Clark never thought he would lose his most respected mentor.
Amid loudly Clark cried, Malrick's eyes kept losing their color.
Warm blood flowed through Clark's fingers, yet it brought him no comfort. He gripped his mentor's hand tightly, letting the blood‑soaked palm smear across his cheek.
"No, don't die, Master, don't die!" Clark shouted.
"A medic, someone help!" someone in the crowd screamed as people pushed forward in panic.
Clark hugged Malrick's shoulders with all his strength. He could feel his mentor's body temperature dropping rapidly. The warmth in his own heart dimmed with every passing second.
In his final moments, Malrick looked at Clark with hollow eyes. He could barely see from the heavy loss of blood, yet he still reached up and gently brushed Clark's cheek with his trembling, blood‑stained hand.
"Clark… you must remember that with great power comes greater responsibility. Don't become like me. You have a better chance than I ever did to be a true hero," he whispered, each word an effort, his voice rough as if pushing through water. "Remember… become a true hero."
Blood surged from his throat in thick, choking bubbles. Clark leaned in close, desperate to catch every word. Then, as the last droplets of crimson foam fell against his face, the hand he held went limp. Malrick's body went still, and all warmth left him.
Around them, the crowd shouted for ambulances and the police, but Clark felt as though the world had fallen silent. Light and sound seemed distant. His mind went blank. Mechanically, he looked up at Malrick's lifeless face, and memories began to flood through him.
…
"Master? Is that what I should call you?"
"Call me Malrick," his mentor had said gently.
"But I see people learning martial arts in the city, they call their teachers master. Only then do they learn the real things."
"Alright, call me whatever you like."
…
"Master, do you want to live at my house? But my dad probably won't agree, he's old‑fashioned, and I'm adopted…"
"Don't worry, your mentor will handle everything," Malrick had chuckled.
…
"Damn it, Master, how are you so popular with my parents? They made all these extravagant dishes for you!"
"That's a secret. But since you asked, I'm pretty good at cooking. I'll let you try my dishes later."
…
"Master, you take up two‑thirds of the bed. I can't sleep. Why are you in my room, even though you live here?"
"There's a training technique called rope sleeping. Master that and you'll be able to leap three meters high."
"But you can't kick me off the bed in the middle of the night!"
"That trains your ability to dodge even in your dreams."
"Is that real?"
…
"Master, are we starting kung fu lessons now?"
"Yes."
"Finally. Are we learning Jeet Kune Do or tai chi?"
"You know tai chi? Unfortunately neither. Our style is called the Devouring Starry Sky form."
"That name doesn't sound mysterious at all. You're not tricking me, are you?"
"Quiet. The first move we will practice is called Hundredfold Force."
"Hundredfold sounds powerful. What's the second move?"
"Thousandfold Force."
"The third won't be Ten Thousandfold Force, will it?"
"Not bad. You already guessed it."
…
"Master, I've been practicing for two years and my strength has reached sevenfold. Shouldn't I be a superhero by now?"
"You haven't mastered the first move and you want to save the world? No, keep practicing."
"I've reached sevenfold in two years. Can you really master the first move? Master, I want to be a superhero. I just want to be a superhero!"
"You kid… fine, go try. But remember, the greater the power, the heavier the consequences. Think carefully before you act."
"I understand. Spider‑Man said that with great power comes great responsibility."
…
"Master, no, I beg you, don't die…"
Only now did Clark truly understand what Malrick had meant.
In the past few months, Clark had acted like the heroes in comics — fighting crime, protecting the innocent, earning applause. The technique Malrick taught him amplified his strength, speed, and defense. With a sevenfold increase, Clark was like a novice vigilante.
He had sewn a mask and patrolled the city every night, upholding justice. Even when he faced armed criminals, he was fearless because his speed and reactions were extraordinary. He could dodge bullets as they fired.
Over time, Clark became arrogant. His masked persona gained a loud reputation throughout the community. At school, he walked with his head held high. His thick glasses were gone. Bullies sidestepped him, and girls whispered when he passed.
Under these circumstances, Clark provoked the city's largest gang. He disrupted their illegal exchanges and even took their cash, throwing it into the slums. Malrick warned him to stay humble, but Clark brushed it off as needless caution — until today.
The gang discovered his identity and kidnapped his parents. When Clark saw a submachine gun pressed against his mother's mouth, he surrendered without hesitation. In the final moment, Malrick arrived and saved the family, but his body was riddled with bullets.
Malrick led Clark and the Kents to safety before collapsing by the roadside.
Looking at his mentor's lifeless form, Clark finally understood the true meaning of power and responsibility. Unfortunately, the one who taught him those words was gone. And Clark knew it was his fault.
He lay beside him, weeping silently. He would never hear Malrick's voice again. He would never feel his warmth again. He would never have the chance to apologize.
It began to drizzle at some unknown time. Raindrops trickled down Clark's face as he buried his head deeper. His body — now muscular from years of training — shook as if the rain had soaked him from the inside.
Only long after did the people around finally pull Clark away from Malrick's body.
From that day on, there was one fewer naive vigilante in the neighborhood and one more hardened masked hero.
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Powerstones?? (´ε｀ )
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