Clark Burned by Little Mars

Chapter 46: Clark, Singed by a Tiny Spark

Night fell, stars hung high in the sky, and dark clouds drifted in silently, half-veiling the moon.

Rickman had spent the afternoon handling company affairs and returned home.

A fire crackled in the hearth. Bathed in its glow, he sat in an armchair, his expression shifting between gloom and uncertainty, like a beast poised to strike.

Ever since gaining his abilities from that meteor shower over a decade ago, Rickman had sailed smoothly. He was no longer the lowly salesman who could be bossed around by anyone and nearly fired—now, he had achieved fame and fortune.

"I haven't felt the sting of being threatened or humiliated in a long time, Blue-clad man!"

The small clumps of soil found on the living room floor from a few shoe soles had been sent for testing. Results should be ready by tomorrow.

"Then I'll send the soil from these farms to the Geological Survey Bureau for comparison.

It won't be hard to confirm which farm you're connected to."

Rickman's eyes were vicious as he fiddled with several sealed test tubes.

These were soil samples he'd had someone secretly collect from those farms that afternoon.

Soil testing was a complex business. The organic and inorganic matter, bacteria, and viruses in soil from different places yielded distinct data.

Especially farm soil. Some farms raised cattle or sheep, mixing manure into the earth; others grew corn, wheat, or fruits and vegetables, each using different fertilizers and brands.

"From this, it won't be hard to drag you out, Blue-clad man!"

From signing the land acquisition contract to the sudden appearance of the Blue-clad man threatening him at noon—only a few hours had passed, and it was a small country town.

He didn't believe that guy was some masked vigilante who'd heard about this by chance and come to uphold justice!

"He's definitely connected to one of those farmers."

A gust of wind blew, lifting the curtains. Moonlight streamed in like silver gauze.

On the sofa in the room, a figure had appeared, unnoticed.

"You're quite thorough."

A low voice rang out.

"Who's there?"

Rickman shot up from his chair near the fireplace like a startled bird, pulling a silver pistol from under the seat and aiming it at the figure on the sofa.

If the Blue-clad man had broken into his home to threaten him once, there might be a second time. That afternoon, he'd hidden guns in many places around the house, just in case.

"Every step leaves a trace."

The figure on the sofa seemed not to notice the pistol in Rickman's hand, muttering to himself.

"Looks like someone's too pleased with being one step ahead and forgot the rest."

David heard Rickman mention sending the soil to the Geological Survey Bureau for comparison and could guess what had happened.

That Son of Krypton might have gotten a little carried away, or maybe it was his first time doing something like this and he was nervous, not realizing he'd left behind a clue.

"Almost got your tail caught!"

He rose slowly, a cold face emerging from the shadows.

"Who are you?"

The purple skin made Rickman's eyes widen. Even the gun in his hand couldn't bring him any sense of safety.

After fusing with the second template, the vertical lines on David's chin had vanished, but his skin still turned purple when he tapped into the Eternals' formidable physique.

He'd entered at near-sonic speed, hence the discoloration.

David moved, appearing before Rickman in an instant. Before the man could react, he grabbed him by the neck and left the villa.

Rickman couldn't breathe. The scenery blurred. After a few seconds of dizzying disorientation, he was thrown onto cold concrete.

A dark, empty alley.

"Where is this?"

He scrambled to his feet in panic, vaguely recognizing it as some street in Metropolis.

"Your grave."

"Who the hell are you?"

Staring at the figure radiating a terrifying aura, Rickman's heart skipped a beat. His hair stood on end, a mix of fear and rage.

Creak!

"You don't need to know who I am."

David's eyes emitted purple beams. Rickman's gun was somehow already in his hand.

With a grating sound, he effortlessly crushed it into scrap metal, then melted it into a dazzling blob of molten iron that dripped through his fingers.

"You... you..."

Rickman, who had just mustered some anger from fear, now felt his throat clamped shut. He couldn't speak, couldn't believe what he'd seen.

"All you need to know is that you made a couple, who shouldn't have been worried or anxious, argue all morning."

"All you need to know is that you've set your sights on the wrong houses and land."

This matter absolutely should not end with simply returning the land and houses, casually drawing a close.

David said coldly.

"When you do wrong, you pay the price."

"I have a lot of money—I can give it all to you. Spare my life."

Staring at the figure whose eyes glowed with purple light, sending chills through him, Rickman's voice trembled. He couldn't understand why using his ability to snatch land from a few small-town farmers had brought such disaster.

Back when he did whatever he wanted in Metropolis, nothing like this ever happened.

First came the impossibly fast blue-clad man, and now this purple-skinned man, strong as a monster.

"Thirty million—no, eighty million...!"

Before he could finish.

David's face showed no emotion as two rays of light tore through the darkness from his eyes, incinerating the pleading Rickman into a pile of ash that scattered across the cold, damp, filthy alley.

He turned and vanished from the spot.

"David, you know what happened, don't you?"

The next day, after leaving home, at the school gate.

Clark stopped David, his face full of worry.

"This morning, Mom and Dad went with a few farmers to report to the police, and they found out Rickman's gone missing."

"Did you kill someone again?" He didn't want to guess that way, but not long ago, a detective had gone missing under David's hands—it was hard not to connect the dots.

He'd thought yesterday David was too calm, completely unlike him.

By the end, Clark couldn't help but sound a little angry.

"Now that you've exposed his secret, isn't it normal for him to be afraid of being found out and flee Metropolis?"

David shrugged indifferently.

"With his abilities, he can live like a king wherever he goes."

"No..."

Clark wanted to say more.

As they walked into the school, David casually pulled a fist-sized, pitted meteorite from his pocket, forcing Clark to step back helplessly.

"David, I just asked you a couple of questions, and you're using a meteorite against me."

Under the meteorite's radiation, Clark's chest tightened as he stumbled back, unable to believe his brother.

"Don't get me wrong—did you forget about geography teacher Regan's homework?"

David weighed the meteorite in his hand.

"He told us to collect different rocks using the methods he taught us. I was assigned to gather meteorites and rose quartz."

In any other place, a geography teacher assigning students to collect meteorites for homework would be absurd, but in Smallville—a town that calls itself the Global Meteorite Capital—meteorites are everywhere.

Clark, terrified of meteorites, could only watch his brother walk away, planning to ask again after school.

By the time afternoon classes ended and he left the classroom, the sky outside had already gathered dark, low clouds, threatening a heavy downpour.

Clark looked up gloomily.

After school, Chloe dragged him to help proofread and edit the school newspaper drafts, and David had long since disappeared.

Missing the school bus, he had to walk home.

Most of the time, he disliked his abnormal abilities. Clark decided to start walking home and see how it went, only worrying about the rain when it actually came.

"Maybe I can figure out how to ask David about that thing on the way."

Ten minutes later, he stepped onto the bridge.

Clark looked up casually and his face changed drastically.

"Avery, what are you doing?"

A cold wind whistled by as a rebellious figure stood on the bridge railing, headphones on, looking down at the dam below and tossing stones from his bag in irritation.

Clark recognized his classmate, Avery Regan—their geography teacher's son.

But geography teacher Regan always made Avery call him "teacher" at school, not "Dad." That afternoon in geography class, in front of the whole class, he'd mercilessly scolded his son for only finishing half the homework.

"Get down! It's dangerous!"

Clark shouted.

But Avery, headphones blasting loud rock music, his face dark and brows furrowed with defiance, didn't hear a thing.

Crack!

A bolt of lightning split the sky, rumbling loudly.

Seeing that dangerous figure standing in the wind, Clark rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his waist, trying to drag him off the bridge before he could fall or get struck by lightning.

Wearing electronic equipment on high ground made it easy to attract lightning.

Crack!

But just then, a bolt of lightning struck down, hitting them both.

The meteorite in Avery's backpack—his geography homework—flared with brilliant light, turning the lightning connecting them green.

Zzzzzz!

"Aaaah..."

A brief, electric shock-like reaction seized his body rigid. Clark let out a pained cry and collapsed to the ground.

Avery fell too, his clothes torn apart by the lightning, sparks still crackling on him.

"Are you okay, Avery?"

Clark only felt a slight numbness. His body seemed fine.

He moved to help Avery, who was lying face-up on the ground, to check if he was hurt.

But unexpectedly, the sparks on Avery's dazed, disoriented clothes burned him.

"Ah!"

Caught completely off guard, Clark yelped in pain and jerked his hand back as if shocked, staring wide-eyed at his blistering hand in disbelief.

"Just a tiny spark—why?"

When he looked up again, the sparks still smoldered on Avery's chest, yet Avery seemed unharmed, only a little groggy as he blinked awake.

"Clark?"