[Third Person's PoV]
Zastin took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he forced his body to still. The trembling that had subtly shaken his limbs ceased completely. His eyes, sharp and narrow, burned with unwavering intensity, and his grip around the hilt of his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white.
He leaned forward, preparing to launch himself into battle, every muscle coiled like a spring. However, before he could make a move, Clark acted first.
With just a single step, Clark vanished from sight. It wasn't teleportation—it was sheer speed. A powerful gust of wind erupted behind Zastin, the sudden shift in pressure accompanied by an overwhelming presence. Warning bells blared in Zastin's mind as he instinctively turned his head.
Behind him stood Clark, his crimson eyes glowing like hellfire, their demonic gleam heightened by the darkness of night. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and now Clark looked more like a wrathful spirit than a man.
Zastin didn't hesitate. He launched a powerful backward kick, his movements fluid and honed from years of training.
But Clark ducked.
With the fluidity of a serpent, Clark swept Zastin's legs out from under him using his own. Zastin crashed downward, but he didn't crumble. Instead, he landed on his hands, muscles flexing with control, and began to spin with incredible speed. His feet became a blur, lashing out like twin cyclones, aiming to hammer Clark with rapid kicks.
Clark moved with equally impressive finesse. He leaned, weaved, and twisted through the storm of strikes. One foot nearly clipped his chin, but he raised his arms just in time, blocking it with forearms hardened like steel.
Zastin leapt upright, reclaiming his footing in one smooth motion, his sword still firm in his grasp. He wasted no time, slashing with precision and aggression. His energy blade glowed in the night as it arced through the air.
Clark met the onslaught head-on. He blocked with his bare hands and wrists, intercepting each strike with calculated timing. Their eyes locked in a battle of wills as much as of strength—Zastin's full of grit and resolve, Clark's unshaken and eerily calm.
Zastin let out a battle cry, gritting his teeth and forcing his strength through sheer determination. With a surge of power, he broke through Clark's block and slashed across his cheek. A fine red line traced itself across Clark's face.
Zastin allowed a smirk to creep onto his face. A hit—finally.
"Eh?" he muttered in confusion, realizing something felt wrong.
The world flipped upside down. Zastin had found himself flipped on his head suddenly.
Clark had vanished again, his figure a blur of movement. Zastin had no time to react before the first blow landed.
A punch struck his torso, then another, and another. The fists came faster and faster—two became four, then eight, then sixteen. Clark's speed multiplied exponentially, each punch striking like a thunderclap.
Zastin's body was sent hurtling through the air, folding around the impact like a ragdoll. The violent force twisted him midair, limbs flailing as wind howled past his ears.
Then… everything stopped.
Zastin hung in the air, suspended as if time itself had frozen. Blood dripped from his lips, suspended in droplets like crimson pearls.
Clark strolled calmly toward him, eyes still glowing. He reached out, grabbed Zastin's limp form, and turned him upright. Zastin's body was rigid, his limbs unresponsive, stiff as if petrified.
Without a word, Clark slammed him into the ground with crushing force. The impact drove Zastin's feet into the earth, burying them deep like the roots of a tree. Dust and rubble exploded outward, but even the debris froze midair, caught in Clark's super speed.
Stepping back, Clark created a respectful distance. He ran two fingers across his cheek, smudging the thin red line until it vanished entirely—already healed.
Then Clark turned around, his stance shifting into a runner's crouch. The moment his foot pushed off the ground, time resumed.
The rubble that hung midair suddenly crashed to the ground.
Zastin's body, still anchored by his feet, jolted backward violently as the leftover momentum tried to carry him away. His spine bent unnaturally, but his body snapped upright like a spring.
Blood spewed from his mouth in a heavy torrent, splattering down his chin, across his chest, and pooling around his buried feet.
His once-pristine armor was ruined—dented, cracked, and torn in the shape of Clark's fists. Beneath the metal, his skin was bruised and battered, turning a dark, ugly purple.
"Wha—" Zastin choked out, glancing down at his broken body, disbelief etched across his face.
Before the sentence could fully escape his lips, Clark appeared once more in front of him—his sheer speed defied logic. His fist collided with Zastin's face in an instant, and Clark vanished the moment the impact struck.
He reappeared on the opposite side without pause, delivering another brutal punch that landed with surgical precision. The force of the blow echoed like a thunderclap.
Lala and Momo stood frozen, their wide eyes reflecting the battle before them. To their eyes, Clark had become nothing more than a storm of red and white afterimages. Even in the dead of night, his movements were clearly visible. All the afterimages converged on Zastin at once, slamming into him with overwhelming force.
Then, silence broke into sound.
Clark skidded to a stop in the distance, the air shrieking in protest as he decelerated. He reappeared in front of Zastin a final time, and with a fierce, clean strike to the face, a concussive shockwave burst from the point of impact, blowing away all the debris that still lingered. Zastin's body launched like a missile, bouncing and skipping along the ground violently before coming to a halt several dozen feet away, face-up and unmoving.
Clark stood still, his chest rising and falling heavily. The toll of his speed and power weighed on his body—he had poured everything into that exchange. He took a long, calming breath and allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease. It was over.
Zastin lay sprawled on the earth, his limbs splayed awkwardly. His breathing was ragged, hoarse, every inhale sounding like sandpaper scraping against stone.
Clark exhaled slowly, turning his back on the battlefield. His cape billowed softly behind him with the wind. He took one step forward—then froze.
A faint whisper broke the silence.
If Clark had been a normal man, he would have missed it entirely.
"Thank… you…" Zastin rasped, his voice barely above a breath. He coughed, blood trailing down his lip. "Thank you… for protecting the Princess' desire… for freedom. I leave her safety… in your hands…"
Clark stood motionless, his expression unreadable. He stared at the ground, unsure of what face to wear.
In the end, he settled for a quiet, confident, reassuring smile.
"I already gave her my word," Clark replied, his voice calm and resolute. "She's my responsibility now. You can rest easy—I'll protect her. You have my word."
Zastin gave a weak smile in return. "Thank… you…" he murmured once more before his eyes fluttered shut and he fell into unconsciousness.
Clark didn't look back.
Instead, his feet lifted from the ground with a soft hum, and he began to ascend, floating up toward Lala and Momo.
"So… are we just going to leave him lying there like that?" Momo asked, glancing over Clark's shoulder at Zastin's crumpled form.
"Leave him be," Lala replied casually, waving the concern away. "Maul and Smutt are on their way. They'll pick him up and patch him right up. He's tough—he'll be fine."
"That's pretty cold, don't you think?" Momo said with a raised eyebrow, sounding more concerned than convinced.
Lala scratched the back of her head with a sheepish smile. "It's not that I don't care about Zastin. He's been like a second father to me, protecting me since I was a kid. I'm super grateful to him... I just know he's strong enough to bounce back. He's not in any real danger."
"…I guess that's fair," Momo admitted, though her tone still carried a note of hesitation.
Finally, Momo turned her gaze back toward Clark, the tension easing from her expression.
"So, about that meal you promised us…" she said, crossing her arms.
Clark rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose. "Fine, let's go. We should invite Grams too. I'd feel bad leaving her behind."
"Ugh, I completely forgot about her!" Momo smacked her forehead. "Yeah, we can't leave her out. Let's celebrate Lala moving in with us! Oh, and Clark—you're paying, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. It's all on me," Clark muttered with a tired sigh.
"Sweet!" Momo cheered and eagerly grabbed Lala's hand. "Let's go, Lala!"
Clark watched them as they took off ahead, flying with carefree excitement. He gave a small smile, then turned to glance back one last time.
Down below, Zastin's body was no longer alone.
Maul and Smutt had arrived, carefully lifting their commander off the battlefield. As they picked him up, they paused for a brief moment, their eyes meeting Clark's.
Superman hovered silently above them, his expression calm and respectful.
With a nod, the two subordinates vanished into the night, moving with practiced speed.
Clark turned away, soaring upward into the sky, toward the two girls now waiting for him.
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