Superman/Clark POV

A shockwave snaps through the training room as I slide back half a step—just enough to sell it.

Rex’s charged coin detonates against my chest in a burst of orange light, one after the other.

Smoke curls upward.

I glance down.

My shirt’s fine.

“…Okay,” I say, brushing at a bit of dust. “That one had a nice kick to it.”

“Don’t patronize me!” Rex shouts, already flicking another coin into the air and charging it mid-spin. “This one’s got spice.”

He hurls it.

I don’t move.

It hits.

Boom.

A little louder this time.

I blink through the smoke, tilting my head.

“…Cinnamon?”

“—I fucking hate you.”

“Nah, you love me,”

To my left, a pink construct hammer slams into my side with enough force to crater concrete.

Or it would.

Instead, it shatters on impact like glass.

Fragments of glowing energy scatter and dissolve into nothing.

“This feels unfair,” Atom Eve calls, already reforming something bigger—denser.

“You’re good!” I say, raising my hands slightly. “Keep trying’”

A laser blast cuts me off.

Green-hot energy slams into my shoulder.

I glance over.

Robot stands at the far end of the room, mechanical frame locked in place, visor glowing.

“Noted,” he says flatly. “Adjusting output, increasing by a 75%.”

“Appreciated,” I reply.

Behind me—

A fist connects with the back of my head.

Then another.

Then four more.

I don’t even turn yet.

“…Hi, Kate.”

A chorus answers:

“Hi, Clark.”

I finally look over my shoulder.

There are—what—twelve of her right now?

Dupli-Kate and her duplicates circle me, each in a slightly different stance, trying angles, timing, coordination.

It’s actually impressive.

They all hit me at once, and as expected, their attacks do less than nothing.

“…Okay,” I say. “That one felt like… a strong high-five.”

“Rude,” one of the Kates mutters.

“Extremely rude,” another agrees.

“Emotionally damaging,” a third adds.

“Okay, that one I apologize for,” I say quickly.

Rex groans from across the room.

“Oh my god, we are doing nothing.”

He charges forward, both hands glowing now, pulling energy into a cluster of coins and scrap he’s grabbed from a nearby table.

“Eat this, farm boy!”

He flings them all at once.

I smiled.

The explosions chain together.

Boom—boom—boom—boom—

Okay, that one actually had some force behind it.

I nod, impressed.

“Nice grouping!”

Smoke clears.

Rex is staring at me.

Then he throws his hands up.

“Fuck this dude, what are we even trying to do?” he snaps, pacing back and forth. “This is fucking pointless, we are learning nothing.”

The room settles.

Kate’s duplicates flicker out one by one until only the original remains, stretching her shoulders.

Eve lowers her hands, constructs dissolving into soft pink particles.

Robot steps forward slightly, composed as always.

“That is not an accurate assessment,” he says. “Engaging an overwhelmingly superior opponent provides critical data on reaction time, coordination failure points, and tactical limitations. These are scenarios we are statistically likely to encounter in the field.”

Rex stares at him.

Then gestures wildly at me.

“All I’m learning is that if we fight someone like him, I would have to bend over, so I might as well carry a bottle of lube for the special occasion.”

There’s a pause.

“…Rex,” Eve says.

“I’m being metaphorical!” he snaps. “Mostly!”

He points at me again.

“My explosions do nothing. Actually nothing would be preferable—they just make him look cooler.”

I glance down at my shirt again.

“…Do they?”

“Yes!” Rex throws his arms out. “No offense dude, I love you, but fuck you, you are broken.”

“Okay, I’m— I’m not that broken.”

He stares at me.

Deadpan.

“Dude. You have every power in the damn book.”

I open my mouth—

“Don’t—don’t even,” he cuts in. “Including the best one.”

Oh no. Knowing Rex, I already knew what he was about to say.

“Rex—” Eve starts.

“X-ray vision,” he says, nodding like he’s making a very serious point. “Which lets you see every lady you want—”

A giant pink fly swatter materializes midair.

WHAP.

It slams into the side of his head and plants him face-first into the floor.

There’s a beat.

“…What was that for?” Rex groans, muffled.

“For being a pervert,” Eve says, arms crossed.

“Exactly,” Kate adds.

A couple of her duplicates pop back in just to nod.

“You never hit him!” Rex complained.

“We trust Clark,” one says.

“We don’t trust you,” another finishes.

Rex lifts his head slightly.

“I… ehm…”

He pauses.

“…Fair enough,” he mutters, dropping his head back down with a sigh.

I rub the back of my neck.

“…For the record, that’s not—like—that’s not how I use that.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Rex says into the floor.

“We believe you clark,” Duplikate rolls her eyes.

Robot clears his throat. Or the robotic equivalent of.

“If we may return to the purpose of this exercise.”

Rex groans louder.

“Please no.”

Robot ignores him.

“Clark’s presence provides a unique opportunity. His durability allows us to test upper-limit output without risk of fatality. Additionally, his reaction time enables us to simulate high-speed combat scenarios.”

He looks at me.

“Your cooperation is appreciated.”

I nod.

“Yeah, I mean—happy to help. Just, uh…”

I glance around at the slightly scorched, cracked, and generally abused training room.

“…Maybe we dial it back before we accidentally destroy the training room?”

“And even then you would be fucking unscathed,” Rex mutters, pushing himself up.

Eve exhales, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

“He’s not wrong, though,” she says, looking at Robot. “We are kind of hitting a wall here.”

I shift my weight.

“Okay, what if we change the approach?”

They all look at me.

I raise my hands slightly.

“Instead of trying to… hurt me—which, no offense, is kind of a losing battle—what if we focus on objectives?”

Robot tilts his head.

“Clarify.”

“Like—” I gesture around. “Containment. Distraction. Coordination. You guys are way better at that than I am.”

Rex snorts.

“That’s because you solve problems by punching them into the ground.”

“I solve problems by carefully punching them into the ground,” I correct.

Kate smiles a little at that.

Heh. Got one.

Eve nods slowly.

“…He’s right.”

Rex looks between us.

“Traitor.”

“I’m serious,” she says. “We’re not going to outmuscle him. But we can try outplay him.”

I point at her.

“Exactly. Look at this face. I am extremely outplayable.”

Rex squints.

“…I don’t believe that.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” I admit. “But you can still make it really annoying for me.”

“That I believe.”

Robot steps forward again, processing.

“Reframing the exercise…” he murmurs. “Objective-based engagement. Non-lethal win conditions. Environmental utilization…”

He looks up.

“Clark, would you be willing to act as an opposing force attempting to complete a conflicting objective?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

Rex folds his arms.

“…What kind of objective?”

I think for a second.

Then glance at the far end of the room—there’s a reinforced vault door used for drills.

I point.

“Let’s say there’s a device in there. You have five minutes to stop me from getting to it.”

Rex grins.

“Oh, now we’re talking.”

Eve’s already moving, pink constructs forming into barriers and layered defenses.

Kate splits—two, four, eight—

Robot’s drones deploy from hidden compartments, hovering into position.

I take a step back, raising my hands, putting on my most evil expression. “Now heroes, can you stop Evil Man?! Muahahaha!!”

Rex snorts and shakes his head. “You’re a dork,” he says. But he’s smiling.

“He is, but he’s our dork,” Duplikate chuckles.

“That he is, our invincible dork,” Atom Eve adds rolling her eyes.

[A few hours later.]

The air parts around us in clean, silent waves as we cut across the upper atmosphere.

No turbulence. No resistance worth mentioning.

Just sky.

I adjust my posture slightly mid-flight—small corrections, the kind Omniman had drilled into me years ago. Keep your center stable. Minimize drag. Don’t waste motion.

Not that I need to.

But habits stick.

Especially the ones that keep other people safe.

We’re flying side by side, high enough that the curve of the Earth is starting to show. The horizon stretches out in a soft blue arc, clouds drifting like slow-moving continents below.

For a while, neither of us says a thing.

That’s normal. Omniman is a man of few words, but they are good ones.

Flying with him is like that sometimes. Quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just… space to think.

Then—

“You’ve been doing very well, Clark.”

I glance over.

Omniman’s expression is neutral, but there’s something there. Not quite a smile. Not quite approval. Something… measured, something new.

“I mean it,” he adds. “Your response times, your control. The way you handled the Mauler incident.”

I rub the back of my neck a little.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m trying.”

A faint exhale leaves him. Not quite a laugh.

“As you should be.”

We fly in silence for another second.

Then he continues.

“You’ve improved faster than I anticipated, and your strength has exceeded my expectations.”

That gets my attention.

“…That sounds like there was a bet somewhere in there,” I say.

“There wasn’t,” he replies evenly. “But if there had been, I would have won.”

“Good to know.”

He glances at me again.

“There are very few beings in the universe who develop at your rate, who have the right to be called strong,” he says. “Fewer still who can match a Viltrumite in the realm of strength.”

I don’t answer right away.

Compliments from him don’t come often. So, they are weird.

“…That’s mostly you,” I say after a second. “The training. I wouldn’t be able to do half of what I do without it, I was a clueless kid back then.”

That part’s not me being modest.

It’s just true.

Before him, I was… guessing.

Strong, yeah. Fast. Durable.

But directionless.

After him?

Everything started to click.

Angles. Timing. Control.

How to end a fight without escalating it.

He doesn’t respond immediately.

Then—

“I’ve simply given you tools,” he says. “What you do with them is your own, as they did with my in Viltrum.”

I nod slightly.

We pass through a thin layer of cloud, mist rolling over us for half a second before it clears again.

Below, the Atlantic stretches out—endless and dark.

“Still,” I add, “I appreciate it. Really.”

A pause.

Then, almost casually—

“Can’t say training you didn’t have its benefits. It’s afforded me more time at home.”

I blink.

“…Yeah?”

“My responsibilities have not lessened,” he says. “But your presence has… redistributed the burden.”

There’s a faint shift in his tone.

“I’ve been able to spend more time with my wife.”

Oh.

I smile a little at that.

“That’s good,” I say. “Ms. Grayson deserves that.”

“She does.”

There’s no hesitation there.

No distance.

Just fact.

And for a second, it’s not Omni-Man, the strongest man on earth.

It’s just… Mr. Grayson.

Mark’s dad.

The guy who grills burgers in the backyard and pretends he doesn’t hear us when we argue about homework.

“Earth is… remarkable.”

I glance over again.

He’s looking down now.

At the planet.

“There’s a resilience to it,” he continues. “A persistence. Despite its flaws.”

“…Yeah,” I say. “That’s kind of our thing.”

He doesn’t smile.

“But it could be more, so much more.”

I tilt my head slightly.

“How do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

We descend a little—nothing drastic, just enough that the ocean below sharpens into detail.

Ships. Wake trails. Movement.

“Other worlds,” he says slowly, “have achieved far greater efficiency. Stability. Order. With so much less than what this planet has,”

There’s a rhythm to his words now.

Measured.

Intentional.

“With the right guidance, Earth could reach that level.”

I frown slightly.

“Guidance like… technological?” I ask. “Or—”

“Leadership.”

“…We’ve got leadership,” I say. “It’s just… you know. Messy.”

“That is one way to describe it.”

I glance at him again.

There’s no humor in his voice.

Just observation.

“You’ve seen it,” he continues. “Conflicts born from inefficiency. Governments paralyzed by indecision. Resources squandered.”

I shift slightly in the air.

“Yeah,” I admit. “We’re not exactly optimized.”

“That is a generous assessment.”

I huff a quiet laugh.

“Hey, we’re trying.”

He looks at me then.

Directly.

“And if trying is not enough?”

For a second, I don’t answer.

Because… yeah.

I scratch my cheek lightly.

“Well,” I say slowly, “then we keep trying, that's human nature as a whole, keep messing it up until you get it right.”

He studies me.

Not judging.

Just… evaluating.

“Progress is rarely achieved through patience alone,” he says.

“Maybe,” I reply. “But forcing it usually breaks things.”

A beat.

The air between us shifts just slightly.

Then—

“Perhaps,” he says.

Not agreement.

Not disagreement.

Just… filed away.

We fly on for a few seconds.

The conversation settles.

But not completely.

I can feel it.

Like something’s still there, just under the surface.

So I nudge it.

“…You’ve mentioned other worlds before,” I say. “Can you tell me about yours?”

A glance.

“You want to hear about Viltrum?”

“What was it like?” I asked.

He looks ahead.

“Unified,” he says. “Strong. Focused on advancement.”

“Sounds nice.”

“There was no ambiguity in purpose. Every citizen understood their role in strengthening the whole.”

“…Group projects must’ve been great,” I mutter.

No reaction.

“Viltrum became what it is because it refused to tolerate weakness in its structure.”

That sounds… ambiguous.

“So like… strong systems?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Not elaborating.

I file that away.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Everyday.”

Immediate.

“I appreciate what it taught me.”

“…Which is?”

“Discipline. Clarity. The importance of strength.”

I nod.

“And you?” he asks. “Your world.”

I look at him.

“Krypton,” he says.

Still weird hearing that out loud.

“…Yeah,” I say. “Krypton.”

I slow just a fraction.

“My info’s limited,” I admit. “But it was advanced. Really advanced.”

“That aligns with your capabilities.”

“Apparently not enough to save it,” I add.

He says nothing.

“It collapsed,” I continue. “People in charge ignored problems. Prioritized the wrong things.”

I exhale.

“Greed. Short-sightedness.”

“By the time anyone tried to fix it… too late.”

Silence.

“That is a familiar pattern,” he says.

“…Yeah.”

“Civilizations rarely fall from external pressure alone,” he continues. “More often, they rot from within.”

I nod slowly.

“Greed,” he says. “Self-interest. The refusal to act for the greater good.”

His tone sharpens slightly.

“That is the greatest disease in the universe.”

I glance at him.

Really look.

And for a second, I wonder what he’s seen.

“…Guess every planet’s got issues,” I say lightly.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Some more than others.”

We keep flying.

“Do you really want to learn about Viltrum”

I look over.

He’s not looking at me.

“I do,” I nod.

“It is not a place easily explained,” he says. “It is something that must be seen. Understood through experience, not description.”

I tilt my head slightly.

“…Yeah?”

He turns his head then.

Meets my eyes.

And there’s something different there now.

“If you truly wish to understand it,” he says, “I could take you there.”

That—

Okay.

That wasn’t what I expected.

“…To Viltrum?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Simple. Direct.

Like he’s offering a ride into town.

I blink.

“Is that—uh—like a long trip?” I ask. “Because I’ve got school. And, you know… life.”

A faint shift at the corner of his mouth.

“It would not be immediate.”

That doesn’t answer the question.

But it also kind of does.

I scratch the back of my neck.

“…That’s a big invite.”

“It is an opportunity,” he says.

The way he says it—

It doesn’t feel casual.

It feels… deliberate.

I glance down at Earth.

Then back at him.

“…Why me?” I ask.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Because you are strong,” he says. “Because you have potential. And because you should see what exists beyond this world, and I feel Viltrum has a lot to offer you.”

There’s more behind that.

I can feel it.

Even if he’s not saying it.

I exhale slowly.

“…I mean,” I say, “interplanetary field trip does sound cool.”

A beat.

“But I think I’d need to… think about it.”

“That would be wise.”

No pressure.

No push.

Just acceptance.

Like he already expected that answer.

We fly on.

Side by side.

The Earth stretching endlessly beneath us.

I glance at him again.

“…Hey.”

“Yes?”

“If I go,” I say, “do I get a tour guide?”

A pause, then a small smile.

Then—

“I suppose I could arrange that.”

I grin slightly.

“Good. Because I feel like I’d get lost.”

“You would.”