Amid the shattered ruins, swaying figures gradually closed in like zombies that had lost their souls. Every one of them wore a twisted smile, as though they were watching some farce or clowns at a circus.
Yet even as spectators, they were terribly uncouth. They could not stay quiet while watching a performance, and every mouth repeated the same words—only nightmares were real.
The entire world seemed to resonate with their voices. At first, there had only been faint cracking sounds, but they gradually became deafening roars that spread from Superman's eardrums into his heart.
For one brief instant, Superman felt that even the pain of Kryptonite was nothing. Instead, something precious in his mind—or perhaps his soul—began to shatter.
Green blood affected by Kryptonite radiation coursed through his body with every beat of his heart. His hands and feet grew cold and numb. He looked at every person, and every person looked back at him.
Yet he had always helped others, and now nobody helped him.
It was more than just nobody reaching out a hand to him. To be precise, these people looked more like they intended to kick him while he was down.
They approached with all sorts of weapons made from Kryptonite. In Metropolis, seeing so much Kryptonite was not unusual. Nobody knew how many artificial green stones Luthor had stored in his warehouses.
The crowd's rustling footsteps drew closer, their voices growing louder. "Only nightmares are real."
Superman shuffled backward, using both hands and feet to move, yet he still held his head high. "No! Everyone should hold hope in their hearts!"
The crowd showed no surprise. They continued forward steadily, not attacking at once, but surrounding Superman three layers deep.
Their figures—or rather, their shadows—grew larger, completely blocking the sunlight above Clark's head. The