act now.

The midday sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the Yellowstone Ranch as Clark descended the stairs into the storm cellar. The air was cool and damp, a stark contrast to the warmth outside, but it carried an oppressive weight that made it hard for him to breathe. The familiar space felt foreign now, like a place that had never belonged to him, a relic of a past he was only beginning to understand—and one he was about to destroy.

The ship sat at the centre of the cellar, its sleek, metallic surface gleaming faintly in the low light. The strange symbols etched into its hull pulsed softly, as if the ship itself were alive, waiting for him. Clark paused at the bottom of the steps, the small lead box in his hand growing heavier by the second.

Inside the box lay Lionel Luthor's kryptonite key—his last hope of ending Jor-El's control over him, and with it, severing his final tie to Krypton. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, doubt crept in. This was the ship that had brought him to Earth, the only thing that tied him to his birthplace, his people. Destroying it meant turning his back on that part of himself forever.

But the memory of Jor-El's voice echoed in his mind: "You will obey me, Kal-El." The threat of Jor-El looming over his family, his friends, Lana—it was too much to bear. He couldn't live like this anymore, always afraid of what Jor-El would make him do. Clark had already caused enough pain, and if it meant saving the people he loved, he would do anything—even destroy the last piece of his home.

Clark took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he opened the lead box. The kryptonite key shimmered a sickly green, its toxic energy immediately sending waves of nausea through him. His muscles tensed, his head pounding as the radiation from the meteor rock sapped his strength.

You can do this, he told himself, his voice shaking in his head. You have to.

With shaking hands, Clark reached for the key. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, a sharp, searing pain shot through his arm, as if the rock was trying to tear through his very skin. His knees buckled, and he gasped, nearly dropping the key.

Focus, Clark. You have to do this.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered forward, each step feeling like he was dragging his body through quicksand. The weight of the kryptonite bore down on him, weakening him with every passing second. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his vision blurring as the ship loomed larger and larger before him.

The ship pulsed softly, as if it were aware of his presence, waiting for his next move.

He reached the side of the ship, and for a moment, he hesitated. His hand hovered over the slot where the key would fit—the perfect octagonal shape, the same as the keyhole in the caves. This was it. Once he placed the key inside, there would be no going back.

Clark's heart clenched painfully, a strange sense of loss washing over him. This ship had brought him here, to Earth. It was the only thing that held the memories of his birth parents, the last connection to the world he had never known. Destroying it felt like destroying a part of himself, the part that belonged to Krypton, to his people.

Jor-El doesn't care about you, he reminded himself, his grip tightening around the key. He only wants to control you. But you're not his. You're a Dutton.

The words rang in his mind, grounding him, as he thought of his parents, John and Evelyn, who had raised him with love, who had stood by him, no matter what. He thought of Rip and Lee, of the ranch and the life they had built together. He thought of Lana, of the life he wanted with her, one without the shadow of Jor-El hanging over him. This—this was his home. Not Krypton. Not some distant planet.

This is who I am.

Clark's jaw tightened, resolve hardening in his chest. He wouldn't let Jor-El control his life any longer. He wouldn't let this ship dictate his destiny. He was done running from who he was. He would forge his own path, with his family, on his terms.

With a pained cry, Clark jammed the key into the slot.

The moment the key made contact with the ship, the air in the cellar erupted in a blinding, green light. A deafening roar filled the space as the kryptonite's energy collided with the ship's alien technology. Clark screamed, his body convulsing as waves of searing pain tore through him, like his very cells were being ripped apart.

The ship shook violently, its hull glowing with intense, otherworldly light as it began to disintegrate from the inside out. Clark fell to his knees, his muscles seizing, his lungs burning as he struggled to breathe. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, his skin burning, the agony unbearable.

I have to hold on. I have to hold on for them.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, but the strength was draining from him faster than he could fight it. His vision blurred, his mind growing hazy as he felt himself slipping away.

You can do this, Clark. Don't give up. Not yet.

And then, with one final, gut-wrenching roar, the ship exploded.

The blast sent shockwaves rippling through the cellar, the force of it throwing Clark backward, slamming him against the wall. The ground trembled violently, chunks of dirt and debris raining down from the ceiling as the ship disintegrated into nothing but scattered pieces of twisted metal.

Clark lay on the ground, his body limp, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His entire body ached, the pain still throbbing through his veins, but slowly—slowly—it began to fade. The green glow of the kryptonite had disappeared, leaving only the faint scent of burning metal and dust hanging in the air.

It was done.

The ship—the last remnant of Krypton—was gone.

For a long moment, Clark just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind swirling with everything that had just happened. He had destroyed the only link he had to his birth parents, his people. He had severed the last connection to his origins.

A wave of grief washed over him, heavy and deep. He hadn't known them—his real parents—but in some strange way, he had always held onto the idea that maybe, one day, he would understand why they had sent him here. That maybe, they had loved him. Destroying the ship felt like closing the door on that possibility forever.

But as the grief settled, something else bloomed in its place—relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of Jor-El's control was gone. The threat of being forced into a destiny he didn't choose had vanished. He was free.

Clark sat up slowly, his body aching, but his heart lighter than it had been in days. He had made his choice. He would stay with his family. He would carve out his own path, not as Kal-El, but as Clark Dutton. That was his true destiny.

As he stood, his legs shaky beneath him, he looked around at the remains of the ship—twisted, charred fragments of metal that now littered the cellar floor. The last piece of Krypton was gone, but in its place, Clark felt something new.

Hope.

He had his family. He had the ranch. He had Lana. And with them, he would build his future. His way.

The explosion rocked the quiet Montana afternoon with the force of a thunderclap, a shockwave of pure energy ripping through the landscape, sending tremors across the rolling fields and distant hills. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the impact, scattering birds from the trees and rattling windows in houses miles away. The ranch animals bolted in fear, their cries lost in the deafening roar.

The epicentre of the blast was the Dutton storm cellar, now a crumpled, smoking ruin. The charred remains of Clark's ship lay scattered amidst the wreckage, twisted metal glowing faintly from the sheer heat of the detonation. The earth had been scorched black, and the force of the explosion had rippled outwards, its devastating reach felt across the entire county.

John and Evelyn Dutton had been driving back toward the ranch in their old pickup, the dirt road kicking up dust in their wake. John's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his face set with determination as they sped down the bumpy path. Evelyn sat beside him, her heart heavy with worry for Clark.

"Something's wrong," Evelyn had said moments earlier, her voice tense with fear. "We should've found him by now."

John was about to respond when it happened. The world seemed to erupt around them.

In an instant, the truck was lifted off the ground by the sheer force of the shockwave. The air pressure shifted violently, and the windows shattered with a deafening crash, shards of glass flying through the cab. The truck flipped mid-air, spinning uncontrollably before slamming into the ground with bone-jarring force.

Evelyn screamed as the world turned upside down, the seatbelt biting into her chest as she was tossed violently within the cabin. John's knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel, trying to maintain control, but the vehicle rolled again, metal grinding against the earth.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the truck came to a crashing stop on its side, the passenger door crumpled inward and the windshield completely shattered. Thick plumes of dust and smoke billowed into the air, filling the cab as the engine sputtered and died.

John groaned, his vision swimming as pain radiated through his chest. He coughed, trying to push through the haze in his mind. "Evelyn!" His voice was hoarse, panicked as he looked over at his wife, who was slumped in her seat.

"Evelyn!" John unbuckled his seatbelt with trembling hands and reached over to her, his fingers brushing her arm. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open, but she was dazed, blood trickling down the side of her forehead.

"I'm… I'm okay," Evelyn mumbled weakly, but her words were sluggish, and her movements were slow.

John exhaled in relief, though the panic still clung to him. "We have to get out of here," he said, his voice thick with urgency. His body ached from the crash, but his mind was laser-focused. They couldn't stay here.

Using every ounce of strength he had left, John crawled out of the driver's side window, his body shaking with the effort. He circled the truck, carefully pulling open the warped passenger door and gently helping Evelyn out. She leaned on him heavily, her legs shaky as she tried to regain her balance, but she was conscious.

The two of them stood in the dirt, breathing heavily as they took in the wreckage around them. The road was littered with debris from the explosion—bits of metal, fragments of earth thrown far from the blast zone. The air still crackled with the remnants of energy, making everything feel surreal, like a nightmare they couldn't wake from.

"What… what just happened?" Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to John's arm.

John's eyes narrowed in the direction of the ranch, smoke rising in the distance. "That was the cellar," he said grimly, his heart sinking. "Clark… God, Clark was there."

But it wasn't just the Duttons who felt the impact.

Miles away, at the border of the Broken Rock Reservation, the explosion sent a shockwave through the standoff between the Montana Livestock Agents and the reservation's security forces. What had started as a tense confrontation over grazing rights had turned into a volatile situation after the explosion rocked the ground beneath them.

Lee Dutton, standing with the other agents, felt the earth tremble violently beneath his feet. Dust kicked up in clouds around them, and the livestock that had wandered across the border spooked and scattered, causing chaos among the men.

"What the hell was that?" one of the agents shouted, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

Lee barely had time to register the shockwave before everything spiralled out of control. The Broken Rock security forces reacted with immediate aggression, their instincts fueled by the chaos, and in the blink of an eye, weapons were drawn. The tension that had been simmering for weeks boiled over in an instant.

Gunfire erupted.

The sharp crack of bullets pierced the air, and suddenly, the peaceful landscape of Montana turned into a battlefield. Lee's heart pounded in his chest as he ducked behind a truck, yelling at the agents to hold their fire, but the situation was already spiralling beyond control.

He barely had time to react when a sharp pain tore through his chest.

Lee stumbled back, his breath hitching as he looked down, seeing the dark stain spreading across his shirt. His legs wobbled beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground, the world tilting on its axis as blood pooled beneath him.

"Lee!" one of the agents screamed, rushing toward him, but it was too late.

Lee's vision blurred, the sounds of the firefight fading as his body grew cold. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, the pain radiating through him, but it was the confusion and fear that gripped him tighter. His hand instinctively reached for his chest, pressing weakly against the wound, but his strength was fading fast.

And then, everything went dark.

The world exploded in light and sound, a deep, concussive force that rattled the walls of the underground facility and sent shockwaves through the concrete floors. Kyla felt the ground shudder beneath her, a rumble so intense it felt as though the entire earth were shaking itself loose. The explosion had come from somewhere outside—far above this cold, sterile prison—but its power reverberated through every inch of the base, throwing the guards off balance.

The flickering overhead lights blinked once, twice, and then, without warning, everything went dark.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence and blackness. Kyla held her breath, her pulse pounding in her ears, her fingers gripping the edges of the steel table where she had been sitting—waiting. Waiting for another experiment, another round of questions she couldn't answer. Another violation of her body and mind. But now, the world had shifted, and the silence that followed the explosion was filled with promise.

This is my chance.

She moved instinctively, her body tensing like a coiled spring. The power was out—she could tell by the sudden stillness, the hum of machinery that had gone dead, the soft beeps of the security systems that had ceased altogether. The air was suddenly suffocating, thick with tension as everyone in the facility seemed to realise at once that something had gone very, very wrong.

A voice crackled through the darkness—a distant, panicked shout from one of the guards. "What the hell just happened?"

"Get the backup generator online!" Another voice, more urgent, closer.

Kyla didn't wait. She bolted from her seat, moving with swift, feline grace, her muscles taut with adrenaline as she slipped through the door that had been left unlocked in the confusion. The narrow hallway stretched before her, bathed in the faint emergency lights that had flickered to life, casting everything in a dim red glow. Shadows danced across the walls, the scent of burnt wires and ozone filling the air.

Her heart raced as she moved silently down the corridor, her bare feet barely making a sound on the cold metal floor. The guards were scattered, their voices echoing down the halls as they barked orders, trying to regain control of the situation. But Kyla was fast—faster than any of them knew. The wolf inside her stirred, every sense heightened, every nerve alive with the thrill of survival.

I need to get out. I need to find Clark.

Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts as she rounded a corner, her eyes scanning the hall for any sign of the exit. She had memorised the layout of the facility in the long, agonising hours she had spent trapped here, knowing that one day—one day—she would find a way to escape. And now, with the explosion that had knocked out the power, that day had come.

But it wasn't just her survival she cared about anymore.

Amanda Waller had been watching Clark, studying him. She had spoken in clipped, quiet tones about him during Kyla's interrogation—about the potential he had. About the danger he posed. Kyla's heart clenched at the thought of it, at the cold calculation in Waller's eyes when she had spoken of Clark like he was a weapon to be controlled. They didn't know what Clark truly was. They didn't understand him the way she did.

I have to warn him. Before it's too late.

The hallway twisted ahead, the walls growing narrower as she approached a series of heavy metal doors. The exit was just beyond this point, beyond the small security room where two guards were stationed—except now, with the blackout, the security systems were offline. The doors were unguarded, hanging slightly ajar.

Kyla's chest tightened as she heard footsteps approaching from behind her. She ducked into a shadowed alcove, her back pressed against the wall, her breath shallow and controlled as she waited. A guard passed, his flashlight beam cutting through the red haze of the emergency lights, but he didn't see her. His steps faded into the distance, and Kyla exhaled, her heart still racing.

She had to keep moving.

The door to the outside was so close now, she could feel the cold night air seeping through the cracks. Her legs burned from running, but she ignored the pain. She pushed forward, slipping through the last door and out into the open air. The night sky above her was a blanket of stars, the crisp autumn wind biting at her skin, but she barely registered it.

Freedom.

Kyla took a deep breath, her chest heaving with the effort, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Not yet. She bolted for the treeline, her muscles straining as she sprinted toward the cover of the wilderness. The forest loomed ahead, dark and dense, but it was where she belonged. Where she could lose herself. Where she could hide.

The wind whipped through her hair, the scent of pine and earth filling her senses as she ran, her body moving with the fluid, animal grace of the wolf that lived inside her. Her bare feet pounded against the ground, her lungs burning with exertion, but she didn't care. The cold air felt like freedom, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was alive again.

But as she ran, her mind raced with the danger that still loomed. Amanda Waller had plans—dangerous plans—and Kyla knew that Clark was at the centre of them. She had overheard snippets of conversation, fragments of Waller's cold, methodical strategy. Clark was more than just an anomaly to her. He was something she wanted to control, to bend to her will.

Clark needs to know. Kyla's heart pounded as she pushed herself harder, deeper into the woods. I have to warn him before they find him.

Inside the base, chaos reigned.

The lights flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the control room as Amanda Waller stormed through the double doors, her eyes blazing with fury. The usually cold, calculated woman was now seething, her lips pressed into a thin line as she surveyed the scene in front of her.

Technicians scrambled at their consoles, frantically trying to reboot systems that had gone dark after the explosion. Monitors flickered with static, and alarms blared through the hallways, creating a cacophony of noise that grated on Waller's nerves.

"What the hell just happened?" Waller's voice was a sharp crack of authority, cutting through the chaos.

A young technician turned in his seat, his face pale, his hands trembling as he struggled to find words. "The power—it went out. The whole system crashed."

"I can see that," Waller snapped, her eyes narrowing. "But why? What caused the blackout?"

The technician swallowed hard, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he tried to access the backup generator logs. "We're not sure. There was some kind of… shockwave. It knocked out the external power grid. The backup should have kicked in, but something… something interfered."

Waller's eyes flicked to the monitor, her mind racing. Shockwave? Could this be connected to the anomaly they had detected earlier? The explosion had come from somewhere nearby—too close to be a coincidence. Her jaw tightened as she considered the possibilities, her instincts telling her that something much larger was at play.

"Find out what caused it," Waller said coldly, her voice laced with an edge of threat. "And get the power back online—now."

The technician nodded, his fingers moving frantically as he tried to comply, but the damage had been done. The systems were fried, and it would take time—time they didn't have.

Waller's thoughts turned dark as she surveyed the chaos. Whatever had caused the blackout had disrupted everything, and worse—she couldn't find Kyla. Her prisoner, her valuable subject, was gone. The explosion had created the perfect opportunity for her to escape, and in the confusion, no one had noticed until it was too late.

"She's out there," Waller muttered under her breath, her mind calculating the next move. "And she knows too much."

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned sharply toward the head of security. "Find her. She can't have gone far. And send a team to investigate that explosion. I want to know everything about what caused it—and whether Clark Dutton is involved."

The guard nodded and hurried off, leaving Waller standing alone in the dim, flickering light of the control room. Her fists clenched at her sides as she stared at the static-filled monitors, her mind churning with the possibilities.

Whatever had happened tonight was just the beginning.

The sterile smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air as Clark rushed through the doors of the Smallville Medical Center, his body still weakened from the kryptonite's effects. His clothes were dirty, and the weight of everything that had happened pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket.

He had found his parents' truck overturned on the side of the road, barely able to process the horror of seeing it crushed. The sight of his father pulling his mother from the wreckage had nearly stopped his heart. He had gotten them to the hospital as fast as he could, using every ounce of speed his weakened body had left.

Now, as he stood in the bright, sterile halls of the hospital, the overwhelming feeling of dread settled over him. His father sat at his mother's bedside, holding her hand gently as she lay in the hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around her head. She had a concussion but was otherwise stable.

John's face was set in hard lines, his anger and grief barely contained. He didn't speak to Clark, didn't even look at him when he entered the room. The weight of John's silence was worse than any words.

"Dad…" Clark began, his voice hoarse, but before he could say more, the doors to the emergency room burst open, and a stretcher was rushed through the hallway. The sight made Clark's stomach drop. The body was covered with a white sheet, but the unmistakable shape of Lee Dutton's hat rested on top.

"John!" one of the agents following the stretcher called out, his voice tight with urgency. "It's Lee."

John shot to his feet, his face draining of colour as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. "No… no," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Clark's heart froze in his chest, a sickening wave of guilt washing over him. Lee? No. This couldn't be happening.

John rushed toward the stretcher, his hands shaking as he pulled back the sheet to reveal Lee's pale, lifeless face. The blood had been cleaned from his skin, but the wound in his chest was unmistakable.

John collapsed to his knees beside the stretcher, his hands trembling as he cradled Lee's head, his body wracked with silent sobs.

Evelyn's weak voice came from behind him, her eyes wide with shock and horror. "No… not Lee. Please, no."

Clark stood frozen, the scene unfolding before him in slow motion. The weight of his actions crashed down on him. He had thought destroying the ship would save them—save his family—but instead, everything was falling apart.

He had failed them.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a fiery glow across the sprawling fields of the Yellowstone Ranch. The sky was painted in deep shades of orange and red, the light flickering off the barn and surrounding trees. It was the kind of sunset that should have felt peaceful, serene even, but tonight, there was no peace left in Clark's heart.

Clark stood at the edge of the storm cellar, staring down at the twisted remains of the ship—the ship that had brought him to Earth, the last connection to his Kryptonian heritage, now destroyed and scattered across the ground like pieces of a forgotten dream. His body still ached from the kryptonite, his mind swimming in a sea of guilt, confusion, and deep, aching sorrow.

I've destroyed everything…

The thought reverberated through his mind, relentless and heavy. He could still hear the explosion, feel the shockwave that had torn through the county, and see the aftermath of it all—his parents' overturned truck, Lee's lifeless body being rushed into the hospital. His choices, his actions, had set off a chain of events that had led to all of this.

It's all my fault.

The sound of footsteps behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned slowly, his heart heavy as he saw Lana Lang approaching. She was dressed for the wedding, her soft curls falling over her shoulders, her dress flowing around her as she walked across the field toward him. Her expression was a mixture of concern and confusion, her brow furrowed as she took in the sight of the wreckage, the destruction that lay at Clark's feet.

"Clark…" Lana's voice was soft but tentative, as if she wasn't sure how to approach him. "What… what happened here?"

Clark swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. How could he? How could he look at her, knowing that he had failed to protect the people he cared about most? His chest tightened, and the words caught in his throat.

Lana stopped a few feet away, her heart pounding in her chest. She could see the anguish in Clark's face, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever burden he was carrying. Her concern deepened, but so did her confusion. There was something else here—something she didn't understand.

"I've… I've caused so much pain," Clark whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "I thought destroying the ship would stop it, would stop Jor-El from controlling me… but all I've done is hurt everyone."

Lana blinked, her heart skipping a beat. Ship? Jor-El? The words didn't make sense, didn't fit into anything she knew about Clark or his life on the ranch. Her mind scrambled to process what he had just said, but before she could ask, Clark continued, his voice trembling with guilt.

"I thought I could save them, Lana. I thought if I destroyed it, my parents, Lee, everyone… they'd be safe," he said, his voice breaking. "But I was wrong. I couldn't save them. I couldn't save anyone."

Lana's breath caught in her throat, her confusion deepening. Ship? Jor-El? What was he talking about? She took a small step forward, her hand reaching out to touch his arm, her eyes searching his face. "Clark… what do you mean? What are you talking about? What ship?"

Clark shook his head, his gaze still locked on the ground, his hands shaking. He couldn't bear to explain it all, couldn't find the words to make her understand. He could barely understand it himself. All he knew was that he had failed—again.

"I shouldn't be here," Clark muttered, more to himself than to Lana. "I shouldn't even be here… everything I touch, everyone I care about… I just hurt them."

"Clark, what do you mean?" Lana's voice was more urgent now, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to piece together the fragments of his words. "What happened? What are you talking about?"

But Clark didn't answer. His mind was spiralling, the weight of his guilt crushing him, suffocating him. He had destroyed the ship, thinking it would end the pain, thinking it would free him from Jor-El's grip. But all it had done was cause more destruction—his parents injured, Lee dead, his family's lives shattered.

"I need to go," Clark muttered, his voice distant, hollow. "I can't stay here."

"Clark—wait," Lana said, her heart racing as she stepped closer to him, panic rising in her chest. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?"

Clark turned away from her, his movements jerky, his mind a blur of pain and self-loathing. He didn't even hear her anymore. He needed to leave. He needed to get away, far away, before he caused any more harm. His body tensed, his muscles tightening as his instincts took over.

Before Lana could say anything more, Clark took off, his body moving in a blur of motion. The world around him warped, the ground beneath him vanishing in a flash of super speed as he sped away from the ranch, away from Lana, away from everything.

Lana's breath hitched as she watched him disappear—one moment he was standing there, and the next, he was gone. Vanished into thin air. Her eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as her mind struggled to comprehend what she had just witnessed.

What… what just happened?

For a moment, Lana stood frozen, staring at the empty space where Clark had been. Her mind reeled, trying to process the impossible—how had he moved so fast? How had he just… disappeared like that?

The words Clark had said moments earlier echoed in her mind—the ship, Jor-El—and a chill ran down her spine. She didn't understand. None of it made sense, and before she could ask him, before she could demand an explanation, he was gone. Just like that. Gone in a blur of motion that shouldn't have been possible.

Lana's hands trembled as she stood there, the sunset casting long shadows over the broken pieces of the storm cellar. The air was heavy with the scent of scorched metal, the remnants of whatever had happened down there still clinging to the earth.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the cold that had settled deep in her bones. The questions burned in her mind, but there was no one left to answer them. Clark was gone, and whatever secrets he had been keeping—whatever truth he had been hiding—had vanished with him.

Her heart ached with a mixture of fear and confusion, but more than that, it ached for Clark. Whatever burden he was carrying, whatever he was running from, it was tearing him apart. And now, all she could do was wait, hope that he would come back, hope that one day, he would finally let her in.

The sunset continued to bleed across the sky, the vibrant colours slowly fading into darkness, and Lana stood alone, the weight of everything settling heavily on her shoulders.

Clark didn't realise how fast he was moving. He didn't feel the wind whipping past him or the ground disappearing beneath his feet. His mind was too clouded, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened. The guilt, the sorrow, the deep, crushing weight of it all consumed him.

He had to leave. He couldn't stay. Not with everything that had happened. Not with everything he had caused.

The blur of the Montana landscape flew by him, but Clark didn't notice. All he knew was that he needed to get away—away from the ranch, away from his family, away from Lana. Away from the pain.

I can't stay here. I don't belong here. I'll only hurt them.

The thoughts circled in his mind, relentless, as he sped faster and faster, his body moving instinctively, unconsciously tapping into the powers that he had tried so hard to control.

But control was slipping through his fingers now, just like everything else.

The fluorescent lights of the Smallville Medical Center flickered faintly, casting an unnatural glow over the sterile white walls. The halls were quieter now, the rush of earlier crises slowing to a dull hum as the night deepened. Somewhere, a monitor beeped steadily, the only sound punctuating the silence that felt too loud, too heavy.

Clark stood in the shadow of the hallway, his body pressed against the cold wall, watching from a distance. His heart ached, his mind swirling with guilt and self-loathing as he stared into the small room ahead. Inside, through the partially open door, his parents sat beside each other, grief etched deeply into their faces.

John Dutton sat stiffly in a chair beside the hospital bed, his hand gripping Evelyn's trembling fingers as she wept softly into his shoulder. Her face was pale, her eyes red from crying, but the tears didn't stop. Her whole body shook with the weight of the loss they had suffered—the loss of their son, Lee.

John held her, his own face a mask of stone, but there was something raw beneath the surface. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes hollow, and though he tried to be strong for Evelyn, Clark could see the strain. He could see how his father's body trembled with barely restrained emotion, the kind of grief that tore at the seams of even the strongest men.

And then John's gaze shifted. Slowly, as if sensing Clark's presence, his eyes lifted from Evelyn's trembling form and locked onto the shadow in the hallway. Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything stopped.

Clark's breath hitched in his throat, his heart pounding as his father's gaze bore into him. He wanted to say something, to step forward, but his legs felt like lead, rooted to the ground. He could barely move, barely breathe.

John's eyes were dark, filled with pain—but as they flickered with grief, Clark saw something else. A flash of something that cut through him like a knife.

Anger.

It was only for a second, but it was there. John's face twisted ever so slightly, the rawness of the moment breaking through his usually stoic demeanour. And in that fleeting second, Clark saw the accusation, the resentment that had been bubbling under the surface. It was like a punch to the gut, the confirmation of what Clark had feared all along.

It's my fault.

His father blamed him. Of course, he did. Why wouldn't he? Clark had destroyed the ship, thinking he could save them, but all he had done was tear his family apart. Lee was dead. His mother was broken, and his father… his father couldn't even look at him without seeing the cause of their pain.

Clark's heart clenched painfully in his chest, his throat tightening as a wave of guilt washed over him, suffocating him. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't face them. Not like this.

Without thinking, Clark turned away from the doorway, his mind buzzing with the weight of everything he had done, the weight of his father's gaze, that flash of anger that cut through him deeper than anything else.

I have to get out of here.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up. In an instant, the world blurred around him as he sped through the halls, leaving the hospital behind in a blur of motion. The cold wind of the night hit him as he raced through the darkened streets of Smallville, the buildings and trees passing by in streaks of light and shadow.

His body ached, his heart pounded, but none of it mattered. He couldn't feel anything except the crushing weight of guilt pressing down on his chest. His father's face, the look in his eyes—it haunted him, echoing over and over in his mind.

It's my fault. It's all my fault.

Clark didn't stop running until he found himself standing in front of Smallville High School, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The building loomed ahead, dark and empty, the windows glinting faintly in the moonlight. It should have felt familiar, but tonight, it felt like a place from another world, a distant life.

He was a different person now, broken in ways he hadn't thought possible.

His hands shook as he made his way inside, pushing open the door to the school with little effort. The hallways were dark, silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning kicking on. The lockers stood like silent sentinels, casting long shadows against the walls as Clark made his way toward his destination—Chloe's locker.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew where it was. He had seen it before—the small box hidden behind her books, where she had once shown him the red meteor rock ring.

The ring that could make him forget.

Clark's mind buzzed with the thought, his chest tightening with anticipation. The red meteor rock had always been dangerous—he had felt its power before, had seen what it could do to him. But right now, the temptation was too strong, too irresistible. The weight of everything was too much, and he needed something—anything—to make it go away.

The ring will make everything better. The voice in his head, the darker part of him—Kal, the version of himself that craved release—spoke softly, almost seductively. You won't have to feel this way anymore. Just put it on. It'll make you forget.

Clark stumbled into the locker room, his mind racing, his body trembling with anticipation and guilt. He dropped to his knees in front of Chloe's locker, pulling it open with a sharp snap of the lock. His heart pounded as he rummaged through the contents, his hands shaking.

And there it was.

The red ring.

Its crimson stone gleamed faintly in the dim light, the colour rich and deep, like blood. Clark stared at it for a long moment, his breath catching in his throat. His mind screamed at him to stop, to pull away, but he couldn't. He was too tired, too broken to fight it anymore.

Put it on, Kal whispered again, a thrill of excitement creeping into his voice. Put it on, and everything will go away. The pain, the guilt, the memories… they'll all disappear. You'll feel better.

Clark reached for the ring, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the stone. Just as his hand closed around it, a voice cut through the fog in his mind.

"Clark, don't."

Clark froze, his breath hitching in his throat as he turned to see Pete standing in the doorway, his face tight with worry, his eyes filled with concern.

Pete's voice was low, pleading. "You don't have to do this."

Clark's hand hovered over the ring, his body tensed, but his mind was screaming with conflict. "I have to," he whispered, his voice shaky, raw with emotion. "I can't… I can't take it anymore."

"You don't have to take it, Clark," Pete said, stepping closer, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "But this? The red meteor rock? It's not going to fix anything. It's just going to make everything worse."

Clark's eyes were wild, his chest heaving as he tried to push back the guilt, the pain. "I just want it to stop, Pete," he said, his voice breaking. "I just want to feel better."

"The ring won't make you feel better," Pete insisted, his voice steady but filled with urgency. "It'll make you forget, yeah, but it'll make you someone you're not. Someone worse."

Clark shook his head, his fingers closing around the ring as his mind raced. "I don't care," he muttered, his voice filled with despair. "I don't want to be this person anymore. I don't want to feel this."

He's right, Kal's voice urged, a note of joy creeping in. The ring will take it all away. You'll forget everything—the pain, the guilt. You'll be free.

Pete stepped closer, his voice soft but pleading. "Clark, you're not thinking straight. This isn't you. You've been through hell, I get it, but this? This isn't the way out."

Clark's eyes flickered with doubt for a moment, but the weight of everything was too much. His father's face, the look of anger, the grief, the blame—it all crushed him, pressing down on him like a vice. "I just… I just want to feel better, Pete," he whispered, his voice hollow.

"Not like this," Pete said quietly, his voice breaking with emotion. "You're stronger than this, Clark. You don't need the ring."

But Kal's voice was louder now, triumphant. You're wrong. The ring will make everything better. Put it on, Kal-El. You deserve to feel good.

Clark's breath hitched, and before Pete could stop him, he slid the ring onto his finger.

The effect was immediate.

A surge of power rushed through his body, flooding his veins with a euphoric heat. The guilt, the pain, the crushing weight of responsibility—all of it vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, detached clarity. The world seemed to sharpen around him, the dull ache of his emotions melting away.

Clark—no, Kal—stood up slowly, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced at Pete.

"I feel better already," Kal said softly, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Pete's face fell, his heart sinking as he realised he had lost his friend—at least for now.

The low hum of the private jet had always been a sound of comfort for Lex Luthor—a steady rhythm that signalled control, power, and a smooth path forward. But tonight, that comforting hum had been replaced by something else. Something far more sinister.

Lex awoke with a jolt, his head spinning as a violent tremor shook the plane. His heart lurched into his throat as he blinked rapidly, his vision blurred, disoriented. The dim cabin lights flickered ominously, casting erratic shadows across the sleek leather seats. The familiar luxury of his private plane, usually so pristine and serene, now felt claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in around him.

What the hell is happening?

The turbulence shook the plane again, harder this time. Lex gripped the armrests, his knuckles turning white, his pulse pounding in his ears. He tried to steady his breathing, to think clearly, but his mind was a fog, and something wasn't right. His head felt heavy, and his mouth was dry—too dry. A faint, metallic taste lingered on his tongue.

He forced himself to sit upright, blinking away the dizziness, and glanced around the cabin. It was empty. Completely empty.

"Helen?" His voice cracked, echoing eerily in the silence.

There was no response.

Panic spiked through him like a jolt of electricity. He fumbled with his seatbelt, ripping it off as he staggered to his feet, the plane swaying beneath him. His vision swam again, but he pushed through the disorientation, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

Where is she?

His eyes darted around the cabin, searching for any sign of his wife. The champagne glasses were still sitting on the small table beside their seats, one glass half-full—the one he had been drinking from—and the other completely empty. The bottle lay tipped on its side, the liquid sloshing lazily inside.

A cold knot of dread twisted in his stomach. He had only had one glass of champagne, hadn't he? His thoughts were fuzzy, clouded, but the more he tried to remember, the more the details seemed to slip through his grasp. He had been celebrating—they had been celebrating. The wedding, the honeymoon, everything had felt like the perfect new beginning.

But now… now nothing made sense.

He stumbled toward the cockpit, his hands bracing against the walls as the plane lurched again. The wind outside howled, a deep, guttural sound that rattled the windows and sent another violent shudder through the aircraft. Lex's pulse quickened, his breaths ragged and uneven as he pushed the door to the cockpit open.

It was empty.

The pilot was gone.

Lex's heart raced as he stared at the vacant seat, his mind reeling. The controls flickered and sputtered, the dials spinning aimlessly, as if the plane was running on autopilot but had lost all direction. Panic surged through him like wildfire.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with dread.

His hands shook as he turned back toward the cabin, his footsteps unsteady as the turbulence rocked the plane again. He could feel the altitude dropping, the pressure building in his ears. The ground was getting closer, too close. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to do something, to take control, but he was paralyzed by the mounting terror clawing at his throat.

Helen. Where was Helen?

He moved quickly toward the back of the plane, checking every seat, every corner. There was no trace of her—no sign that she had even been there. The eeriness of it all gnawed at him, sending chills down his spine. The plush cabin, so perfectly tailored to his tastes, now felt like a trap. It was too quiet, too still, except for the relentless turbulence that continued to shake the plane.

And then, Lex's eyes fell on the emergency compartment. His stomach twisted as he yanked it open.

The parachutes were missing.

All of them. Gone.

Lex's blood turned to ice as realisation slammed into him like a freight train. His breath caught in his throat, his body going rigid as the truth began to dawn on him, piece by terrifying piece.

The empty champagne glass.

The missing pilot.

The vacant cabin.

The parachutes—gone.

It wasn't an accident. It wasn't just a case of turbulence or a malfunctioning plane.

Someone had planned this.

The horrifying realisation clawed at his mind, tightening around his chest like a vice. He staggered backward, his legs weak, as the pieces fell into place, each one landing with a gut-wrenching certainty.

Helen.

A wave of nausea washed over him as the thought hit him with brutal force. His wife—the woman he had just married, the woman he had given everything to—had betrayed him. She had planned this. She had drugged him. She had left him here to die.

No.

Lex shook his head, his hands trembling as he tried to deny it, but the evidence was overwhelming. She had been the only one with him. She had handed him the champagne. And now, she was gone, the parachutes were gone, and he was alone on a plane that was hurtling toward the ground with no way to stop it.

How could she do this? The question tore through his mind, the betrayal cutting deeper than anything he had ever felt before. His chest tightened, his throat constricting as he struggled to breathe. He had trusted her. He had loved her. He had let her in, let her see the real him, and she had used it against him.

His mind raced, memories flashing in a blur—her soft smile at the wedding, her gentle touch as they danced, the way she had whispered that she loved him as they toasted to their future.

It was all a lie.

Lex's knees buckled, and he collapsed into one of the leather seats, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His mind was a storm of disbelief and rage, the weight of the betrayal crushing him from all sides.

The turbulence grew worse, the plane dipping violently as alarms blared from the cockpit, signalling their rapid descent. Lex barely noticed. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as his mind whirled, grasping for anything that made sense, anything that could explain why Helen had done this to him.

Why? Why would she do this?

The answer gnawed at him, elusive, just out of reach. But the deeper he thought, the darker his thoughts became. It was all so coldly calculated, so perfectly executed. She had played him from the start, hadn't she? Had the entire relationship been nothing but a manipulation? A way to get closer to his fortune? To take it all and leave him with nothing?

His jaw clenched, the bitterness rising in his throat like bile.

I should have seen it. I should have known.

Lex's body trembled with the fury building inside him, the realisation that he had been played like a fool tearing at his insides. He had been so careful all his life—guarded, cautious—but he had let Helen in. He had believed she was different. And now, she was going to kill him for it.

The plane shuddered again, and Lex snapped out of his thoughts long enough to register the alarms blaring louder now. The plane was in a nosedive, plummeting toward the ocean, the wind roaring against the windows like a beast trying to claw its way inside.

The pressure in the cabin grew unbearable, the oxygen thinning as the plane spiralled out of control. Lex's ears popped, his vision narrowing as darkness crept in at the edges. His head pounded, the pain intensifying with every second, but nothing compared to the pain in his chest—the sharp, agonising ache of betrayal.

I trusted her. I loved her.

And now, she was gone, leaving him to die alone in the sky.

Lex's vision blurred as the plane hurtled downward, the ocean rushing up to meet him. His heart raced, his mind screaming with fury, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing except wait for the inevitable impact.

And as the final moments ticked away, Lex Luthor—the man who had always controlled his own fate, the man who had fought for power his entire life—was left with nothing but the cold, bitter taste of betrayal.

As Clark rode along the empty highway, his father's motorcycle roaring beneath him, Jor-El's voice echoed in his mind, dark and cold.

"You will obey me, Kal-El."

Clark's eyes burned with anger as the Red Kryptonite coursed through his veins. But as the night stretched out before him, the weight of his destiny hung heavy over his head. Whether he liked it or not, the battle for his future had just begun.