When Chloe and Pete walked into the ballroom, the first feeling that washed over them was one of elegance and charm.
The girls wore shimmering gowns of lace, chiffon, and silk, rustling softly with every movement. Long dresses flowed like rivers of color, high heels clicked across the polished floor, and white evening gowns sparkled beneath the lights. Decorative sashes and polished black shoes completed the picture of Smallville High's homecoming dance.
"Ahem, Chloe, I only know how to dance the Jitterbug. You think people will boo me?"
Pete, tugging nervously at his bowtie, leaned closer to his partner.
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "What Jitterbug?"
"My grandfather taught me. You cross your arms, do those Cossack kicks—it gets wild. You can fall pretty easily." Pete explained with a sheepish grin, glancing toward the crowded dance floor.
"Yeah, well, your goofy dance will probably get talked about just as much as exposed bra straps or a breakout on prom night." Chloe shot back, her sharp tongue never failing her.
She scanned the room again, frowning. "Clark and Adrian didn't show up?"
Pete shrugged. "Maybe Clark's outside waiting for Adrian. He's been worried Adrian might pull something tonight."
"Then let's go find them." Chloe grabbed Pete's sleeve and headed for the exit.
"Great. My dance night is ruined. You owe me for this." Pete muttered, swiping a handful of mixed nuts from the refreshment table as they slipped out.
---
Meanwhile, in the darkened gymnasium not far from the ballroom, Adrian stood alone at center court. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, splitting the court into jagged lines of shadow and silver light.
"Clark," Adrian's voice carried, sharp and cold, "you've been tailing me all night. You don't want me at that dance, do you?"
A sudden gust swept the room. Clark appeared behind him, his face tense, fists clenched.
"Adrian, I won't let you hurt anyone again. You need help."
Adrian turned slowly, a faint smile curling at his lips. "And you're the one who's going to help me, brother?" His tone was mocking, though his eyes glimmered with interest.
"Come home. Talk to me, talk to Mom and Dad. We can help you—together." Clark's voice was steady, but worry tugged at his words.
Deep down, Clark believed Adrian had been behind Dan Brown's death. But he couldn't bring himself to hand his brother over to the police. There had to be something else at play, something he didn't yet understand.
"You know, Clark…" Adrian sighed with feigned weariness. "You were never very good at convincing me of anything."
Clark's jaw tightened.
The truth was, Adrian didn't care about Dan Brown. He didn't care about the football team either. What he wanted was to see Clark break—to see his brother, the one everyone called pure and noble, experience the weight of failure.
Adrian's strength, his evolving powers, burned inside him like fire. But the growth had stalled, chained by invisible limits. He knew why: he hadn't yet faced an enemy strong enough to push him further.
Clark, still untested, had that potential. And Adrian intended to draw it out.
"Clark, you think I'm the killer because it fits your little story." Adrian's voice rose, cold and cutting. "You think I'm dangerous because I don't play nice, because I don't grovel like you do, because I don't bow down to people who don't matter."
Clark's eyes narrowed.
"Your anger blinds you, brother," Adrian continued, stepping forward, his voice like a sermon twisted with arrogance. "If you want to protect people, if you want to be the hero, then you need to be smarter. Stronger. Cruel enough to face reality."
Then he struck.
The air cracked like thunder as Adrian's fist shot forward, hitting Clark square in the chest.
"Ugh!"
Clark was hurled across the court, slamming into the wall. Plaster exploded into dust, cracks webbing outward like shattered glass.
Coughing, Clark struggled to his feet, clutching his chest. Pain throbbed through his ribs, his vision swimming.
Adrian blurred forward with super speed, another punch already arcing toward Clark's chin. Clark barely raised his arm in time, deflecting the blow and using the recoil to retreat.
But Adrian didn't relent. His fists came down in a relentless storm, every strike like a hammer blow. He moved with brutal precision, his combat training evident in every motion. Even with their speeds nearly matched, Clark's lack of experience showed.
Adrian's kick drove into Clark's abdomen, sending him staggering. Clark growled, planting his feet. This time, he refused to dodge. He raised his fist and swung.
The two blows collided, fist against fist. The shockwave rattled the gym, sending dust raining from the rafters. Clark was thrown backward again, smashing into the basketball hoop. Metal shrieked as the hoop bent at a ninety-degree angle before giving way under the impact.
Clark crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, pain flashing through every nerve in his body.
From the shadows near the gym window, Chloe and Pete froze, eyes wide in disbelief.
"What… what are we even watching?" Pete whispered, his voice trembling.
The two teens could barely track the fight. Blows faster than the eye could follow, shockwaves that made the walls tremble—it was beyond human.
"Are all the Kents like this?" Chloe muttered, her hands gripping the window frame. Her voice was shaky, laced with fear.
But what terrified them most wasn't Clark. It was Adrian. Despite looking leaner, his dominance was absolute. He wasn't just winning—he was enjoying it.
---
Adrian personality would be similar to Homelander's from The Boys.
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