[Third Person Pov]
Clark launched himself forward with explosive force, the air detonating behind him in a thunderous boom as he tore after Boros. In a fraction of a second he was already there—appearing directly in front of the alien warlord. Superman's left hook cracked across Boros's jaw with bone-shaking power. The impact sent the extraterrestrial figure tumbling helplessly through the sky, spinning end over end.
Clark was on him again before Boros could even stabilize. A right hook followed, just as brutal, driving Boros even farther through the upper atmosphere.
A faint, almost private grin curled along Clark's mouth as he completed the combination. "Heh." The soft laugh slipped out under his breath, equal parts amusement and rising adrenaline.
"You are an admirable adversary, Superman!" Boros roared, finally seizing control of his flight with a violent burst of energy propulsion. His voice carried pure, unrestrained exhilaration. "You make me want to give it everything I've got!!"
The two of them became living blurs. Their bodies streaked across the sky in violent, intersecting arcs, each collision leaving only trailing ribbons of raw energy and distorted air in their wake. Hit after hit slammed home—fists, knees, elbows—knocking one another back and forth with such speed and momentum that they began to circle the entire planet in a continuous, world-spanning brawl.
Clark's grin only widened as the fight escalated. He could feel the crushing weight behind every one of Boros's blows, the alien's power and seething energy vibrating straight through his skin and into his bones. The sensation was intoxicating.
With a sharp pivot in midair, Clark forced distance and unleashed a concentrated blast of heat vision. The twin beams struck Boros square in the chest and detonated into an explosion.
"Like I told you before—heat has no effect on me!" Boros shouted passionately, riding the explosion without flinching, clearly savoring every second against a truly worthy opponent.
"Yeah, I heard you," Clark answered, the confident grin still locked on his face. "But you've never experienced a fire quite like this one. Sol—you know what to do."
"Increasing solar energy intake," Sol's calm voice replied inside the powersuit. Instantly the glowing energy lines across Clark's armor brightened, pulsing brighter and brighter as they drank deeper from the sun's endless well.
Clark's eyes snapped open.
They flared a violent, molten red. Sparks and thin tongues of actual flame crackled at the corners of his vision as he poured everything into a single, agonizing column of pure heat.
"Fuck"
It was the only word Boros managed to get out. He crossed both arms in front of his body just as the beam slammed into him like a freight train made of pure fire. The air itself screamed and howled under the intensity, the atmosphere igniting in a continuous roar.
The blast hurled Boros halfway across the world.
He tumbled out of the upper atmosphere and appeared above a glittering nighttime cityscape. The residual energy still clinging to his body finally detonated in a spectacular explosion of white-hot light and cascading fireworks of color. From within that blast his arms were ripped free, spinning away through the air like discarded wreckage. What remained of Boros crashed downward—scorched black, body trembling violently, every inch of exposed flesh smoking and covered in soot.
'He wasn't kidding,' Boros thought in genuine awe, staring at the ragged, bleeding stumps where his arms had been. He gasped for air that simply wasn't there; the heat had burned the oxygen from the sky itself. 'His fire was so intense it managed to bypass all of my resistances. Wonderful. Truly… you are an extraordinary foe.'
Clark closed the distance in a smooth, controlled glide, still radiating residual heat.
"Sol, I think we're far enough away now," he said. "Think you can manage to create the Empty Space just between Boros and me without any interference this time?"
"I'll give it a try," Sol answered at once, systems already spinning up.
Boros could no longer keep himself airborne. He dropped hard onto the roof of a skyscraper, boots cracking the concrete. For one frozen moment he stared upward into the atmosphere—then the world around him simply vanished.
Empty Space sealed shut, isolating him completely.
"Why?" Boros demanded, seizing the brief reprieve to drag air into his scorched lungs. His voice still carried that fierce, almost joyful edge. "Our battle is a worthy one—one that deserves to be witnessed by the world!"
Clark hovered above him, arms folded across his chest, cape stirring gently in the high winds. His expression was steady, almost serene.
"Because I still have a job to do," he answered. "Even while I fight you, I have to ensure the safety of this planet and its people. That is my top priority above all else."
Boros's remaining eye narrowed. "When you introduce yourself, you claim to be from the planet Krypton. This world isn't even your birthplace. Why go out of your way to protect such a backwater planet? I just don't get it. You have all this unfathomable power… and you choose to chain and restrict yourself. This planet—and many others—could have been yours if you so wished. You could have had them worship you as a god if you so pleased."
Clark was silent for a long moment, clearly weighing whether the alien deserved an answer at all. A soft exhale escaped him before he finally spoke.
"As underdeveloped as this planet is, it's still the one I consider my home. And you're right—I have all this power. I could have chosen to be a god, a king, or an emperor if I really wanted to. But power of this magnitude is too great to be wielded selfishly. Power is best used when it's in the service of others… and only secondarily, if at all, for the benefit of oneself."
His features hardened, the calm resolve in his eyes becoming something sharper.
"I don't wish to be worshiped. I don't even wish to be revered. Power isn't about control, dominance, or forcing others to obey. It's the capacity to uplift, to protect, and to help people grow. Yes—it might feel like a chain at times. But having influence means carrying a duty to support the vulnerable… rather than hoarding authority for personal ego."
Boros fell quiet, digesting the words. After a moment he exhaled, a low, grudging sound.
"Very well. I don't really understand it… but I will respect your resolve. This planet can consider itself quite fortunate to have a guardian such as yourself."
Then the warrior's fire reignited in his voice, enthusiasm flooding back like a rising tide.
"However—that doesn't mean this is over!" He straightened, energy beginning to crackle across his ruined form once more. "In fact, it's only just beginning. My species has survived what would normally be considered extinction, coming out stronger than ever. Myself in particular possess the god-like traits of self-healing, physical prowess, and latent energy beyond your conception!"
He finished with a wide, shark-like grin, pride radiating from every scorched line of his body.
"…Okay," Clark replied flatly.
"By channeling my energy into my missing arms, I can regenerate any lost limb exponentially!" Boros declared—and then demonstrated.
Raw energy surged around his torso in violent, swirling currents. He focused every ounce of it into the bleeding stumps. Flesh bulged outward, bone and muscle knitting together at impossible speed. In seconds two fully formed arms had regrown, steaming slightly in the night air.
"There," he announced, rolling his shoulders and flexing each finger with theatrical satisfaction. "Good as new."
"Great," Clark said.
Then he was simply gone.
One instant he floated above the skyscraper; the next he stood directly in front of Boros, fist already drawn back, free hand braced over the knuckles for maximum force. His breath misted in the sudden pressure differential. Muscles across his shoulders and arms swelled with gathered power. The air itself parted around the clenched fist as friction and velocity ignited it, the knuckles wreathed in a corona of pure atmospheric fire.
Boros's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
The punch landed.
Boros's body folded around the impact like paper before a hurricane. He was driven downward with catastrophic force, smashing through the roof of the skyscraper and then the next, and the next—ripping a vertical tunnel of collapsing steel and glass through the heart of the city. Building after building folded in his wake until, deep within the cascading wreckage, his form finally reached critical limit.
Boros burst apart.
A single, violent cloud of blood and shredded tissue erupted outward, painting the ruined concrete and twisted rebar in a momentary crimson mist.
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