--------------////----------
The last thing I remembered was the voice of that cosmic being. The feeling of infinite power flooding my soul—a universe of light and darkness forced into my very being. Then, the nothingness. The falling, spinning, and dissolving into a void that wasn't as empty as the first one.
Now, there was feeling again. But it was all wrong, twisted and distant.
The first thing I felt was a cold breeze on my skin. My skin felt… new. Raw. And I was so, so weak. A profound, bone-deep weakness that made my previous life as a scrawny college student feel like I'd been the Hulk. I tried to move my arms, to push myself up, but it was like trying to lift sacks of concrete with cooked noodles. I managed a tiny, jerky movement. My own hand, soft and pudgy, bumped into my face.
My hand. It was… tiny. Ridiculously, impossibly small.
Panic, cold and sharp, tried to rise, but my body was a prison. My lungs couldn't draw a deep breath; my vocal cords couldn't form a scream. All that came out was a weak, gurgling sound, a pathetic mewl.
I forced my eyes open. The world was a blur. A mess of smeared colors and blinding light. My newborn eyes couldn't focus. Above me were two blurry shapes. Large, human-shaped blobs leaning over me, blocking out the sun. They were making soft, cooing sounds that grated against my racing, adult mind.
"…a baby…" a woman's voice said. It was warm, like honey on a cold day. "Oh, Jonathan, look. He's so small. His eyes are open."
"Just left here," a deeper, rougher male voice replied. There was a heartbroken sadness in it. "On a mornin' like this. Who could leave a child out in the cold?"
I was trying to process this, my thoughts slogging through syrup. Left here? I thought, the fog in my mind slowly clearing. They found me? Where is 'here'? Who are these people?
I tried to turn my head. It was a monumental effort. The world swam nauseatingly. As my vision started to clear just a little, the sharp lines of a simple, wooden crib came into focus. It wasn't fancy. And next to me, in the same crib, was another bundle, swaddled in a blue blanket.
Another baby.
It was sleeping peacefully, a little fist tucked under its chin. A small tuft of dark hair peeked out from under the blanket.
The two blurry faces—the couple—were looking down at both of us. Their expressions were a mix of shock, concern, and a deep, innate kindness. The woman reached out a gentle, calloused hand and stroked my cheek. Her touch was incredibly soothing, a point of warmth in my confusing new reality.
"Poor little lamb," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You must be frozen to the bone." She bundled the rough blanket around me tighter, her hands tucking the fabric securely.
"Two of 'em, Martha," the man, Jonathan, said, his voice full of a wonder that battled with his worry. He gestured between me and the other baby. "One on the doorstep, and this little fella right here in the crib with…"
He didn't finish. He just looked at the other baby with a deep, fierce, fatherly affection that was so pure it almost hurt to watch.
My blurry eyes followed his gaze. The other baby. The one they had found first. The one they clearly already loved. The one they had called…
My heart, a tiny, frantic drum in my chest, seemed to stop.
No. It can't be. That's just a coincidence. A really, really weird, universe-altering coincidence.
The woman, Martha, smiled down at the other baby, her love for him a physical force in the air. "This one's our Clark," she said, her voice overflowing with a warmth I had never known in my first life. "And he could use a brother, don't you think? They both look to be the same age."
Clark.
The name echoed in my skull, loud and final. Clark. In a farm. With a couple named Jonathan and Martha.
The pieces clicked together with the force of a planetary impact.
Jonathan Kent. Martha Kent. Clark.
I was in a crib with a baby named Clark Kent.
I was lying next to baby Superman.
The shock was so absolute that I forgot to even pretend to breathe for a second. I, Ken, the guy who got shot in the dick over instant noodles, was now sharing a crib with the most famous superhero in the entire DC Universe. The irony was so thick you could build a barn with it. My old life felt like a distant, poorly written prologue.
My initial panic was now replaced by a dizzying whirlwind of thoughts. The cosmic being didn't just send me to a random world. He sent me to the DC Universe. And he didn't just drop me in the middle of a Crisis event. He placed me at the very heart of its moral compass, on a quiet farm in Smallville, Kansas, as a baby.
The Kents, seeing my wide, staring eyes, must have thought I was just a curious infant. Jonathan chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that seemed to come from the earth itself. "Look at him, Martha. He's already takin' a shine to little Clark. His eyes are following him."
Martha carefully picked me up, cradling me against her chest. Her arms were strong from farm work and impossibly safe. "He needs a name, Jonathan. We can't just call him 'the baby'. He's a person. He's our son now, too."
Jonathan nodded, scratching his chin as he looked from me to the vast, green fields that stretched out to the horizon. He looked at my face, at my curious, focused eyes that held a wisdom he couldn't possibly understand. "How about… Robert?" he said finally. "It's a good, strong name. Robert Kent."
Robert Kent. I had a name. I was Robert Kent. Brother to Clark Kent. This was my life now. The finality of it was both terrifying and immensely comforting.
As the initial, world-shattering shock wore off, a new, more terrifying thought began to creep in, a cold serpent of doubt slithering into my mind. My power. The Sentry's glorious, sun-like light. The Void's cold, absolute darkness. Where was it?
I focused inward, trying to feel that cosmic energy, that universe of power that had been poured into my soul. I reached for the light, for the strength to move planets, to fly between stars.
Nothing. Not a flicker. Not a spark.
A little frightened, I reached for the other side. I sought the cold, nihilistic power of the Void, the power to unmake reality, to erase matter from existence.
Nothing. Just the empty, silent echo of my own thoughts.
There was only the weak, gurgling sensation of a baby's stomach and the fuzzy, overwhelming feeling of sleepiness pulling at my consciousness.
A cold dread, colder than the Kansas morning, settled in my gut. Did I get scammed? Was that cosmic being some kind of multiversal con artist? A bored entity who got his kicks by granting wishes with fine print? Did he take my epic wish for god-like power and just dump me here as a normal, utterly powerless baby? The thought was so horrifying, so fundamentally devastating, that I almost let out a real, proper wail of despair.
But then, a sliver of logic, a remnant of my otaku-level analysis, fought its way through the fear. I was a baby. A newborn, from the feel of it. My body was undeveloped, fragile. My brain might be here, packed with memories and knowledge, but my nervous system, my cells, my everything was… infantile. Maybe the power was there, sleeping, dormant, waiting for my vessel to grow strong enough to contain it. Maybe trying to access the power of a million suns in a body this fragile would literally make me go pop like a water balloon in a microwave.
That had to be it. It was the only explanation that didn't send me spiraling into a bottomless pit of hopelessness. The power was there. I just had to grow up. I had to be patient.
Martha carried me into the house, Jonathan following close behind with baby Clark cradled carefully in his strong arms. The farmhouse was warm and smelled of baked bread, wood polish, and honesty. It was simple, clean, and full of love. Nothing like my old, dingy, lonely apartment.
As they settled us in, my mind raced, adapting to my new, unbelievable situation. I was adopted by the Kents. I was now the brother of Clark Kent, the future Superman. I was in the DC Universe.
And despite the terror, the helplessness, and the lingering fear of being scammed, a profound sense of relief washed over me, so powerful it made my eyes water. The Kents probably thought I was just a crying baby.
This… this was good. This was better than good. This was a miracle I hadn't even dared to wish for.
I had been given a second chance, not just at life, but at a good life. I was with a family known throughout the multiverse for their unwavering kindness, their decency, and their unconditional love. I wouldn't be alone anymore. I would grow up with a brother who was, at his core, one of the best people in all of existence. I could have a childhood. A real one.
My otaku knowledge wasn't just for trivia or escape anymore. It was a survival guide. A strategic advantage. I knew the threats this world faced. I knew the friends and the enemies. I knew the timeline. I could be ready. I could help.
I thought about the other places that cosmic being could have sent me, and my blood ran cold just imagining it, freezing the relief in my veins.
He could have sent me to the Warhammer 40k universe. A baby on a hive world? I'd have been turned into corpse starch within a week, my remains fed to the very soldiers fighting a never-ending, hellish war. The God-Emperor wouldn't have saved me; he'd have been just another unimaginable nightmare in a galaxy of them.
He could have sent me to the world of Berserk. A baby during the Eclipse? I wouldn't have just died; my soul would have been forfeit to the Godhand and their demonic apostles for all eternity. The thought of being a helpless infant in that world of unending suffering, betrayal, and brutality was enough to make my tiny heart seize with a terror I couldn't vocalize.
Or, god forbid, a world like SCP Who's have some beings that even DC's presence cant do anything or, even worse, the utter hellscape of Jujutsuka no Rokunin or Shindou Yuusha. Worlds where anomaly and sadistic, manipulative gods feed on suffering and treat human lives as mere toys. I would have been a mere plaything, a momentary amusement for some cosmic horror or a vengeful spirit, torn apart for fun before I could even take my first step. I would have been an entertainment tool, my pain their sport.
Compared to those fates, being a seemingly powerless baby in Smallville, Kansas, was a paradise. A peaceful, sun-drenched paradise with a loving family. I hadn't been scammed. I had been saved. That being, whoever he was, hadn't just granted my wish for power. He had looked into my soul and granted my unspoken, deeper wish for a chance at a real life, for a family, for peace. He'd given me a sanctuary, a training ground, and a foundation.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I settled into the slow, steady rhythm of life on the Kent farm. It was a life of simple pleasures: the sound of chickens clucking in the yard, the smell of fresh-turned earth after Jonathan plowed the fields, the taste of Martha's homemade apple pie, and the constant, gentle presence of my new parents.
Clark and I grew. We learned to crawl, then to take our first wobbly steps on the porch. He was always stronger, always a little faster, his grip on a spoon somehow firmer, but he never seemed to realize it. He was just my brother, with his dark hair and curious, kind blue eyes. We babbled at each other, and I had to consciously force myself to make baby sounds, to not form perfect, grammatical sentences that would have sent Martha and Jonathan running for an exorcist.
I played my part perfectly. The doting parents saw a quiet, observant, and sometimes strangely intense baby. They didn't see the mind inside, constantly testing, constantly waiting, constantly screaming into the void for a spark of power.
I tried to flex a muscle, hoping for a spark of super-strength to make the crib tremble. Nothing.
I stared at a floating dust mote in a sunbeam,trying to unleash the Void's energy to erase it from existence. The mote danced on, oblivious.
I focused all my will,my entire adult consciousness, on a rattle, trying to lift it with my mind. The rattle stayed firmly on the floor, a testament to my powerlessness.
The power was dormant. It had to be. I refused to believe otherwise. My one anchor in this sea of helplessness was my knowledge. I knew what was coming. I knew about the ship that would crash in the field. I knew about the Kryptonite. I knew about Lex Luthor, Darkseid, Brainiac, the Anti-Life Equation… I knew it all.
For now, my mission was simple: grow up. Learn. Observe. And protect this peace with every fiber of my being. When my power finally awoke, I would be ready. I would not be a hero like Clark, shining in the spotlight of Metropolis. I would be the shadow that guards the light. I would be the darkness that ensures the dawn always comes. The Void that protects the Sentry's light.
Lying in my crib one evening, listening to Clark's soft, even breathing beside me and the sound of Martha humming an old tune in the kitchen downstairs, I made a silent vow to the stars I couldn't yet see from my window.
I would get my power back. And when I did, I would use the combined, limitless might of the Sentry and the Void to make sure nothing, and no one, ever took this family, this peace, this second chance, away from me.
This was my home now. And I would defend it, one step at a time.
------///-----
[Yo, give me Stone if u like this😅🤏🤏🤏]