Smallville was a quiet town, the kind where life moved at a steady, predictable pace. The Kent farm, bathed in the golden light of dusk, stood as a testament to that peace. Inside, the scent of home-cooked meals filled the air as Martha Kent called out, "Clark! Dinner's ready!"

Clark Kent, still in his mid-teens, wiped the dirt from his hands and smiled. His father, Jonathan Kent, stood beside Martha in the doorway, offering a reassuring nod. It was a simple life—a good life. But peace never lasts.

Miles away, inside the towering LexCorp building, Lex Luthor analyzed a holographic display filled with satellite images and classified reports. He smirked as he traced Clark Kent's image with his finger. "A farm boy with superhuman abilities… Imagine what I could do with him."

The decision had been made. A team of heavily armed mercenaries received their orders through a flickering hologram of Luthor. "Bring him in... alive. Use the special package if necessary."

With a metallic click, a sleek case was unlatched, revealing a chunk of glowing green Kryptonite. The lead mercenary nodded. "Understood."

As the night fell over the Kent farm, shadows moved in the distance. Clark stood outside, sensing something was off. Suddenly, the silence was broken. Armed figures emerged, their guns raised. Clark's heart pounded. "Who are you? What do you want?"

A man stepped forward, lifting the Kryptonite. Instantly, Clark felt an unbearable weakness consume him. His knees buckled. His strength—gone.

"Aghhh...!"

Hearing his cries, Martha and Jonathan rushed outside. "Clark!" Martha screamed. But it was too late.

A nervous soldier, hands trembling, accidentally squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck a gas tank near the barn. A deafening explosion rocked the farm, flames swallowing everything in an instant.

"NO!" Jonathan's voice was drowned by the chaos.

Clark lay on the ground, his vision blurred, body weak. Through the raging fire, he saw his parents—his world—disappear. "MOM! DAD!" His scream tore through the night.

Smoke thickened, flames crackled, and the mercenaries retreated. "Target down. Pulling out," their leader radioed in, convinced the Kryptonian was finished.

But Clark wasn't dead. Weak, barely conscious, he reached out, fingers trembling toward the Kryptonite. His eyes burned with a newfound determination. His pain, his sorrow—fused into one thought.

Never again.

Years later, the world would remember this moment as the turning point. Clark Kent, now older and battle-worn, stood before a massive vault filled with every last piece of Kryptonite on Earth. He gazed at it, unyielding. 

With one final act, he launched it all into the Sun.

"This world tried to take everything from me," he whispered. "Now... I take back control."

And so, the legend began.

TO BE CONTINUED...