"Deep breaths… calm your breathing… visualize yourself flying… keep that image in your mind," I muttered under my breath.
I bent my knees, tensing every muscle, eyes locked on the open sky above.
"And—JUMP!"
BOOM!
The ground cracked beneath me as I shot upward, cutting through the air like a missile. One hand stretched forward in a fist, wind roaring past my ears, eyes wide open. For a brief, glorious second, I almost touched the clouds—
—and then gravity claimed me.
BOOM!
I slammed into the ground a few dozen feet from my takeoff point, dirt and rocks scattering as another crater joined the countless others across the old quarry.
"Another failure," I muttered, brushing the dust off my shirt. My gaze wandered over the field of craters — hundreds of them. Proof of my repeated, frustrating attempts.
Flying was supposed to be instinctive, effortless — at least that's what every comic book, movie, and meta source in my head said. But my flight training was going nowhere.
I had theories, of course. I always had theories. To better understand and improve my powers, I had thrown myself into science — equations, energy laws, physics, aerodynamics. The human way of explaining the world. But when I tried applying those same principles to my Kryptonian body, the logic broke down.
How exactly did my X-ray vision work? How could I see through matter without frying everything in front of me with radiation? How was I supposed to fly when every law of gravity and thrust said I shouldn't even get an inch off the ground?
The more I thought about it, the more my rational mind tangled itself in questions. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe my overthinking was the reason I couldn't take off. Maybe doubt itself was the invisible chain pulling me back to Earth.
At least everything else was working fine. My control over strength and speed was alot better — even my heat vision was getting better. My clothes also somehow stopped tearing apart from the stress of my movements, which used to happen a lot. There was a time when I genuinely considered training naked just to save myself from Ma's lecture.
Still, it would be reassuring if this was just a mental block — it would be a real shame if Kryptonians in this universe couldn't fly under a yellow sun, just like some earlier versions of Superman.
"Okay, no need to think that negatively… you haven't even mastered frost breath yet," I muttered, trying to calm myself.
I sat on a boulder, letting my gaze drift back home. Ma was tidying up Selina's room, Pa was parked in front of the TV watching a baseball game while drinking a beer, and Selina herself was at Lana's house. There, she, Lana, and Chloe were seated in a circle, deep in some serious school gossip. In another room, Lana's mom, Laura, was busy with the laundry.
She looked a lot better now, her skin healthy and her mood bright. It might have something to do with me staying at her home until late last night.
Yes, things had worked out between us. Not at first, though. At that time when I had woken her up, Laura had just apologized and cried, saying that she had made a big mistake, that she had taken advantage of me in her drunken stupor. She even wanted to go to Ma and confess what she had done to me, but I managed to calm her down. Still, she was adamant that this type of mistake will never happen again.
However, by my repeated tries and after confessing my attraction for her—and even being somewhat forceful—I finally was able to do it with her the next week, only this time she wasn't drunk.
And after that, for some months, every time we did it, I was the one initiating it while she kept saying that it was the last time and that she was just helping me out with my problem. She also knew that I was quite close with Lana and Chloe and had even made me promise to come to only her whenever I needed a release.
But on Christmas Night, she ended up asking me if I would like to sleep in her bed tonight, just for cuddling as she was feeling very lonely. We obviously didn't just cuddle that night.
And after that night, we started being in a strange relationship, where she started taking care of me more, even buying expensive presents for me on New Year's eve.
Laura stopped drinking alcohol as I told her that I didn't like to kiss her when her breath smelled; she even started doing yoga when I said I loved her hips.
In the end, her life was getting better; she had come out of her depression and even started taking better care of Lana. In my case, my lust had definitely subsided because of our constant late-night meetings, and because of that, my focus on studying, sports, and training had considerably increased.
"Just wait for tonight," I mutter, trying to control my urges.
My eyes kept drifting over the quiet sprawl of Smallville. When I was frustrated, it always helped to look out across the town — calm, familiar, ordinary. But then something caught my attention.
Near one of the back roads, a young blonde girl was splashing her boots in a puddle left behind by last night's storm. Overhead, a loose power line sparked and hissed, its insulation frayed and trembling in the wind. One more gust, and it would fall—straight into the puddle.
I didn't hesitate. One moment I was standing in the quarry, the next there was nothing but a blur across the countryside. The roads were mostly empty, which worked in my favor. As I neared the girl, I began slowing down, transitioning to a normal running pace. I had to do this carefully—if I stopped abruptly from full speed, a loud booming noise would follow.
"Hey! Watch out!" I called, sweeping the girl off her feet just as the power line snapped and struck the water with a sharp crack.
She gasped, clutching at me as I set her back down on safe ground.
"Y-you saved me!" she stammered, blinking up at me. Then her eyes widened. "Wait—you're Clark, right? From class?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling a little. "You really have to watch your surroundings, Amy. That could've ended badly."
Amy blushed, nodded, and held my hands, thanking me repeatedly. I offered to walk her back to her house, and she agreed. As we walked, she began chatting, telling me a little about her life—her father worked at a nearby store, and her mother was employed at the Luthor Mansion.
Thinking she might still be shaken from nearly getting electrocuted, I bought her some chocolate from a nearby store. She thanked me and even pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.
Feeling good about helping her, I dropped her off at her house and continued on my way. I even doubled back briefly to push the fallen power line safely out of the way, making sure no one else would get hurt.
Amy was just a girl from my class I had paid some attention to—as she was a minor character in Smallville canon, and because her mother worked as a maid in the Luthor Mansion.
Speaking of the Luthors, they did have a mansion nearby, but I had never seen them visit Smallville. From what I had heard, their whole family lived in Metropolis and didn't care much for backwater towns like this one.
I replayed my little heroic stunt in my head, analyzing and nitpicking every move. It was a habit I had developed to protect my identity better. After that Gotham incident, I had made it a point to save people quietly whenever I could. Of course, my range was limited—mostly around Smallville, and occasionally Gotham, but I visited there only under the cover of night.
I had thought about visiting bigger cities like Metropolis, Central City, or Star City, but from what I had seen on the news, those places were packed with security cameras. There was a real chance I would get caught on one of them.
Even here, local news had started calling me the Smallville Phantom—some mysterious blur that appeared out of nowhere to help people. So I had become even more cautious, stepping in only when it was absolutely necessary.
Just as I was about to head toward Lana's house, my eyes suddenly widened—my focus snapping straight to my own home.
In the middle of the living room, Pa was clutching his chest, his face twisted in pain, his beer bottle rolling off his hand and spilling onto the floor. His heartbeat, which I had kept marked, had gone from steady to erratic in a heartbeat.
I dashed home instantly, not bothering with the door—it splintered cleanly as I broke through. I caught him just before he collapsed, cradling him in my arms.
"MA!" I yelled, scanning him with my X-ray vision.
His face was pale and contorted, his breathing shallow, his skin was rapidly going cold and clammy. My eyes swept through his body—then I saw it. His heart muscle was spasming; one side contracting weakly while the other barely moved. The vessels surrounding it were thick, one of the coronary arteries, the main blood vessel feeding the heart, was completely blocked by a fatty clot.
Seeing his heartbeat falter, my mind went cold and clear. The background noise faded — the TV's baseball commentary, the clinking bottle on the floor — all of it drowned beneath the thundering calm of focus. My thoughts fired faster than lightning.
In an instant, I realized the truth — I couldn't help him. This wasn't an injury I could patch up, or a wound I could cauterize with heat vision. This was inside him. A system failure I couldn't punch away or fix with strength.
He needed real medical care. Now.
"Jonathan?" Ma's voice came from behind, trembling, her eyes widening at the sight.
"Pa's having a heart attack! I'm taking him to Smallville General!" I said quickly ,scooping him up and holding him steady as I sprinted for the hospital.
I could hear his heartbeat — erratic, weak — each beat struggling to push blood through clogged vessels.
I could hear his heart stuttering — the rhythm uneven, desperate, struggling to push blood through blocked vessels. My own heartbeat thundered, not with panic, but calculation. For a split second, I really considered risking everything and using my heat vision to burn away the blockage… but no. My control wasn't nearly that precise, I would definitely burn a hole right through his chest and heart, making things even worse.
So I ran. Faster than I ever had before.
The wind howled against me as I blurred past the fields, the town's outline flashing by in seconds. Still, even in that moment, I knew that I had to stop outside the hospital — I couldn't risk cameras catching me appear from thin air. The sudden deceleration still threw up a shockwave that made bystanders jump, but before anyone could react, I was already inside, moving through the automatic doors, having already scanned and zoomed in on where I needed to take him.
"My Dad's having a heart attack — please help!" I shouted, rushing to the nurse I saw standing by the emergency entrance.
The nurse took one look, grabbed a stretcher, and hit the alarm. Within seconds, Pa was being wheeled through the double doors.
I followed close behind. The ER wasn't too crowded — mostly people with minor injuries from a late night storm. That worked in our favor. Doctors and nurses swarmed around him instantly.
I stood there, frozen but watching everything — machines whirring, wires snapping into place, defibrillator pads slapped onto his chest, the rhythmic thud of chest compressions. I could hear every word the doctors exchanged, every heartbeat that faltered on the monitor.
"Severe cardiac arrest — ventricular fibrillation!"
"Get the paddles!"
"Charging to two hundred—clear!"
The crack of the defibrillator echoed through the room, sharp enough to make my skin crawl. Jonathan's body jerked once… the monitor spiked—then flatlined again.
I could see everything the doctors couldn't — the slowing flow of blood, oxygen thinning in his veins, his heart trembling weakly, trying one last time to beat… then falling still.
"Time of death, 7:46 PM," one of the doctors said quietly.
The words hung in the air like the silence after a storm. I just stood there, staring through the walls, through the people, listening to the emptiness inside my Pa's chest. His heart was still. His lungs weren't breathing.
His body had given up.
"Son… is there an adult with you?" one of the doctors asked gently, his hand resting on my shoulder. His eyes carried the same look people give when they can't think of anything else to say.
"Yeah," I murmured, forcing the words out. "My Ma's on the way. Wait here—let me bring her." I could see her parking her car outside, and running towards the door.
He told me he would wait for us. I thanked him quietly and walked away, catching up to her easily.
"Clark, what happened to Jonathan?" she asked, her hands clutching my shoulders, her blue eyes wide with panic.
"Pa… is gone," I muttered, the words scraping out of my throat like gravel.
For a moment, she just stared at me, not understanding. "No… that can't be true," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled and spilled down her cheeks.
I held her as she stumbled forward, bringing her to the doctors. When they repeated the same words I had said, she broke down completely, sobbing into my chest.
My eyes stayed open—too open. My mind was already moving on its own, calculating what came next: the calls we would have to make, the funeral arrangements, the people that needed to be informed. Anything to keep my thoughts busy. Anything to not look towards that room.
Because I knew if I did… if I saw him lying there, still and cold…
Then this nightmare would stop feeling like a dream.