บท 26: Chapter 26
The next morning, as the first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of pink and gold, Clark found himself drawn to the old barn. The weathered wood creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to the hidden compartment where his ship lay concealed for all these years.
With practiced ease, he lifted the false floorboard, revealing the sleek, otherworldly craft beneath. Its metallic surface gleamed dully in the dim light, alien symbols etched into its hull. Clark ran his fingers along the smooth contours, feeling the faint hum of dormant power beneath.
"It's time," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "I need answers."
Clark pressed his palm against a particular symbol - one he'd always felt drawn to but never fully understood. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft whir, the ship came to life.
A beam of light shot out from the craft, enveloping Clark in a holographic interface. The barn around him seemed to melt away, replaced by a vast, star-filled void. Clark found himself floating in this simulated space, surrounded by streams of data and alien glyphs.
"Greetings, Kal-El," a voice echoed around him, neither male nor female, but somehow familiar. "I am the Fortress of Solitude, the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of Krypton, stored within your ship's AI."
Clark's heart raced. "You... you're the ship?"
"In a manner of speaking," the AI replied. "I am an extension of Kryptonian technology, designed to guide and educate you in your heritage."
Holographic displays materialized around Clark, showing images of a world he'd never known but somehow felt connected to. Krypton, in all its advanced glory.
"Tell me about my people," Clark said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Who were the Kryptonians?"
Yes, his father had already told him. But, he wanted an objective non-biased answer. If the ship of his people counted as that.
The AI's tone became somber. "The Kryptonians were a race of immense potential and equally immense flaws. At the height of our civilization, we were explorers, scientists, and philosophers. But we were also conquerors."
Images flashed before Clark's eyes - vast armadas of sleek ships, worlds transformed by incredible technology, beings with powers like his own leading armies across the stars.
"No," Clark breathed, a chill running down his spine. "This can't be right."
"I'm afraid it is, Kal-El," the AI responded. "Krypton's history is one of great achievement, but also great violence. Our people's ambition often outweighed our wisdom."
Clark's mind reeled with the implications. "Is that... is that what I'm meant to do here? Conquer?"
The AI was silent for a moment before responding. "You are the last son of Krypton, Kal-El. The legacy of our people rests with you. You were not sent with an obligation, but the path you choose is your own."
Clark closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of this revelation. When he opened them again, his jaw was set with determination.
"I choose to protect, not conquer," he said firmly. "I won't repeat the mistakes of the past, but I also won't reject my heritage..."
The starry void around him seemed to pulse with energy. "A noble choice, Kal-El. Perhaps in you, the best of Krypton can live on."
For hours that felt like minutes, Clark absorbed knowledge from the Fortress. He learned of Kryptonian history, science, and culture. He discovered more about his own biology, the source of his powers, and potential abilities he had yet to unlock.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky outside, Clark finally disengaged from the interface. The barn materialized around him once more, the ship powering down to its dormant state.
Clark stumbled slightly, his mind buzzing with new information. He made his way to the barn door, pushing it open and stepping out into the warm Kansas morning. The scent of wheat and freshly cut grass filled his lungs as he looked out over the farm.
This was his home. Earth was his home. And he would protect it, not just from external threats, but from the darker legacy of his own people if need be.
As Clark stood there, caught between two worlds, he knew that the choices he made from this day forward would shape not just his own destiny, but potentially the fate of two civilizations - one long gone, and one he'd sworn to protect.
.........
.......
.....
The Metropolis skyline shimmered in the late afternoon sun as Superman descended from the clouds, his red cape billowing behind him. After a week's absence, his return was met with a mixture of cheers, wary glances, but mostly cheers. As his feet touched down on the sidewalk, a crowd quickly gathered, smartphones raised to capture the moment.
Clark smiled and waved, but his super-hearing picked up the whispers beneath the excited chatter.
"Is it true what they're saying on VNN?"
"I heard he killed that bank robber in cold blood."
"New Yorkers always lie, that's bullshit! He saved all those hostages!"
Before Clark could address the murmurs, every screen in the vicinity – from smartphones to the massive billboards in Times Square – suddenly switched to a VNN breaking news report.
The polished anchor's voice rang out, dripping with faux concern. "As Superman returns to our fair city, we must ask ourselves: at what cost does our safety come? Sources close to the recent bank hostage situation reveal that the Man of Steel had numerous non-lethal options at his disposal. Yet, he chose to end a life. Is this the hero we want protecting our streets?"
Clark's jaw clenched as carefully edited footage of the incident played, conveniently omitting the critical moments that forced his hand. He could feel the mood of the crowd shifting, uncertainty replacing adoration.
With a heavy heart, Clark took to the skies once more. He had known Vought would retaliate, but the swiftness and effectiveness of their propaganda campaign caught him off guard. As he soared above the city, his mind raced with how to counter their narrative without compromising his principles.
But he couldn't deny one thing. The sheer frustration and anger he felt, he wanted to scream. One mistake and this is the result...
____________________________________________
In Texas, Misty Gray, better known as Firecracker, crouched on a window ledge thirty stories up. Her hands crackled with barely contained energy as she peered into the smoke-filled apartment.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice muffled by the respirator she wore. "Is anyone in here?"
A faint whimper caught her attention. Misty carefully made her way through the debris-strewn room, following the sound. In the corner, huddled beneath an overturned table, she found a young boy, no more than seven or eight.
"Hey there, buddy," Misty said softly, kneeling beside him. "I'm here to get you out, okay?"
The boy looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes. "But... but my dog. Sparky's still inside!"
Misty's heart clenched. She could hear the fire roaring closer, knew that every second counted. But the pleading look in the boy's eyes...
"Alright," she said, making a split-second decision. "I'm going to get you to safety, and then I'll come back for Sparky. Deal?"
The boy nodded, and Misty scooped him up in her arms. With a running start, she leapt from the window, using her powers to create an energy slide that spiraled them safely to the ground.
As paramedics rushed to check on the boy, Misty turned back to the burning building. She took a deep breath, knowing the risk she was taking, but unable to break her promise.
"Hang on, Sparky," she muttered. "Firecracker's coming for you."
____________________________________
In a dimly lit apartment across the city, Jessica Bradley hunched over her computer, surrounded by charts, graphs, and blurry photographs of Superman. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but they gleamed with a manic intensity.
"It's all connected," she murmured, pinning another string to her elaborate corkboard. "The bank incident, the increased Vought propaganda, the shift in public opinion... It's all leading to something big."
Jessica stepped back, surveying her work. Months of obsessive study had led her to this moment. She believed she had cracked the code to Superman's psyche, understood the pressure points that could push him over the edge.
"If I'm right," she said to herself, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice, "we're about to see what happens when a god falls."
Oh, how wrong she was. Even the most brilliant aren't immune to overconfidence.
__________________________
In a secluded beach house on the coast, Clark Kent sat across from a very uncomfortable-looking Kevin Moskowitz, also known as The Deep.
"I know I'm asking a lot," Clark said, his voice gentle but firm. "But you said you wanted a chance at redemption. This is it, Kevin. Help us take down Vought from the inside."
The Deep fidgeted with the collar of his shirt, his gills flexing nervously beneath the fabric. "And you really think I can do this? Homelander... what if he..."
Clark leaned forward cutting him off, meeting The Deep's gaze. "Homelander will do nothing. You owe him nothing."
He continued. "You could be doing so much good for the world, don't let Vought define your potential."
After a long moment, The Deep nodded. "Alright. I'm in. For real this time bro."
The Justice League was taking its first tentative steps into existence. The world would know, soon.....
_________________________
Later that evening, Clark found himself on a rooftop in Midtown, facing a visibly annoyed Queen Maeve.
"You've got some nerve, showing up here," Maeve said, her arms crossed defensively. Behind her, Elena, Maeve's secret girlfriend, watched the exchange with wary curiosity.
"I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important," Clark replied. "Maeve, we both know Vought is corrupt to the core. I'm putting together a team, heroes who want to make a real difference. I need someone like you."
Maeve scoffed. "Someone like me? You mean a sellout? A corporate shill?"
"No," Clark said firmly. "A warrior. Someone who hasn't forgotten what it means to be a hero, even if she's buried that part of herself deep down."
For a moment, Maeve's tough exterior cracked, a flicker of longing passing across her face. But just as quickly, the walls came back up.
"Thanks, but no thanks," she said, turning away. "I've got too much to lose."
Clark took a deep breath. It was time for his final gambit.
"What if I told you who I really am?" he said quietly. "My true identity. Would that be enough to convince you I'm serious about this?"
Maeve froze, slowly turning back to face him. "You'd do that?" She knew Superman was for the most part good, but the image of what he did to Homelander greatly unnerved her. He had beaten that piece of shit to a bloody pulp. What would he do to her or Elena if she said no...
Clark nodded solemnly. "For the greater good? In a heartbeat."
Elena stepped forward, placing a hand on Maeve's arm. "Babe, maybe you should hear him out."
Maeve looked between Elena and Clark, conflict clear in her eyes. Finally, she sighed. "Alright, Superman. You've got my attention. But this better be good."
____________________
Miles away, in a nondescript suburban home surrounded by an invisible forcefield, Rebecca Butcher tucked her son Ryan into bed. The eight-year-old boy clutched a Superman action figure to his chest, his room decorated with posters of the Man of Steel.
"Mommy," Ryan said sleepily, "do you think I'll ever get to meet Superman?"
Rebecca's heart clenched, a bittersweet smile crossing her face. "Maybe someday, sweetheart. Now get some sleep."
As she closed Ryan's door, Rebecca leaned against the wall, lost in thought. She couldn't help but draw comparisons between Superman and Ryan's biological father, Homelander. Both are immensely powerful, both capable of incredible feats. But Homelander was everything Superman was. However, it feels like Superman genuinely cares about the people he protects.
Homelander will never have that.
Rebecca shuddered, remembering when he..... The madness in his eyes, the casual cruelty. She looked back at Ryan's door, a fierce protectiveness welling up inside her.
"Please," she whispered to no one in particular, "let him be more like Superman than his father."
.........
.....
...
As night fell over the city, the pieces were moving into place. Alliances were forming, plans were being set in motion, and the stage was being set for a confrontation that would shake the very foundations of the superhero world.
Maybe it was time for something different. A league that had the core values of one thing.
Justice.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง