"Thud!"
The lifeless body of Father Norma hit the earth with a bone-jarring smack.
His wide, panic-stricken eyes stared upward as the last autumn leaves fluttered down, the light in them fading into stillness.
Peter slowly released the grip that had snapped the priest's neck.
The clearing went quiet.
Behind him, Clark stood frozen, eyes locked on the corpse.
His godfather had just killed someone.
No hesitation. No speech. Just a clean, brutal motion.
"Let's go."
Peter's voice was steady, his hand reaching back to gently take both Clark and Adam by their arms.
Clark numbly let himself be led, barely reacting as they exited the forest and stepped into the cold night air. They walked in silence back to the truck parked at the edge of the woods.
It wasn't until they were on the road, Peter behind the wheel, that Clark finally found his voice.
"Godfather…" he said quietly, glancing at Peter through the rearview mirror. "Why did you kill him?"
Peter's eyes stayed on the road, but his tone was calm.
"Because Father Norma once told me," he said, "'Your eye shall not pity; life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.'"
He shifted gears and added, "He believed evil must be repaid in kind. That was the creed he lived by—and the one he died by."
Clark looked down, conflicted.
It made sense. It really did.
And yet… why did it feel so off?
Like it clashed with everything Peter ever taught them about life and morality.
"Didn't you say once that life was sacred?" he asked.
Before Peter could answer, Adam jumped in.
"Bad people's lives don't count," Adam said matter-of-factly, arms folded. "Think about it, Clark. That guy almost killed your parents. You want to let him go just so he can come back and finish the job?"
Peter smirked faintly behind the wheel.
This kid gets it.
He hadn't expected Adam to process the night's lesson so quickly, but here he was—already echoing the mindset Peter wanted them to understand.
Sometimes, mercy is a luxury the world can't afford.
Clark leaned back, uneasy but thoughtful. His young mind couldn't craft a better answer. The logic made sense—but his heart still stirred with unease.
Adam noticed and grinned.
"If I were you, Dad," he said proudly, "I'd have done the same."
Peter nodded.
Of course you would, kid. You're starting to act more and more like... your old self.
Clark stared out the window, the woods vanishing into the distance behind them.
He inhaled sharply.
The smell of blood lingered faintly on Adam's jacket.
The memory of Father Norma's snapped neck wouldn't leave his mind.
Something had changed tonight.
And Clark had a feeling… his own life might never be the same.
---
The Next Morning – Patrick Farm
The morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen as Peter turned the radio dial.
Static. Click.
Then the announcer's voice came through:
> "Last night, a tragic terrorist attack shook the quiet town of Smallville. The Great Hall was set ablaze during the annual Harvest Festival. Reports confirm multiple fatalities. Among the dead: three local performers, and Firefighter William Thomas. Over a dozen were hospitalized due to smoke inhalation…"
Peter sat at the table, flipping open the black magic book they had taken from Father Norma.
The smell of burnt paper and blood still clung to the cover.
He skimmed the pages once more—every spell darker than the last. Necromancy. Sacrifices. Demonic pacts.
No doubt, this book had claimed more souls than it had saved.
Magicians. Always trading souls like currency.
Peter had no intention of ever using the cursed thing—but he'd lock it away.
Maybe someday, he thought, I'll find a kid who understands this stuff. Could be useful.
The radio continued.
> "…police believe biochemical weapons may have been used. Federal investigators are expected to arrive in Smallville within 24 hours."
Peter didn't flinch. He'd seen this kind of cleanup before. He just hoped no one traced the real story too far.
"Dad?"
A sleepy voice drifted down the staircase.
Adam trudged into the kitchen in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
"Where's Clark?"
Peter looked up. "His parents came and picked him up early this morning."
Adam frowned.
"I wanted to go fly a kite with him…"
For a moment, he looked like a completely normal kid again.
Peter smiled. But then his expression shifted.
"Adam, come here."
The boy blinked, then walked over and sat across from his father.
"Are we going to fly the kite now?"
Peter folded his hands.
"We'll talk about that later. First, we need to talk about why you were watching horror movies in the middle of the night."
Adam froze.
Caught.
His smile vanished.
---
Elsewhere – Metropolis Central Hospital
In a private hospital room, a sharply-dressed man reclined on the bed, a bandage over his temple and a faint burn mark on his neck.
Leno Luthor, CEO of LuthorCorp, listened quietly as the doctor finished his report.
"Your injuries are superficial, Mr. Luthor. With some rest, you'll be discharged in two days at most."
Leno nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Ryan."
As soon as the doctor left, Leno's calm expression shifted.
His hands clenched.
He hadn't been this close to death in a long time.
Last night's attack had nearly cost him everything.
He'd come to Smallville as part of an expansion deal—buying up farmland for a new biotech facility.
He only attended the Harvest Festival to appease some of the locals.
And then—chaos.
Zombies. Fire. Blood.
He escaped under heavy guard.
But what haunted him most wasn't the monsters.
It was the man with the katana.
The man who moved like a ghost, slicing undead creatures with surgical grace, all while carrying two children on his back.
Leno didn't believe in myths.
He didn't believe in magic.
But last night?
He saw something that defied science.
He pressed a button on the wall. A sharp-dressed assistant entered the room.
"Any progress on locating the man I described?"
The assistant shook his head. "No, sir. None so far."
Leno sighed. "Send more people. Use every resource we have. I want to know who he is, where he came from, and what he's capable of."
The assistant nodded and left.
The room was quiet again.
Then—
"Creak."
The door opened softly.
A bald-headed boy, no more than seven, stepped in, carrying a small backpack.
"Dad!" the boy said cheerfully. "I came to visit you."
Leno's stern face cracked into a smile.
"Rex." He opened his arms, and the boy leapt into them.
Leno hugged his son tightly.
The only thing more important to him than power… was Rex Luthor.
And in that moment, he made a vow:
Whoever that swordsman was—he would find him. And he would make sure his son grew up in a world where peop
le like that answered to him.
---