American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 141 Dior: Where's my car?
[An extra 5K chapter to warm things up; tonight we'll be live-streaming the brotherly showdown in Gotham. Time to show Batman what he's made of.]

"boom!"

Clark shoved the door open, and it slammed against the wall with a thud.

The loud noise startled Jonathan and Martha, who were watching TV in the living room.

"Clark? Why are you back so early? Is the ball over?" Martha put down her knitting and stood up with concern, but immediately noticed her son's unusually pale face and the barely suppressed restlessness emanating from him. "Son, what's wrong? What happened?"

Jonathan turned off the TV, his brow furrowed.

"You brat, your face is as long as an old horse plowing the field. Who did you wrong?"

Clark didn't answer. He walked straight to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of ice water, and gulped down several mouthfuls.

Then he slammed the bottle down on the table with a loud "bang".

Water splashed everywhere.

"Clark!"

Martha's voice rose, tinged with panic, "What happened? Is it with Lana?"

“Lana?” Clark scoffed, his tone tinged with an indescribable irritation and disdain. He turned around, leaning against the refrigerator. “She’s doing just fine…she likes me just the way I am.”

"But you all seem to dislike me as I am now."

His gaze swept over his mother's faded apron, his father's worn-out work pants, and the living room that exuded a sense of shabby poverty.

A burning sense of disparity seared his chest, leaving him speechless.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a glance.

He took a few steps forward, his voice lowering:
"'You now'?"

"Clark, what do you mean by that? We...we just feel like you've been acting a little strange lately. Is it because of the pressure at school?"

Clark took a deep breath, as if he had finally made up his mind.

He looked up, his gaze meeting Jonathan's, and spoke stiffly:
"Dad, give me the money."

"Money?" Jonathan was taken aback, not expecting his son to blurt out such a question after so long. "Money? What do you need money for? Didn't we just give you pocket money at the prom?"

"What can you do with that little bit of money?"

Clark's impatience finally exploded. "Look at what I'm wearing! I bought this at the last minute! I didn't even have a decent dress for the ball before! And look at Dior! Any one of his clothes could buy me ten outfits!"

His voice unconsciously rose, carrying a hint of complaint and a barely perceptible jealousy.

“Clark,” Martha quickly came over, trying to ease the tension, “As long as your clothes are clean and tidy, there’s no need to compare them to others.”

You mean you're talking about keeping up with the Joneses?

The boy seemed to be stung by the word.

He abruptly interrupted his mother, his voice becoming even more agitated: "Is this about showing off? This is about basic decency! I'm the king of homecoming! Am I supposed to keep showing up in front of everyone in this plaid shirt and jeans? Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

"Clark Kent!"

Jonathan snapped at him, his face darkening completely. "How dare you speak to your mother like that? What do you mean by shameful? When did the Kent family ever teach you to measure dignity by the price of clothes? Your honor comes from your actions, not your attire!"

"Behavior? Honor?"

Clark laughed as if he had heard some absurd joke, shaking his head. His laughter was full of disappointment and sarcasm.

"Look at Dio! He gets whatever he wants! He's confident, powerful, and never has to worry about anyone! That's what real life is like!"

"And all you teach me is to hide! To endure! To live an ordinary, mediocre life like everyone else! You have no idea what I have!"

The emotions that had been building up all night suddenly burst forth.

“Clark!” Martha’s voice trembled, her eyes instantly reddening. “We hid you to protect you! We just wanted you to be safe.”

"Protect? Imprison!"

Clark pressed closer, a chilling red glint appearing in his eyes.

"Are you also afraid of my power? Afraid that I'm different from you? Afraid that I'm so strong that you can't control me or understand me?!"

"What nonsense are you talking about!"

Jonathan was furious and grabbed Clark's shoulder:

“We are your parents! Why would we be afraid of you? We are teaching you to control your power! Teaching you to use your abilities wisely!”

"Control? It's that same old trick again!"

Clark abruptly shoved his father's hand away. Jonathan stumbled and nearly fell.

"You will never understand what I have! You are just binding me with your mediocre ideas!"

The boy completely lost control of his emotions, the red light in his eyes growing brighter and brighter, and even the living room lights seemed to flicker. He growled, "Let's see how Uncle Locke teaches Dio!"

"He encouraged Dior to take control! To fight for it! That's the right way to teach people like us!"

"That's true. You're just two ordinary people! How could you possibly know how to guide true power? You only know how to corrupt me with your mediocre and cowardly reasoning!"

"Take a look. Take a look."

His voice lowered and became hoarse, yet sharper:
"Look what you've produced! A useless person who's afraid of his own strength and worries all day about whether he'll hurt the flowers and plants!"

"Clark!!"

Martha's tears finally fell.

She gazed at her son, who seemed like a complete stranger, her lips trembling: "We love you... everything we did was for..."

"love me?"

The ring on his finger was faintly warm, and the red light in Clark's eyes was almost bursting out:
"If you truly love me, you should support me in becoming stronger! Instead of molding me into an ordinary person like you!"

"That's not getting stronger! That's losing your way!" Jonathan trembled with rage, and he suddenly raised his hand and slapped him across the face. "Wake up! Look at yourself! Arrogant, irritable, and completely deaf to reason!"

"Who are you?! Give Clark back!"

"Don't try to use your methods on me!"

Clark shook him off, turned around, and flung open the door.

A sudden gust of night wind swept in, ruffling his sweat-dampened bangs.

In his final glance back, he saw his parents' faces filled with shock and pain, and their posture as if all their strength had been drained away in an instant.

"You really don't understand anything!"

"I am Clark!"

His voice was as cold as ice:
"Reason? Keep your weak reasoning to yourselves!"

"Clark!!"

Martha's tearful cries were cut off by the slamming door.

The room was completely silent.

Outdoors
A cold wind brushed against Clark's burning cheeks.

In short
My instincts are telling me this now.

He needs to leave here, immediately! Right now!

In a flash, he appeared in front of the barn.

If it's good, it will be here.
My gaze swept quickly across the room, finally settling on the sleek, all-black Harley-Davidson in the shadows.

—Dior's car.

He loosened the collar of his suit jacket, revealing several gaps, and without the slightest hesitation, Clark straddled it and skillfully retrieved the key from the hidden gaps.

He twisted the accelerator.

"boom!!!"

Harley roared furiously and charged out like a wild beast, crushing grass and dust in its wake.

The night wind, like a cold blade, scraped across Clark's cheeks, but it couldn't suppress the boiling anger in his veins.

That's it
That's right.

No more need to be careful, no more need to control your strength, no more fear of breaking anything or hurting anyone...

They will never understand.

"boom!"

The wheels rolled over the gravel, causing the vehicle to sway slightly.

Clark gripped the handlebars so tightly that they deformed.

Why should I hide myself? Why should I be ordinary?
Look at Dio. He lived more recklessly than anyone else, more like a human being than anyone else—no, more like a god.

and I?
They can't even afford a decent piece of clothing. They don't even dare to speak the truth.

Protect?

Ah…

"call--!"

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the fields, but it couldn't mask the burning shame in Clark's heart. He wasn't angry that his parents were poor, nor that he was angry at his own shabby clothes.
He was angry.
I endured it. I hid it.

I'm actually going to have to be a good kid.
But the good children get nothing.
Good children are simply forgotten.

A few minutes later.

Dio returned from his meditation by the river and walked slowly toward the barn.

His face remained expressionless until his gaze fell upon the empty ground.

Harley... is gone.

Dio: “…”

The car wasn't stolen in Gotham, surprisingly...
He bent down and picked up a button from the ground.

A familiar scent lingered on it.

It's Clark.

Dior frowned slightly.

Clark Kent.
Did they steal his car?
Dior held the button for a few seconds, remaining silent.

Am I still asleep?
-
Night was falling on a path on the edge of a Kent farm.

Two figures dragged their weary but unusually fulfilled steps back through the soft soil.

It's Locke and Lex.

Locke carried two mud-caked hoes on his shoulders, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, but his expression was relaxed. Lex walked beside him, his expensive custom-made shirt rolled up to his elbows and covered in mud.

是 的
This shrewd and resourceful small business owner had just been semi-forced by Locke to experience what it meant to work in the fields at night.

"So, young master?" Locke nudged Lex with his elbow, making no attempt to hide his teasing. "Isn't catching field mice much more interesting than calculating stocks in the office?"

"Uncle Locke."

Lex took a breath and looked at his hands, which were covered in mud:

"To be honest, Uncle Locke, my whole body aches, and I'm starting to seriously suspect that you deliberately picked a few tough field mice."

"So you're unhappy?" Locke asked.

".fine."

He spoke a rare, honest opinion.

是 的
After working in the fields, a strange calm enveloped the anxiety he had developed while toiling in the data center. Soil, sweat, the evening breeze.
They have no strategy, no conspiracy, they simply exist.

This gave him a rare sense of peace.

"That's good."

Patting Lex on the shoulder, Locke smiled and pushed open the door.

The smile disappeared.

They were greeted by a cold, low-pressure area.

The lights were dim, and Martha sat alone on the sofa, silently weeping. Jonathan stood by the window with his back to the door, his shoulders slumped, as if he had aged overnight.

The atmosphere inside the room was so heavy it was suffocating.

Locke frowned deeply.

Lex immediately sensed something was wrong, and the fatigue on his face was replaced by vigilance and doubt.

“Martha? Jonathan?” Locke put down his hoe, strode to the center of the living room, and asked in a low voice, “What happened?”

Jonathan turned around, his lips trembling, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to speak.

“It’s Clark.” Martha looked up through her tear-filled eyes, saw Locke and Lex, and as if she had found her pillar of support, she choked out, “He…he just came back…”

"Clark?"

Locke's heart tightened. "What happened to him? Did something happen at the ball?"

“Worse than that…”

Jonathan finally found his voice. He took a deep breath and used all his strength to begin recounting what had just happened.

From Clark's rude demand for money to buy clothes and his disdain for his family, to his envy of Dior and his mockery of his parents' teachings as a "mediocre constraint," to the terrifying red light in his eyes and his storming out of the door, he finally...

"."

Locke's face grew increasingly grim as he listened.

He knew Clark; that kid might have a bit of a temper.
But it's absolutely impossible for him to say such harsh and ungrateful things to the parents who raised him!
It's even less likely that they would use force to fight Jonathan!

unless
He was being controlled.

"Which direction did they go?" Locke asked calmly.

"He...he rushed out and it seems he ran towards the barn..."

Upon hearing this, Locke immediately turned around and strode towards the door.

Lex followed without hesitation.

Barn Direction —

The black Harley that Dior had secretly bought used to be parked there, but now it was empty.

“He drove off in Dior’s car…” Locke said in a deep voice.

Nodding, Lex also took out his phone: "I'll call along the route now."
Before he could finish speaking, a petite, anxious figure rode a bicycle into Kent Farm.

The girl jumped off the bus, not even bothering to stand properly, and rushed over with her camera in hand, her face covered in tears and fear.

“Uncle Locke! Mr. Lex! Clark is acting strange! He seems to be controlled by something!” She shoved the camera at Locke incoherently.

The camera shakily captured a horrifying scene in a corner of the ballroom.

—A sinister red light gleamed in Clark's eyes as he roughly pressed the girl against the window, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

Locke watched the video in silence until the camera zoomed in on the ring on Clark's finger that was shimmering red, at which point a look of understanding appeared on his face.

Based on Jonathan and Martha's descriptions, he already had the answer in his mind—

Kryptonite.

It is a red kryptonite that produces various random effects on Kryptonians, with an indefinite duration.

And this time, Clark drew—

The evil red kryptonite that distorts the mind and amplifies desires.

When exactly did he get this thing?!
"I see."

Locke handed the camera back and gently pressed Chloe's trembling shoulder:

"Don't be afraid, Chloe. Uncle will bring back the real Clark."

Upon hearing this assurance, Chloe's taut nerves finally snapped.

She burst into tears, as if to release all her fear and grievances.

"Crack~"

Footsteps landed, and Dior appeared silently in the shadows of the porch.

He glanced at the weeping Chloe and the somber atmosphere in the room, asked nothing, and remained expressionless, only briefly meeting Locke's gaze.

—In their eyes, there was nothing but cold anger.

Later that evening, Salafil returned, his face still bearing the happy marks of mushroom picking.

But as soon as he pushed open the door, he was met with an almost frozen atmosphere in the room.

He blinked, swallowing back all his curiosity and laughter, and obediently let Locke quietly arrange for him to go upstairs.

The entire Kent farm was submerged in a silent undercurrent.

Only the night wind swept through the barn, creating an empty echo.

……

Smallville at the end of October was already steeped in the depths of autumn.

Friday is supposed to be the most important game day of the rugby season.

But the figure on the field, on whom so much hope was placed, was nowhere to be seen.

Clark Kent, the newly appointed Homecoming King and the team's key player, is absent.

The game ended in a crushing defeat, without any suspense.

As soon as the final whistle blew, Lana rushed to Kent Farm, her heart filled with the coach's anger and her teammates' disappointment.

But when she learned from Martha's choked-up account that Clark had stormed out after a heated argument the night before and had not returned, she covered her mouth in shock.

All thoughts about the game vanished instantly, leaving only an overwhelming sense of unease.

……

In the days that followed, an atmosphere of anxiety permeated the Kent household.

Lex used every available resource to track down Clark and the Harley.

However, once the clues entered the steel jungle of the metropolis, they were completely cut off, as if they had been quietly erased by an invisible hand.

Even Locke personally went out to search.

He searched every possible place with his senses and speed, even going all the way to old Bob's place in Florida, but still found nothing. The boy...
It's like he disappeared from the face of the earth.

Time slipped away in the oppressive wait, and Halloween arrived in the blink of an eye.

Locke, looking slightly tired, pushed open the door to his house.

He just spent some time traveling 16,000 kilometers to Antarctica.

The fortress of solitude has not yet been built.

There was still no news of Clark there.

This left him feeling so heavy-hearted that he didn't know how to face Jonathan and Martha.

Happy birthday, bro.

Hearing the door open, Locke walked in heavily. Jonathan couldn't hide his disappointment, but he still forced a smile, walked over and patted him on the shoulder, trying to dispel the gloom in the room. "Martha has been busy in the kitchen all afternoon, making you the most sumptuous birthday feast ever!"

"Next, we'll wait for Salafir, Dio, and Lex to arrive."

Locke paused, a hint of helplessness creeping onto his lips.

He completely forgot.

Today is Halloween, and also his fortieth birthday.

In previous years, because this day was always full of mischief and noise, he never celebrated it on purpose.

This year is a full year old, and Jonathan and Martha insisted on having a celebration, so he finally agreed...

But I never expected it to turn out like this.

Clark…

Locke sighed, about to say that now was not the time, when the door was suddenly pushed open.

Lex walked in with hurried steps, his face devoid of its usual composure, replaced only by an unusual tension and urgency.

"Lex!"

Jonathan's eyes lit up instantly, and he rushed forward, "Is there any news about Clark?"

"Have."

Lex's tone was abrupt, without even time for pleasantries, "And the situation is very bad."

He walked straight into the living room, picked up the remote, turned on the TV, and quickly tuned to a channel that was broadcasting breaking news.

A piercing alarm sounded in the background, and a blood-red title appeared at the bottom of the screen:
—"Gotham descends into chaos! Superhumans engage in a deadly street battle!"

The news anchor's voice, though trying to remain calm, trembled uncontrollably.
"...The situation is escalating! Two unidentified superhumans have engaged in a violent clash on the Gotham coast, the damage is spreading rapidly, and they are closing in on the city center. Citizens are urged to evacuate immediately..."

As he spoke, the camera on the television began to shake violently and switch between different shots.

A scene that instantly silenced the living room—

A man dressed in a black leather jacket and wearing a metal helmet is locked in combat with a man wearing a strange stone mask and with long, wildly dancing blond hair!

"boom--!"

The helmeted man was punched and sent flying.

It crashed through the building's load-bearing wall, and shattered glass rained down like a waterfall.

The man in the stone mask let out a cold laugh, and with a casual wave of his hand, cars on the street were picked up by an invisible force like toys and rained down on his opponent!

The neighborhood was reduced to ruins, smoke filled the air, screams echoed everywhere, as if hell had descended.

Locke remained silent.
His gaze slowly shifted to the living room wall—

There used to be an old ornament hanging there.

Stone Demon Mask.
Disappeared.

"I'll go there."

His voice was as cold as the wind, without the slightest hesitation.

Before Jonathan and Lex could react, he had already turned around and strode out the door.

The two hurriedly chased to the door and pushed it open.

But as night fell outside, a cold wind howled, and there was no sign of Locke.

Only on the distant eastern horizon, a massive, extremely conspicuous thundercloud, constantly churning, roaring, and flashing with destructive lightning, was tearing through the night sky at a speed exceeding the limits of physics, hurtling toward Gotham City!

The birthday dinner will obviously have to be postponed.

(End of this chapter)