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New Soul Land Book has been released go check it out.....
Book Name :- Douluo Dalu : Blue Silver Emperor Douluo
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"I'm… I'm actually back on Earth," Clark whispered, his consciousness still reeling. "No, I have to stop Superman…"
He felt incredibly weak, almost all of his superpowers gone. The one-minute battle against the corrupted Superman had forced him to unleash every ounce of solar energy stored in his body.
While it had granted him strength comparable to his wounded counterpart, it was a desperate gamble that had completely drained him. All the energy he had unconsciously absorbed over the past eight years, including the massive surge he gained in the DC universe, was gone.
At this moment, Clark was no longer a Kryptonian powerhouse. He was just an ordinary human. To regain his strength, he would have to wait until his body could absorb enough solar energy once more.
Clark struggled to his feet, his vision swimming. In the next instant, a speeding truck rumbled past him on the road.
"Is that… a real person?"
He was certain this wasn't Themyscira. The gas station across the road and the driver in the truck confirmed it: he had escaped the world ravaged by the virus. The moment this truth washed over him, what little strength he had left vanished, and he collapsed to his knees, utterly spent.
"Is everyone… okay?" he murmured, his thoughts drifting back to his companions. "Damian and the others… they should have evacuated safely."
He worried for them, but there was nothing he could do. Time travel was an impossible concept to explain, and even the brilliant minds of the DC universe had no time to study such things during the crisis. All he could do was pray for them.
"Hey! Kid, you alright?"
As Clark knelt on the pavement, gasping for breath, a man with a scruffy beard and hair that stuck out strangely on both sides walked over. He tossed a cigarette from his mouth and looked down at the boy.
"If you've got any strength left, get home to your mother. Don't just kneel in the middle of the road."
Clark looked up at the man, who sounded impatient but whose voice held an undercurrent of concern. He was the driver from the truck. He could have just kept going, but he must have seen Clark in his rearview mirror and stopped.
"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice shaky. "I'll get up now."
Realizing he was most likely back in his own world, Clark knew he had to get home. But first, he needed to figure out where he was.
"Sir, can I ask… what country is this? Where are we?"
"Huh? You hit your head or somethin'?" the man asked, surprised. Getting lost was one thing, but not knowing what country you were in was something else entirely. Still, he answered the boy's question. "This is a road near the Smallville area. Kansas."
The name clicked in Clark's mind. This was the destination his father had mentioned right before the tornado hit.
The man looked at the strange kid, a puzzled expression on his face. "You're not from around here, are ya? Nebraska? Missouri? Oklahoma? Colorado?" he asked, rattling off the names of the neighboring states. Seeing Clark's embarrassed silence, he sighed in resignation.
"Alright, fine. Where's your home? And just so you know, if it ain't in the United States, I can't help you." The man clearly wanted to just leave, but his conscience wouldn't let him.
"Um… New York City," Clark answered quietly. "Queens…"
The man slapped a hand to his forehead. "You've gotta be kidding me. I just came from that direction."
Noticing the man's frustration, Clark quickly added, "If it's too much trouble, please don't worry about me. I'm sure I can find a way back on my own…"
Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He had no powers, no money, and no identification. He was just an eight-year-old boy. Traveling halfway across the country from Kansas to New York was impossible.
"Get in, kid," the man grumbled, his gruff demeanor softening. "You probably have no idea how far it is. Since I decided to stick my nose in it, I might as well see it through. C'mon."
With that, the man turned and walked back to his truck. Though embarrassed, Clark had no choice but to follow.
When we get back to New York, I'll have Dad arrange a good job for this man, he thought to himself as he climbed into the passenger seat. The old truck's engine roared to life with a pungent smell of fuel, and the man turned the vehicle around, heading back toward the east coast.
That night, a specially modified, bulletproof car pulled up to the same spot. After his experience with the tornado, Ben had come to understand the importance of safety, no matter how small the probability of danger. His new car was a fortress on wheels, a model similar to the President's, reinforced with help from Stark Industries. If they ever faced another tornado, they would have a fighting chance just by staying inside.
Ben had spent the day wandering aimlessly, creating the perfect cover story while Richard drew S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention in the opposite direction. Now, it was time to get his son.
Just as he got out of the car and started toward the bushes, his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number—a secure line from Richard.
"Richard? What is it? Are you safe?" Ben answered immediately.
Richard was in Denver, Colorado, having successfully lured the agents following him far away from New York. But his voice was filled with anxiety. On the screen of a new laptop in front of him, Clark's tracking signal had vanished.
"Ben, Clark's locator signal is gone! Go check on him, now!"
A jolt of fear shot through Ben. He sprinted toward the patch of tall grass where Clark was supposed to be, only to find it flattened and disturbed. The ground beneath was fractured with a web of cracks.
"Fragments of the locator," Ben breathed, crouching down and spotting tiny, shattered pieces of plastic scattered across the cracked earth.
"Clark's awake?"