Clark felt the last rays of sunlight against his skin as he descended into Centennial Park's central plaza. His enhanced hearing picked up the whir of news helicopters overhead, the nervous heartbeats of reporters in surrounding buildings, the subtle electric hum of countless cameras tracking his movement. But beneath it all was an unnatural silence where the usual symphony of city life should have been.
The plaza stretched before him, eerily empty after the evacuation. His cape settled around his shoulders as he touched down, the familiar weight a reminder of his mother's careful stitching. Through the gathering shadows, his enhanced vision caught glimpses of camera lenses glinting from distant windows. The world was watching.
The first hint of kryptonite radiation hit him before he saw Corbin - a wave of nausea that made his muscles tense involuntarily. He'd felt nothing like it since discovering his powers, this fundamental wrongness that seemed to reach into his cells. Then came the sound: servos whirring, metal joints flexing, and beneath it all, the crystalline hum of the kryptonite core.
John Corbin emerged from the lengthening shadows with mechanical precision. Clark's x-ray vision revealed the full extent of his transformation - a human brain suspended in a cybernetic cradle, surrounded by systems that shouldn't exist with current technology. Each footstep left hairline cracks in the concrete, and the 'M' on his chest pulsed with that sickly green energy that made Clark's stomach churn.
"Wasn't sure you'd actually show," Corbin's voice carried metallic undertones that hadn't been present at the gala. Even through the growing discomfort from the radiation, Clark's hearing caught the subtle wrongness in it - human speech processed through artificial vocal cords. "Thought maybe you'd keep playing the noble hero, above it all."
"We don't have to do this, John," Clark kept his voice steady despite the intensifying nausea. He could hear Corbin's organic brain firing irregularly, affected by the kryptonite's proximity. "Whatever the radiation's doing to your mind, we can help—"
"Help?" Metallo's bitter laugh echoed unnaturally, and Clark's enhanced hearing picked up the way it distorted through his mechanical systems. "Like you helped before? Where were you when I was bleeding out in Fallujah? When my unit was taking fire from weapons your buddy Stark built?" The kryptonite's glow intensified with his anger, making Clark's vision blur momentarily. "Someone had to step up. Had to show the world it doesn't need an alien savior."
"This isn't you talking," Clark took a careful step forward, fighting against the radiation's effects. Through his x-ray vision, he could see the kryptonite's energy spreading through Corbin's systems, affecting his neural patterns. "The kryptonite's affecting your thoughts, your emotions—"
"This IS me!" Corbin's mechanical voice shook the plaza, the sound hitting Clark's sensitive hearing like a physical blow. "They made me better! Strong enough to show the world it doesn't need some alien savior!"
Clark barely had time to brace himself before Metallo charged. Even after months of being Superman, he was still getting used to processing threats at superhuman speed. Everything seemed to slow down - the way Corbin's synthetic muscles tensed, the slight scrape of metal on concrete as he launched forward, the first hints of kryptonite radiation making Clark's stomach turn.
Clark pivoted around the first punch, feeling the displaced air rush past his face. The second strike he caught, more out of instinct than conscious thought. In that frozen moment of contact, Jor-El's combat training surged through his mind - countless hours spent in the Fortress, learning the martial arts of a civilization that had mastered power beyond human imagination.
"John, please—" Clark started, but the words died in his throat as Metallo's free arm began to transform. The sight sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the kryptonite radiation. Synthetic skin flowed like mercury, peeling back to reveal a blade of impossibly dense metal. The transformation wasn't just mechanical - it was almost organic, as if the machine parts had become a living thing.
"Stop calling me John like we're friends!" Corbin's mechanical voice carried equal parts rage and anguish. "Like you understand what they did to me! I'm what humanity needs - not some alien freak hiding behind that cape!"
The blade came at Clark in a series of precisely calculated arcs, each swing guided by combat algorithms far beyond current Earth technology. The kryptonite's proximity made his reactions sluggish, his normally perfect coordination feeling like he was moving through water. He could feel his powers fluctuating in ways they hadn't since those early teenage years in Smallville, when a sneeze might accidentally topple a barn.
A particularly vicious slash caught the edge of his cape, and something inside Clark snapped. The material - woven with symbols of the House of El, gifted to him by Jor-El in his final moments before Krypton's destruction - parted like ordinary fabric. In all his years on Earth, nothing had been able to damage that cape. It was more than just clothing; it was one of his last connections to a dead world, to the father he'd never truly known.
For the first time since the fight began, Clark felt real anger rise in his chest. Not the frustrated anger of trying to reason with Corbin, but something deeper - a primal response to seeing one of his few remaining links to Krypton desecrated. His eyes flared red for just a moment before he forced the heat vision back down, remembering his father's - Jonathan's - endless lessons about control.
"Fight back!" Corbin snarled, pressing what he thought was an advantage. "Show them what you really are! Show them the alien beneath that human disguise!"
Clark launched himself skyward, partly to put distance between himself and the kryptonite, but also to master his own emotions. The flight felt wrong - like trying to navigate through a thunderstorm with one engine out. His perfect equilibrium wavered, the radiation interfering with the connection between his mind and his powers in ways that reminded him uncomfortably of red kryptonite exposure.
But Metallo wasn't about to let him retreat. Those cybernetic legs compressed like industrial springs, catapulting him into the air with force that shattered every window in a hundred-foot radius. Clark's enhanced hearing caught the crystalline symphony of falling glass even as they clashed above the plaza.
The first real exchange was like nothing Clark had experienced in his years as Superman. Metallo's enhanced strength truly matched his own, every impact creating thunderclaps that he knew would be heard across the city. The blade-arm opened shallow cuts across his chest - the first time he'd felt real pain since his powers fully manifested. His counter-strikes dented Metallo's frame, but Clark still held back, Jonathan Kent's voice in his head reminding him that power without restraint was just another form of violence.
They crashed back to earth with devastating force, demolishing the plaza's centerpiece fountain in an explosion of water and marble. The spray created a momentary rainbow in the fading sunlight - a beautiful contrast to the brutal ballet they were performing. Clark found himself analyzing Corbin's fighting style with growing concern. This wasn't just enhanced human combat; this was something new - military precision augmented by computer processing that could calculate trajectories and force applications faster than thought.
Clark drew deeper on his own training, calling up forms and techniques meant for beings who could shatter planets. The Kryptonian martial arts he'd learned were beautiful in their efficiency - designed not to cause maximum damage, but to subdue opponents with minimal harm. He matched Metallo's mechanical precision with flowing movements that seemed to defy physics, using his opponent's power against him.
But the kryptonite was taking its toll. Each movement cost more energy, each block came a fraction of a second slower. Through his increasingly unreliable x-ray vision, Clark could see the radiation spreading through his cells, weakening the connections to his powers that usually felt as natural as breathing.
"You're holding back," Corbin growled, landing a punch that sent Clark sliding backward through the fountain's wreckage. The impact actually hurt - a novel sensation that Clark hadn't experienced since before his powers emerged. Even through the pain, his enhanced hearing picked up troubling changes in Metallo's voice - growing instability in the speech patterns, increasing distortion in the electronic undertones that made him sound less human with each passing moment.
"I won't fight you like this," Clark managed, tasting blood in his mouth for the first time in years. "Not while there's still a chance to help you."
"You can't hurt me!" The roar that emerged from Metallo's voice synthesizers was pure machine, and Clark's enhanced vision caught the moment his chest plate began to split. He had a microsecond to brace himself before concentrated kryptonite radiation flooded the area. "I'm not human anymore - I'm better! I'm what they made me!"
They crashed through trees, benches, sculpture installations - each impact adding to the destruction. Clark's senses caught everything in perfect detail: the way the concrete cracked, the pattern of debris spinning through the air, the subtle changes in Metallo's mechanical systems as the fight progressed. The very air vibrated with the force of their collisions.
But Clark's enhanced hearing picked up something else - growing instability in Metallo's systems. The mechanical precision was giving way to increasingly erratic movements. The kryptonite core pulsed irregularly, matching the deteriorating patterns in Corbin's neural activity.
"Why won't you just die?" Corbin's voice crackled with static-laced fury. "Why do you keep getting up?"
"Because someone has to show there's a better way," Clark answered, deflecting another series of strikes while his enhanced vision tracked the spreading instability in Metallo's systems. "Violence isn't the answer, John. It never was."
"Stop... CALLING ME THAT!"
The next attack was pure rage - powerful but uncontrolled. Clark slipped inside his guard and landed a precise strike to Metallo's face. His enhanced hearing caught the sound of tearing synthetic skin, and through his blurred vision, he watched a small patch peel away from Corbin's left cheekbone, revealing the gleaming metal skull beneath.
The effect was instant. Metallo froze, his hand reaching up to touch the exposed chrome surface. For a moment, Clark's enhanced hearing picked up nothing but the whir of news helicopters and the irregular pulse of the kryptonite core.
"What..." Metallo's mechanical voice wavered, and Clark's hearing caught the fear beneath the electronic distortion. "What am I?"
Clark watched through increasingly steady vision as Corbin found his reflection in a shattered window - the torn skin, the metal showing through, the utter alienness of his own face. The kryptonite core flickered erratically, matching the chaotic patterns of his neural activity.
"They said... they said I'd still be me..." Static crept into his voice, and Clark's hearing picked up the way his mechanical systems struggled to process the emotional overload of a man truly comprehending for the first time the shell he had truly become. "They promised..."
"You are still you where it matters," Clark said quietly, lowering his guard despite the kryptonite's effects. "Your mind, your choices—"
"My mind?" The laugh that emerged was pure anguish filtered through mechanical distortion, and Clark's enhanced hearing caught every painful note. "Stuffed in this metal skull, powered by rocks from your dead world?" His hands trembled as he stared at them, and Clark's vision showed him the way the synthetic muscles spasmed with uncontrolled emotion. "I can't... I can't even feel anything anymore. Can't taste food, can't feel the sun..." His voice cracked with bursts of static. "Can't even cry properly..."
Clark watched the fight drain from him, replaced by horror at what he'd become. Even through the lingering effects of the kryptonite, his senses caught every detail of Corbin's breakdown - the irregular firing of his organic brain, the chaotic energy patterns in his mechanical systems, the way his synthetic face tried and failed to form proper expressions of grief.
"What did they do to me?" The words came out as barely more than a whisper, but Clark's hearing caught the full depth of despair in them. "What did I let them turn me into?"
"Let us help you, John," Clark reached out, fighting to keep his balance as waves of nausea rolled through him. The kryptonite's effects were unlike anything he'd experienced in his few months as Superman. "There are people who can—"
But Metallo was already gone, launching himself into the darkening sky with a sound like tearing metal. The force of his departure sent debris raining down across the ruined plaza. Clark started to follow, then stumbled as another wave of weakness hit him. He'd never felt this drained, not even during those first confusing days of discovering his powers.
For a moment, he just stood there in the settling dust, trying to get his bearings. His enhanced senses were slowly returning, bringing with them the full scope of what their battle had done to Centennial Plaza. The place looked like a war zone - or at least what Clark imagined one would look like, having only seen them in news footage. Craters pockmarked the ground where their impacts had cratered the earth. The central fountain was completely destroyed, water still spraying from broken pipes. Trees lay uprooted, benches were twisted into modern art, and pieces of decorative stonework were scattered like autumn leaves.
The sound hit him first - dozens of rushing footsteps, cameras clicking, voices shouting questions. The media barrier at the edge of the evacuation zone had broken, and reporters were flooding in like a tidal wave. Clark could already pick out familiar faces in the crowd - Cat Grant from GBS pushing her way to the front, Ron Troupe from the Star with his ever-present notebook, even Summer Gleeson who'd flown in from Gotham for this.
"Superman!" Bill O'Reilly from Fox News shouldered his way to the front. "The American people want to know - was this a victory for human ingenuity or alien power?"
"Is this the beginning of a superhuman arms race?" Andrea Mitchell from NBC cut in, microphone extended.
"Are you concerned about collateral damage to public spaces?" That was Lawrence O'Donnell from MSNBC, already framing his angle.
Clark recognized faces from CNN, ABC, Inside Edition - reporters who'd flown in from across the country for this moment. But it was the familiar voices that hit him hardest.
"Superman!" Lois pushed through the crowd with the determined grace he'd come to know so well. Even after their weeks of dating, seeing her in reporter mode still made his heart skip. She had that look in her eyes - the one that said she wasn't leaving without her story.
Behind her came Ron Troupe and Steve Lombard, his Daily Planet colleagues jostling for position against reporters from the Star and the Globe. Jimmy somehow materialized near the front, camera already clicking away. The kid had a gift for finding angles no one else saw.
"Was Metallo's enhancement voluntary?" Lois's question cut through the chaos. Trust her to go straight for the heart of it. "Our sources suggest LuthorCorp's program had minimal oversight—"
"Did the kryptonite radiation have its expected effect?" Steve interrupted, always going for the sensational angle. "You seemed weakened during the fight."
Clark held up a hand, trying to focus past the lingering nausea. Police helicopters were approaching, their rotors a dull thunder in his ears. Emergency vehicles staged nearby, though thankfully the evacuation had prevented civilian casualties. Above it all, news choppers circled like hungry birds, their spotlights turning night into harsh day.
"Please," he managed, his voice rougher than usual. "One at a time."
"The public deserves answers!" Someone from Inside Edition shouted. "Was this truly a battle between man and god?"
Clark looked around at what their fight had done to Centennial Plaza. The fountain where he'd seen children making wishes just yesterday was rubble. Trees that had shaded generations lay uprooted. The walking paths where he'd strolled with Lois were cratered like the surface of the moon.
His cape, torn for the first time since he'd emerged as Superman, caught the helicopter spotlights. The damage felt personal - not just to the symbol it represented, but to the father who'd given it to him, hoping his son would inspire rather than intimidate.
"This wasn't about man versus god," he said finally, meeting Lois's gaze briefly before turning to the wider crowd. "This was about a soldier who needed help and got exploitation instead. About someone's pain being turned into a weapon."
"But you won!" Steve called out. "The alien beat the machine!"
"Nobody won here." Clark gestured at the devastation around them. "Is this what victory looks like? A public park turned into a battleground? Powers used for spectacle instead of helping people?"
He saw Lois scribbling rapidly in her notebook, that slight furrow in her brow that meant she was seeing past the obvious story. Jimmy's camera kept clicking, but his shots seemed focused on the human details - the broken fountain, the torn cape, the way Superman's shoulders carried an unfamiliar weight.
"What about LuthorCorp's claims?" Lawrence O'Donnell pressed. "That Metallo represents the next stage of human evolution?"
"Evolution shouldn't hurt," Clark replied, thinking of the horror in Corbin's mechanical voice when he'd seen his true face. "John Corbin served his country. He deserved better than being turned into a weapon."
The questions came faster now: "Are you suggesting corporate negligence?" "Will there be a military investigation?" "What about the classified nature of the kryptonite research?" "Could this technology be replicated?"
Clark felt the weight of every camera, every microphone, every eager face wanting their slice of the story. He'd only been Superman for a few months, still learning to balance his powers with the responsibility they brought. Nothing had prepared him for this - becoming the center of a media circus while a man he'd failed to help was out there somewhere, lost in his own transformation.
"Superman!" Anderson Cooper pushed forward. "CNN's sources suggest the kryptonite came from classified military installations. Can you confirm—"
"I've said all I can for now," Clark cut him off, hearing the approach of emergency services. "The police and rescue teams need space to work. This area isn't safe yet."
"Will you help with cleanup?" That was Jimmy, asking the kind of practical question most were ignoring.
Clark looked at his young friend, managing a small smile. "Of course."
He moved to a section of broken fountain, carefully lifting a piece that must have weighed several tons. The simple act of helping, of trying to fix what was broken, felt more important than any statement he could make.
The gesture seemed to shift the energy of the crowd. Cameras kept rolling, but the shouted questions slowed. Even a few reporters set down their equipment to help with smaller debris, though Steve Lombard made a show of brushing dirt from his expensive suit.
"You could clear this whole plaza in minutes," Lois said quietly, appearing beside him as he stacked broken concrete. She pitched her voice low enough that only his hearing would catch it. "Why work alongside everyone else?"
Clark thought about Jonathan Kent, about all the times his father had taught him that true strength wasn't in what you could do, but in how you lifted others up.
"Because this is everyone's city," he replied, loud enough for others to hear. "Having powers doesn't make me more important than the people who keep Metropolis running every day."
He saw Lois's slight smile - the one that meant she'd gotten exactly the quote she wanted. But there was something else in her eyes too, a warmth that made him grateful his powers didn't include blushing.
The cleanup continued as more news crews arrived - international outlets now, their reporters adding questions in a dozen languages. But Clark focused on the work, on each piece of debris carefully moved, each broken thing that could be fixed.
His enhanced hearing caught fragments of conversation all around:
"Daily Planet's going to own this story..." "Never seen anything like it..." "But where did Metallo go?" "Think this is just the beginning?"
A child's voice cut through it all: "Is the metal man going to be okay?"
Clark turned to find a young girl watching him work. Her mother, he noticed, wore a press badge from some local station, but the child's concern seemed genuine.
He knelt down to her level, aware of every camera catching the moment but focusing solely on her worried face.
"I hope so," he said honestly. "Sometimes people get hurt in ways we can't see. The best thing we can do is help them find their way back."
She nodded solemnly, then looked at his torn cape. "Does it hurt? When your special clothes get broken?"
The question caught him off guard. Trust a child to see past the spectacle to something more personal.
"Not physically," he said carefully. "But it reminds me that even things that seem unbreakable can be damaged. The important thing is how we repair what's broken."