After returning to the farm, Jonathan sent Martha to rest and descended to the barn, where the round table waited in the dim morning light. He sank into a chair, pressing his forehead, a deep sadness etched across his face.
"Dad."
Adrian stepped forward, eyes sharp yet concerned. "Are you alright?"
Clark followed from outside, sensing the weight in the room.
"I'm fine… just a little dizzy," Jonathan admitted, still holding his forehead, sighing as he fought against the throbbing ache.
"Is it about Martin's little daughter?" Adrian asked, taking a seat at the table.
Jonathan's expression darkened. "Yes."
Clark clenched his fists. "I swear, I'll find whoever did this!" Fire burned in his eyes; the injustice was personal. No one could cross his line and go unpunished.
Jonathan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Your mother and I… we saw something unusual at the hospital today. Something… remarkable." He recounted the strange events—the ravens, the purple energy spiraling from Martha, the awe and fear that had gripped him.
Adrian considered the information carefully. The purple energy, the raven symbolism—it reminded him of a figure he knew from stories and legends: Raven from the Teen Titans. Half-demon, daughter of Trigon, capable of tremendous magic—but normally restrained, only fully devastating when she let darkness consume her.
The thought unsettled Adrian, but he maintained his calm exterior. His eyes flicked upstairs toward Martha. When had such a powerful soul entered her body? And if his sister—if she truly was like Raven—what future trials awaited her?
Trigon had once wielded power capable of annihilating universes, controlling minds, summoning legions, and warping space-time itself. If that lineage ever came for this child, the family would need every ounce of strength to respond.
Adrian's mind briefly flickered to his own power, the enemies he had faced and would face: Darkseid, Upside-Down Man, now the potential threat of Trigon. Each stronger than the last, but each trial sharpened him, gave him purpose.
Jonathan's voice pulled him back. "I saw Martin's little daughter… and she had purple energy too. It frightened me, though I couldn't understand it. I thought it might be similar to what we saw at the hospital with Martha."
Adrian reached out, placing a firm hand on his father's. "No, Dad. That energy is different. The girl's death has nothing to do with Mom. Separate events entirely."
Clark, sensing Jonathan's lingering unease, added softly, "Adrian's right. If he says there's no connection, then there's none."
Jonathan nodded, forcing a weak smile. "You two understand this world's complexities far better than I do. For now… don't tell Martha. The doctor said she must stay calm. I don't want to risk startling her further."
"Understood," Adrian said, his tone calm, almost detached but protective. Clark nodded as well.
Once outside the barn, Clark's jaw tightened. His eyes burned with a dangerous intensity.
"Clark, where are you going?" Adrian called, noting the fiery gaze.
"To find that murderer."
Adrian sighed softly. "Clark… she was just a ten-year-old girl. In her innocence, this fate… I understand your anger, but you must be careful."
Clark's fists tightened. "Even so, I won't let this stand. Whoever did this… will pay!"
Adrian's brow furrowed. "You know this wasn't the work of a human."
"I don't care! I will avenge her! Adrian, if magic can help me, if your Staff can locate the culprit, then use it! Don't waste time talking here!"
Adrian watched him for a moment, expression unreadable, then shook his head. "I don't use magic. If you think swinging a Staff counts as magic, then she—Blue Valley's girl—could do the same. Neither of us are magicians."
Clark's anger softened into helplessness. He looked down, voice quiet, "I… I feel useless. I thought I could save everyone, but I can't. I… I only vent my anger at those close to me."
Adrian gave a single nod. "Then control it. Unchecked anger solves nothing."
---
The morning air carried a chill as Adrian walked along the farm road. No magical auras stirred in Smallville, none detectable by him. Hecate's curse had heightened his perception, but nothing here now suggested intervention—unless it came from God or Lucifer's followers, beyond Hecate's reach.
A gust of wind heralded another presence. Bart Allen, Justice Society speedster, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a red backpack slung over his shoulder and headphones dangling.
"Excuse me," Bart said casually, finishing a bite of pancake. "I got distracted delivering food to the big guy and… well, forgot about image management for a moment."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Are you very free?"
"Busy, actually," Bart admitted, then smiled. "But I heard about the tragedy in town. That murderer… if I catch him, I'll drag him across the ground with my speed until nothing remains. I don't tolerate scum."
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "You came here just to vent?"
"No," Bart said quickly, removing his backpack to reveal a camera. "I also have something important to show you."
He handed the camera over. Adrian examined the images.
Lex Luthor. Bearded, bald head gleaming, wrapped in furs, crafting an SOS sign on a deserted beach. Bruises marked his body, evidence of repeated struggles.
"An uninhabited island," Bart explained, "about 200 nautical miles west of Tiburon. Closest shipping lane blocked. He's been isolated for a while. From what I can see… multiple personality disorder, perhaps. Talking to himself, fighting invisible enemies."
Adrian absorbed the details silently, analyzing each photo. Lex's survival, his mental state, the isolation—it all painted a dangerous picture.
Bart's voice carried on, oblivious to Adrian's calculating gaze. "I've dealt with boredom myself, but this… he's truly alone. The desert of the ocean, and the predators beneath, they all come together to make him… miserable."
Adrian said nothing, eyes narrowing on the images, mind already running scenarios. Lex Luthor, out there, unhinged and dangerous, would soon become a problem the world couldn't ignore.
___
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