Hearing the explosion outside, Adrian stepped out of the living room and gazed toward the manor grounds.
Fireworks bloomed above the Luthor estate, bursts of color igniting the night sky. Even from several miles away at the farm, the "bang, bang" of explosions was audible.
Adrian stood in the courtyard for a moment, watching the display, then turned and returned inside. From his study he resumed monitoring every movement at Luthor Manor. If the Owls' Council made a play on Lex tonight, he needed to be ready.
The brilliance of the fireworks, Adrian thought, might be a signal—some omen of what fate awaited the manor next.
Luthor Manor.
"Hey, Clark." In the grand hall, with music pulsing through the air, Lex Luthor greeted Clark. Beside him stood a striking woman. "This is Victoria Harley, an old friend of mine."
"Hi, nice to meet you, Clark," she said charmingly. "Lex told me you're the star of tonight's gathering."
Clark gave a polite smile, though stiff. He wasn't great at handling bold, charismatic women.
Lex placed a hand gently on Victoria's arm, nodded behind Clark, and leaned in low. "Clark, your guest has arrived," he murmured. Then he and Victoria turned and drifted away, leaving Clark alone in the limelight.
"Hey, Lana!" Clark turned and saw Lana, poised and elegant. He greeted her in a slightly awkward tone, "You look beautiful tonight."
She smiled. "Thank you. Even though it's a party, being at Luthor Manor gives it a different weight. I dressed up a little more than usual." She paused, then Clark asked softly, "How has Whitney been lately?"
Clark's eyes flickered—he realized the question might be out of place. Lana frowned slightly. After a hesitation she said, "He's doing better. The doctor says his recovery is going well."
"That's good to hear." Silence fell between them, heavy in the opulent hall.
A few beats passed before Lana asked, "Is Adrian not here?"
Clark glanced off, unsettled. "Adrian … he really dislikes these kinds of occasions." He forced a small smile, though she saw through it.
Lana's expression registered mild disappointment.
Clark suddenly frowned and sniffed the air. "Do you smell something… odd?"
Lana looked baffled. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing—never mind," Clark said, though his gaze sharpened. "Excuse me for a moment." He strode off toward the scent's origin.
Since his powers had awakened, Clark possessed not only super-vision and super-hearing, but a sensory perception surpassing normal limits. He immediately detected a sinister odor—subtle, almost imperceptible—that didn't belong.
He had barely taken two steps before shattering glass erupted around him. Figures cloaked like dark Owls plunged through the broken window. In an instant, the very air trembled.
Luthor's guards had no time to react. Blood spurted from necks, eyes went wide, and bodies crumpled to the floor with heavy thuds.
The students in attendance, seeing the carnage unfold, finally registered the horror. Screams ripped through the hall as guests fled in panic.
"Clark! Over here!" Chloe and Pete reached him amid the chaos, attempting to drag him away.
"You two go," he said firmly, releasing Chloe's grip. His eyes locked on the cloaked attackers—it was clear the invaders' priority was eliminating the manor's security, not harming students.
The assassins moved with brutal precision. Knives and clawed blades glinted, each strike slicing through flesh, blood spouting in grotesque arcs. The guards were overwhelmed—each blow dropped another protector.
Chloe, torn by fear, whispered, "Be careful," and was carried off by the fleeing masses.
Meanwhile, Lex, already evacuated from the hall, called out, "Where's Clark?"
"Clark stayed inside," Pete explained, tending to an injured classmate.
Lex's face hardened. He snatched a gun from a fallen guard and prepared to reenter. But the leader of the mercenaries Lex had stationed nearby intervened, cautioning, "Mr. Luthor, we advise withdrawal. Their primary target is you—they'll strike again soon."
Grudgingly, Lex retreated toward a hidden safe location. Outside, the manor grounds were now a war zone—with Owl Assassins inside, trapped guards, and mercenaries poised outside to strike the invaders.
Clark lunged forward, striking one attacker's chin in a clean punch. The assassin, despite agile reflexes, was caught off guard and crashed into the wall.
Another lunged from behind—Clark twisted, ripped the assailant's blade from his hand, snapped it with a metallic crack. The opponent's eyes widened; Clark didn't hesitate. He unleashed a feral barrage of punches, felling the attacker.
Despite lacking formal combat training, his speed and reaction time were superior. Each strike landed true.
Before he could advance, a guard—his eyes wild with fear—plowed into Clark from behind, knocking him to the ground. The guard inhaled some dark mist—blurred shapes, black voids surrounded by distortion, flickered in his mind. Driven mad, he lashed out at everything in sight, plunging the hall further into panic.
Clark became target number one.
Just then—boom! An RPG round thundered through the main doors, tearing them open. The explosion roared through the hall, ripping through walls, engulfing attackers, students, and Clark in its shockwave.
---