As Rachel continued to absorb the black mist that had shrouded Adrian's body, the pain she felt sharpened with every passing moment. The weight of the darkness that had emanated from Adrian's consciousness far exceeded what the young girl could normally endure.
The spectral purple raven she had manifested to draw out that darkness was weakening. The black lines that connected Rachel's form to the raven thinned and faded. Sweat beads formed on her forehead as the process pushed her far beyond her limit.
But with each moment that passed, the dense, unspeakable aura within Adrian's mind dissolved, and a sluggish shimmer of awareness began to return to him. The darkness and destructive presence that had swallowed him receded, dispersing like mist in the morning light.
The raven — a projection of Rachel's own soul forged from her magic and essence — was normally used for healing and absorbing negative emotions, but in extreme cases it could leave the user weakened. It even had a feared application as a tool of soul invasion, capable of entering another's mind and inducing terror and pain. In the future, Barry Allen had narrowly avoided a breakdown because of it.
Now, Rachel's soul had entered Adrian's consciousness itself, guiding him back from the brink.
Adrian's awakening did not happen gently.
At first he sensed only bone‑studded ground, a path lined with death. Black mist clung to everything, and on either side stacked hills of corpses and seas of crimson formed a macabre trail that seemed to stretch forever.
He stood in the middle of that crimson road, surrounded by negative aura and unable to stop moving forward, unable to find an exit. Pain and fatigue gnawed at him as the tyrannical destructive force within him continued to ebb away.
His boots crunched over shattered bone as he forced himself to keep going, eyes fixed forward, until the darkness parted slightly and he heard a voice that resonated through that endless void.
"Brother!"
The tone cut through even the thickest mist. Adrian's gaze sharpened, piercing the gloom, and he saw a figure in the distance.
A young girl stood there, waving. Her short black hair framed a striking face with a crimson gem set in her forehead, and her purple‑black cloak gave her an air of mystery that was impossible to ignore.
Could that be Rachel?
Adrian took a hesitant step forward, doubt lingering in his mind.
Then a pair of slender hands reached out through the fog and grabbed his. The girl pulled him gently but with certainty.
Everything spun.
The ground around him dissolved, and his consciousness snapped back into his body.
Clark stood over him, eyes wide with relief.
"Adrian?"
Clark exclaimed, disbelief and joy mingling in his voice.
Adrian blinked, feeling the warmth and solidity of reality again. He looked down at himself and realized the bone spurs and grotesque black armor that had covered him moments before were gone. His wounds had healed, leaving only the worn and torn remnants of his clothes.
He flexed his hand — now human again — and stared at it, conflicted.
To lose rationality completely and embrace sheer destruction, to be nothing but a force of slaughter, was that what it meant to surrender one's mind? The power had escalated, yes, but at the cost of everything that made him human?
The Doomsday template that had activated inside him could be controlled, but it had shown its full force only when he lost himself.
Clark watched him, concern and relief etched across his face. Rachel, asleep from exhaustion, lay quietly in his arms.
"She gives us strength when we are crushed," Clark said gently.
Adrian lifted Rachel, holding her with surprising tenderness, and gazed toward the ruined city, still smoldering and broken.
"Strength always has a price," Adrian said, voice calm but honest. "She heals others' pain, but she also bears her own."
Clark nodded, understanding. After a thoughtful pause he asked, "What exactly overwhelmed you, made you lose control like that?"
Adrian looked away, carrying Rachel forward. "I don't know for sure. Like you, I was infused with strange Kryptonian energy inside the Fortress in the Arctic. Maybe I was turned into some kind of weapon."
He paused, eyes distant. "But instead of focusing on that, Clark, we should worry about getting out of here."
Clark didn't feel relief, not with the city in ruins and so many innocent lives lost. Even though he knew Adrian had no choice, the sight of devastation made his heart heavy.
And he knew he had to help.
"Help!"
A carriage teetered on the edge of a fissure in the ground, the driver clutching frantically at the earth to stay above the abyss. Clark's Super Speed carried him in an instant, and he pulled the coachman to safety.
"Hold on!" Clark called, and then moved rapidly to assist others.
He lifted a fallen beam to free a trapped child, then shielded a girl from rubble with his own back as stones fell around them. The rock shattered against him, but he remained steady.
With super speed that rivaled Barry Allen himself, Clark continued rescuing dozens of people, organizing survivors and guiding them to safety.
"This way!"
Clark used his vision to locate more trapped victims, but as the sun climbed and hours passed, his mood grew heavier. The carnage weighed on him. So many had died, so many were suffering.
Jor‑El had once told him he was not omnipotent. Now Clark truly understood what that meant. If his strength had been greater, maybe Trigon could have been stopped. Maybe countless lives wouldn't have been lost.
Guilt gnawed at him, sharper than any wound.
"Hey, young man, are you alright? You shouldn't be here!"
Clark turned and saw a police officer gesturing toward a small vintage car. "It's dangerous here. Fire and aftershocks. You need to leave."
Clark smiled, kind but distant. "Sorry, my home won't be built for at least another hundred years."
The officer blinked in confusion.
"You don't need to worry about me," Clark said. "Go help those who need it."
And Clark returned to the rubble.
Hours later, covered in dust and with his clothes in tatters, Clark was about to rest when a strange doorway appeared near the collapsed clock tower.
He hesitated, then stepped inside.
The surroundings twisted and warped like reality bending itself, and suddenly Clark found himself in a warm study, no longer in the disaster zone.
Baron Winters stood before him with Batman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and Supergirl Kara.
Clark looked down at himself in disbelief. "I… I'm back?"
"Yes, you've returned to the 21st century," Baron Winters said, his tone calm as he snuffed out the fireplace's flames.
"We saw your rescue efforts," Winters continued, "not perfect, not like a comic book hero, but genuine."
Clark's eyes widened. "Adrian and Rachel, they're still out there!"
"You don't need to worry about them," Winters replied. "They returned already. You were the only one still helping after the invasion."
He began walking upstairs, then without looking back added, "I'm making black tea. If you want some, stay."
Green Lantern shook his head. "We don't have time. Our mission is complete. We should return."
"Return?" Batman asked in his gravelly voice. "You intend to go back to the future you came from?"
"That's right," Green Lantern explained, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Per our agreement, the Justice League recalls us after we face Trigon."
"You changed far more than you realize," Batman said, serious. "Every action here alters the future. Your presence left a mark. That impact matters. When you return to your time, you'll see that even changes meant to preserve fate create ripples."
Supergirl stepped closer to Clark, breaking the silence. She wrapped him in a hug.
"Take care of Adrian and Rachel," she said softly.
Clark was caught off guard. He wasn't particularly fond of Kara, not always, but her sudden embrace made something inside him tighten. Even if she lectured him constantly, somehow her absence was already familiar.
"Don't you like Nietzsche, Clark?" Kara teased with a soft smile, patting his shoulder. "You will become the Superman everyone looks up to."
Clark watched as she left the room, carrying both hope and an unexpected ache in his chest.
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