Reforged in the Sun: Clark Kent Reborn SI

Smallville, at first glance, appeared unchanged. The sun still rose over endless fields of corn, painting the horizon with hues of gold and crimson. The streets remained lined with their familiar small-town charm—antique shops, the bakery with its ever-present scent of fresh bread, and the diner where farmers gathered to trade stories over coffee. But beneath the surface, there was an unease creeping through the town like a shadow.

Rumors spread quickly in a place like this. Darren Vaughn's outburst at school had already morphed into wild tales: trays flying, walls shaking, and invisible forces tearing through the cafeteria. Everyone had their own version, but the truth was stranger than the stories.

At the Kent farm, the air was heavy with unspoken tension. Martha and Jonathan rarely discussed the meteors in front of me, but I knew they were worried. Jonathan sat at the kitchen table that morning, his coffee untouched. The newspaper in his hands was folded neatly, but his eyes kept darting to me.

"Clark," he said finally, breaking the silence. "We need to talk about what happened yesterday."

Martha turned from the stove, her lips pressed together. "Jonathan..."

"No, Martha," he interrupted gently. "He needs to understand what's happening here."

Jonathan's gaze met mine, steady but filled with concern. "Son, you've noticed things changing around town, haven't you? People acting strange. Doing things they shouldn't be able to do."

I nodded, my mind flashing back to Darren, his eyes wide with fear as the air around him crackled with invisible energy.

"It's the meteors, isn't it?" I asked. "They're doing something to people."

Jonathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's what it seems like. But here's the thing, Clark—if these meteors can change people, what's stopping them from doing worse?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

As I rode my bike into town later that day, Smallville felt different. The streets were quieter, and the friendly chatter that usually filled the diner was subdued. People whispered in hushed tones, their eyes darting nervously to anyone who seemed out of place.

I stopped by the hardware store to pick up some nails for Jonathan. The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside, the familiar scent of sawdust and oil filling the air. Mr. Halloran, the owner, looked up from the counter.

"Clark," he said, his voice gruff but friendly. "You hear about that mess at the school?"

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "Yeah. It was... weird."

Mr. Halloran leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Weird doesn't cover it. My nephew works over at the grain mill. Says he saw one of the field hands lift a whole tractor like it was nothing. Bare hands, Clark. What do you make of that?"

I shrugged, muttering something about stories getting exaggerated. But inside, my thoughts were racing. If people were gaining powers from the meteors, it was only a matter of time before someone used them for something worse.

That evening, after finishing my chores, I slipped into the storm cellar. The air inside was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of rust and earth. The ship sat in the center, its smooth metallic surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. As I placed my hand on it, lines of light rippled across its surface, and the holographic figure of Jor-El flickered to life.

"Kal-El," he began, his voice calm but commanding. "You have questions."

I nodded. "The meteors—they're doing something to people. Changing them. Darren wasn't like that before. Is it because of Krypton?"

Jor-El's expression didn't change, but there was a heaviness to his words. "When Krypton's core collapsed, fragments of our planet were scattered across the universe. The meteors you call Kryptonite are remnants of that destruction. They carry properties that can alter living organisms."

My stomach churned. "So, it's my fault. All of this—Darren, the people in town—it's because of me."

Jor-El's gaze softened. "No, Kal-El. It is not your fault. The choices made by Krypton's leaders led to its destruction. But you are not bound by their mistakes. You must use your strength to protect this world from the consequences of ours."

The sun had just begun to set, casting long shadows across the town, when I heard the scream. It was sharp, desperate, and it sent a jolt through me. Dropping everything, I sprinted toward the sound, the wind rushing past me as I darted through the narrow streets.

The alley behind the diner was dimly lit, the faint glow of a streetlamp casting jagged shadows across the walls. At the far end, a young woman was pressed against the brick, her eyes wide with terror. Standing before her was a man whose skin shimmered like molten metal, his form shifting unnaturally in the low light.

"Back off!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.

The man turned slowly, his metallic body rippling with each movement. His eyes gleamed with a cold, predatory light. "Stay out of this, kid," he growled, his voice unnaturally deep. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

He lunged at me, his arm stretching unnaturally as it morphed into a sharp blade. I barely dodged, the blade slicing through the air inches from my face. My heart pounded as I stepped back, my mind racing.

The alley became a battleground. The man moved like liquid, his body shifting and reforming with every attack. His strikes were brutal, each one carrying enough force to shatter brick. I dodged and countered, using my speed to stay ahead, but it wasn't enough.

He landed a blow to my side, sending me crashing into a stack of crates. Pain exploded through my ribs, and I gasped for air. The world spun as I struggled to my feet, but I couldn't give up. I couldn't let him hurt anyone else.

"You're fast, kid," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "But you're not fast enough."

I clenched my fists, focusing on everything Jor-El had taught me. "Focus your energy," I muttered to myself. "Control it."

He lunged again, his blade arm slicing toward me. This time, I caught it, my hands burning against the searing heat of his metallic skin. Gritting my teeth, I twisted his arm, forcing him to the ground. He roared in pain, his body writhing as he tried to break free.

The fight wasn't over. He shifted again, his arm reforming into a heavy hammer that he swung toward me. I ducked, grabbing a metal pipe from the ground and using it to block his next strike. The impact sent vibrations up my arms, but I held firm.

With a burst of strength, I drove the pipe into his chest, the force cracking his metallic form. He stumbled back, his body flickering as if losing cohesion. Seizing the moment, I stepped forward and delivered a solar-charged punch, my fist colliding with his chest in a blinding burst of energy.

The impact sent him flying into the brick wall, his body crumpling to the ground. He groaned, his metallic sheen fading as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The young woman stared at me, her face pale but grateful. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. "Just someone trying to help," I said before disappearing into the shadows.

As I walked away, my hands still trembling from the fight, I realized something important: Smallville was changing, and it wasn't going to stop. The meteors had brought something dark to this town, and if I didn't step up, no one else would.