Fifteen years. It's been fifteen years since I crash-landed on this planet, torn from my old life and dumped into this one. The Kent farmhouse hasn't changed much in that time—still the same creaky floors, the same white walls glowing under the evening sun, the same smell of earth and bread drifting through the open windows. Outside, the cornfields sway, golden and endless, like a village festival stretched across the horizon. But inside, everything feels different tonight. The air's heavier, charged with something I can't ignore.
I'm sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling over the armrest, my eyes locked on the television. The news anchor's voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and urgent, like a town crier calling a gathering. "Breaking news: Billionaire industrialist Tony Stark has been reported missing after an attack in Afghanistan. Authorities suspect terrorist involvement, but no official statement has been released by Stark Industries…"
My fingers tighten around the remote, a faint crackle of plastic under my grip. This is it. The first spark. I know this story—seen the movies, read the comics in another life. Stark's kidnapping isn't just a headline. It's the moment the world shifts. In a cave, under pressure, he'll build the Iron Man suit, and from there, the MCU explodes—gods, monsters, heroes in bright costumes. The quiet I've known, this calm before the storm, is over.
I've always known it was coming. But knowing and feeling it hit are two different things.
Fifteen years ago, I woke up as Clark, a Kryptonian infant with a mind that didn't belong. I thought I was in the DC Universe, ready to play Superman's game—save the world, charm the masses, build my legacy. But then the rift happened, a crack in reality that spit me into the MCU. No Justice League, no Metropolis. Just a world of spies, aliens, and chaos waiting to unfold.
For years, I've lived in the MCU's prelude, a time when superhumans were just rumors. Smallville's been my bubble—farm chores, school, the slow dance of bending people to my will. I've played my part, manipulating Martha's heart, toying with Kara's loyalty, teasing Gwen's curiosity. It's been easy to forget the bigger picture, to sink into the thrill of control and pretend I had all the time in the world.
But I'm fifteen now, and my Kryptonian powers haven't come. No heat vision, no flight, no strength to crush steel. I'm stronger than most kids—maybe as much as a top athlete—but that's it. I've told myself it's just a matter of time, that my body needs another year or two to catch up. But watching the news, hearing Stark's name, a cold unease twists in my gut.
What if my powers never come? What if this universe, this twisted Marvel reality, has clipped my wings? Without them, I'm just a guy with a sharp mind and a knack for games. In a world of Hulks and Thors, that's not enough. My plans—to carve out an empire, to take what I want, to rebuild Krypton my way—could crumble if I stay human. Power is everything here, and right now, I'm running on empty.
A soft hand brushes my cheek, pulling me from the spiral. Martha's voice is gentle, laced with worry. "Clark? You've been staring at that screen for ages. Is something wrong?"
I blink, turning to her. She's standing beside the couch, her golden-brown hair loose, her green eyes soft but searching. She's beautiful, even now, her concern making her seem smaller, more human. For all the lines we've crossed, she still cares—maybe too much.
The doubts—the fear of being powerless, the weight of a changing world—fade for a moment. She's mine. No matter what this universe throws at me, I've shaped her, pulled her into my orbit. That's a victory no one can steal.
I smirk, pushing myself up, closing the distance between us. "It's nothing, Mom," I say, my voice smooth, like I'm brushing off a bad day. "Just thinking about the future."
Her brow furrows, a flicker of doubt crossing her face, but before she can press, I lean in. My lips meet hers, slow and deliberate, a kiss that claims her as much as it comforts me. She stiffens, like always, her hands hovering as if to push me away. But her resistance is weak, a reflex she's long since stopped believing in. Her breath quickens, her fingers curling into my shirt.
When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her voice barely a whisper. "Clark…" It's half a protest, half a plea, caught in the guilt she can't escape.
I just smile, taking her hand and tugging her down onto the couch. I stretch out, resting my head in her lap, my body sinking into her warmth. She's tense, her fingers trembling as they brush my hair, but she doesn't pull away. It's adorable—her struggle, her surrender. It's power, in its own way.
Lying there, her touch grounding me, my mind drifts back over the years. Fifteen years of playing this game, building my foundation in a world that's about to crack open.
It started with the crash—arriving as Clark, a Kryptonian with memories of another life, expecting Gotham and Metropolis but finding the MCU instead. I adapted, learning to blend in, hiding my mind behind a child's face.
Childhood was a balancing act—pretending to be normal while plotting my future. I learned the Kents' rhythms, the town's pulse, the way people bend under pressure. I studied, planned, waited.
Martha was my first real win. She fought it—her love for me as a son clashing with what I pushed her toward. But I was patient, relentless, turning her care into something deeper, something forbidden. Now, she's mine, her guilt just a shadow I can brush away.
Kara's different. My "cousin," fiercely loyal, obsessed with keeping me close. She's my shield, my weapon, even if she doesn't see how tightly I've wound her around me. Her protectiveness is a tool I'll use when the time comes.
Gwen's newer—a spark of interest, sharp and bright. She's not just a game; she's a challenge, someone who could matter if I let her. For now, she's a piece I'm nudging closer, her trust a thread I'm weaving into my plans.
Then there's SHIELD. Natasha, Fury, their watchful eyes. They're the real threat, a reminder this isn't a playground. They've been sniffing around since Kara's powers flared, and now, with Stark's move, they'll tighten their grip. I'm not ready to face them—not yet.
Every piece is still in place, but the board's shifting. Stark's the first domino, and the rest will fall fast.
Martha's fingers keep moving through my hair, soft and absentminded, as I let my eyes drift closed. The news drones on, but I tune it out. For now, there's nothing I can do. My powers will come—or they won't. Worrying won't change that. I've never been one to sit and fret. I act, I take, I shape.
The MCU's waking up. Iron Man's coming, and with him, a world of chaos and opportunity. I'll be ready—not as a pawn, but as a player. I'll bend this universe to my will, powers or not.
A smirk tugs at my lips, hidden in the dark. Martha's warmth, Kara's loyalty, Gwen's trust—they're mine, anchors in a storm I'm starting to crave. Stark's just the beginning. I'll carve my name into this world, and no one—not Fury, not gods—will stop me.
This is my time.