Clark and Martha sat quietly at the table in the apartment, the low hum of the city outside the only sound that accompanied their conversation. The stress of the day seemed to lift the moment Clark entered the room; just being with his mother had a calming effect on him, grounding him in a way nothing else could.
Martha stirred her tea slowly, her eyes scanning her son with concern. She had known for hours now that he was struggling, his mind weighed down by a burden she could only guess at. But she knew him—knew how he carried the world in his heart and shoulders.
"You don't have to do everything by yourself, Clark," she said gently, her voice soothing as she met his gaze. "Whatever's weighing you down, you don't have to carry it alone. You never have to."
Clark exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. He hadn't realized just how badly he needed to hear that until now. His lips twisted into a small, strained smile, but his eyes remained heavy, burdened. "I know, Mom. But sometimes it feels like everything's always falling apart... like I can't keep it all together."
Martha nodded, her hand reaching out to rest on his. "You're allowed to feel that way. You don't always have to be the strong one, Clark. Just... remember that you're not alone in this."
Clark closed his eyes briefly, the weight of her words settling on him. He didn't know how to explain it all. The constant pressure, the feeling of being pulled in every direction, the world constantly demanding something more from him. But sitting here with his mother—being reminded of the love and warmth that had always been a constant in his life—made him feel just a little lighter.
For a few moments, there was nothing but the quiet murmur of conversation, the warmth of the tea, and the reassuring presence of his mother. And for a fleeting moment, Clark felt... at peace.
But that peace was shattered in an instant.
Clark's senses, always heightened, suddenly flared. His body tensed, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. His instincts kicked in, his thoughts racing. There was danger nearby. A threat—dangerous and close.
Without a second thought, he grabbed his mother, spinning her around so quickly that she barely had time to react. His back was now facing the wall, and his arms wrapped protectively around her as he pulled her close to shield her from whatever was coming.
The air in the room shifted, a heavy pressure building. And then, the wall exploded.
The sound was deafening, like the crack of thunder inside the apartment. Debris flew everywhere—plaster, wood, glass—showering the room in a violent storm of fragments. And in the center of it all, stepping through the now-gaping hole in the wall, was a figure. A man, tall and imposing, dressed in dark, menacing attire. He moved with an unnatural grace, his presence almost palpable, like the air had thickened around him.
Clark's heart pounded in his chest as his gaze locked onto the stranger. His mind raced, searching for any clue as to who or what this man was. But nothing in his life had prepared him for the weight of what stood before him.
"Kal-El," the man's voice was deep, cold, and unyielding. It sent a chill down Clark's spine. "I didn't know you were also here. Perhaps for the good, I won't have to hurt your Earth mother."
Clark's blood ran cold at the mention of his mother. The thought of someone threatening her sent a wave of fury crashing over him. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening in anger. "Who the hell are you?" His voice was sharp, raw, and filled with a growing intensity.
The man's smile twisted into something sinister, his eyes glinting with malice. "Who I am is of little importance, Kal-El. What matters is who I've come for... and what you're willing to protect."
Martha's breath caught in her throat as the reality of the situation sank in. She clutched Clark's arm, her eyes wide with fear, but her concern for him only added to the weight of the moment. This wasn't just about him anymore. This man was here to destroy everything.
Clark stood tall, positioning himself between the Phantom and his mother, a protective stance that felt both natural and urgent. His muscles tightened, preparing for what was about to come.
The Phantom's eyes flickered toward Martha, then back to Clark. His lips curled in a mock smile. "I'd hoped you'd be more accommodating, Kal-El. But I see you are stubborn, as always."
In the blink of an eye, the Phantom lunged. The air in the apartment seemed to warp with the force of his movement, and before Clark could react fully, the Phantom's hand was upon him, grabbing his throat with unnatural strength. Clark struggled, his fingers wrapping around the man's wrist in an attempt to free himself. But the Phantom's grip was like iron.
The two of them were locked in a deadly struggle, moving faster than the eye could follow. Clark's strength was unparalleled, but the Phantom fought back with a viciousness that matched his own. It was clear that this man was not ordinary. He was something more.
Clark shoved the Phantom back, using all his strength to break free, but the figure merely twisted, recovering almost immediately. The Phantom's eyes were like dark pools, filled with a predatory hunger. "You think you can defeat me?" he taunted. "You don't even understand what you're up against."
Clark's breath came in quick, ragged gasps as he launched himself at the Phantom again. This time, he aimed for the man's chest, his body moving like a blur as he drove the Phantom back against the crumbling wall. The force of the impact was enough to crack the plaster, but the Phantom barely flinched. He grinned, pushing back against Clark with an inhuman strength.
"You think you can defeat me?" the Phantom mocked, his voice tinged with amusement. "You don't even understand what you're up against."
Clark's eyes narrowed. "I understand enough."
He didn't wait for another attack. With a burst of speed, Clark drove his fist into the Phantom's stomach, but the blow didn't have the effect he expected. Instead, the Phantom's body twisted, the blow seeming to dissipate into the air like a shadow.
Clark's eyes widened. The Phantom wasn't just strong—he was... otherworldly.
Meanwhile, Martha, her heart pounding in her chest, could only watch helplessly as Clark fought. She felt so powerless in that moment, trapped in her own apartment with no way to help her son. Her legs moved instinctively, her mind screaming at her to get out—to find safety.
But as she turned to run, the floor seemed to shift beneath her. The debris from the shattered wall had collapsed onto the staircase, blocking her path down.
"Mom!" Clark shouted, his voice filled with urgency. But his attention was still divided. The Phantom was relentless, his attacks coming in quick succession, leaving Clark barely able to keep up.
Martha looked at the staircase, her mind racing. She could hear the sounds of their struggle behind her, but all she could do was try to clear the debris from the path. But it was no use. The rubble was too heavy.
"Clark!" she shouted, her voice strained with panic. "I can't—"
She didn't get to finish. Another violent crash from the battle between Clark and the Phantom shook the apartment. The floor beneath her trembled, and she stumbled, unable to keep her balance.
Clark's eyes darted between the fight and his mother, his protective instincts flaring. But he couldn't leave the Phantom, not yet. The danger to his mother was real, but the immediate threat was still the man in front of him. The one who was bent on destruction.
His fists clenched tighter. He couldn't let this monster win. Not when so much was at stake.
But the debris blocked Martha's escape. The pathway was clear for the moment—but not for long. Time was running out, and the danger was only escalating.
Chloe's grip tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles white, as the sounds of sirens filled the air. Her heart pounded with every passing second, and her eyes blurred with unshed tears. The flashing lights outside her window only added to the chaos, but all she could focus on was the single thought that tore at her mind like a wildfire.
Martha. She had to get to Martha.
Her thoughts swirled in a vortex of panic and fear. But as the vehicle sped closer to the building, something else began to stir deep within her. A feeling she had been running from, even denying for so long, bubbled to the surface. Clark. The thought of him filled her chest with a sharp pang, and she couldn't ignore it anymore. Not now, not with everything on the line.
The truth hit her with the force of a tidal wave: she had feelings for him. Real feelings, that had been buried beneath the layers of their friendship, of the secrets, the unspoken words. She loved him. But even as the realization washed over her, it felt like a curse. The dread of losing him, of seeing him in pain, of not being able to protect him—it made her heart ache.
Her breathing quickened, and she blinked rapidly, pushing the thought away as she pulled up to the apartment building. The sight before her was enough to stop her in her tracks: a scene of utter devastation. The building loomed, its seventh floor barely standing, the walls shattered and broken, debris littering the ground. Sirens wailed, police were shouting orders, and the acrid smell of smoke filled the air.
Chloe's breath caught in her throat as she scanned the destruction. The panic rose in her chest. She couldn't think clearly. Martha. Where was she? Was she okay? Was she still inside?
Every step toward the building felt like it took an eternity, the ground beneath her feet heavy with the weight of her fear. But before she could get too close, several officers blocked her way, their faces stern as they motioned for her to step back.
"Ma'am, you need to move back. It's dangerous here," one officer barked, his voice sharp with authority.
"No!" Chloe cried, her voice breaking with desperation. "Let me go! I need to get to her! I have to make sure she's okay!" Her hands trembled, her entire body shaking with the force of her fear. "Let me through! Please!"
Her words were frantic, the terror in her voice unmistakable, but the officers didn't budge. They only held her back, their hands on her arms, forcing her to stay where she was.
"LET ME GO!" Chloe screamed, her voice rising in volume, the rawness of her panic cutting through the chaos around them. "I NEED TO GET TO HER! SHE'S IN THERE! SHE NEEDS ME!"
Tears welled up in her eyes, but they refused to fall. She couldn't cry anymore. The weight of everything pressing down on her was too much. It felt as though her heart was in her throat, choking off everything else.
Her body shook, her knees buckled, and suddenly, the ground felt like it was giving way beneath her. She collapsed to her knees, her hands pressing into the dirt and dust as if the earth could somehow anchor her in this moment.
The realization slammed into her: She couldn't lose Martha. She couldn't lose Clark.
But what if she already had? What if it was too late?
A horrible, gnawing emptiness flooded her chest, and her mind reeled with the terrifying thought that she might never see Clark again. The thought of losing him—of him being gone forever—it was more than she could bear. She had already lost so much. She couldn't lose him, too.
Her hands shook as she pressed them to the ground, trying to hold herself together. The air felt thick with smoke and dust, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of the emotions she had long buried. Her love for Clark was now undeniable, and it crushed her.