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Superman In A Romance Anime: Chapter 32: Zeta Reticulan (2)
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 19:25:34 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
Clark's eyes scanned his surroundings, narrowed and intense, as he hovered mid-air above the city. Below him, the Zeta Reticulans—sinister extraterrestrial beings with large, obsidian-black eyes and sinewy limbs—multiplied in the open sky.
They were creating duplicates of themselves, emerging as if they were dividing themselves. Dozens turned to hundreds, then more, until Clark and Krypto were surrounded—on the ground, on rooftops, even suspended in the air like a swarm of locusts.
The original Zeta Reticulan lay buried beneath a mound of crumbling concrete and steel, a single gray hand jutting out, twitching erratically. Suddenly, a pulse of energy burst from the creature’s skin-tight suit. Rubble exploded outward, flung in every direction. The alien leader—X'under—rose to his feet in a crouch, breathing heavily, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away and fixed a venomous glare at Clark, who remained aloft, expression cold and unreadable.
Beside him, Krypto floated silently, growling lowly, his eyes glowing with a dangerous red hue, fire flickering in the corners like a dormant volcano ready to erupt.
“Krypto,” Clark said, voice low but commanding, “Let’s go hunting.”
The white dog threw his head back and howled, “Awooooo!!” With that, the two vanished—becoming streaks of light and motion.
“ARGHHH! ATTACK!!” X’under bellowed, voice filled with hatred and desperation.
The Zeta Reticulans responded instantly. Each one drew compact energy weapons that transformed into high-tech laser rifles with a mechanical clunk. The sky was suddenly alive with streaks of red and green light as they opened fire, filling the air with a deadly storm.
But it was too late.
What followed was carnage—not of Clark and Krypto, but of the Zeta Reticulans themselves. Blood sprayed, limbs were torn free, and bodies crumpled midair. Clark and Krypto tore through them like living storms of destruction.
Their speed was blinding, their strength overwhelming. The aliens’ force-field suits flickered and activated, but they offered little protection against the titanic power being unleashed.
Clark broke through their defenses with nothing but an extended fist. Krypto bulldozed through enemies with savage tackles. Laser blasts ricocheted harmlessly off their invulnerable skin, while they retaliated with blazing heat vision.
Clark’s eyes seared red as he carved through his enemies. Krypto’s own beams lanced outward—thin, deadly lasers slicing through the Reticulans like a hot knife through butter. With precision and ferocity, he defended Clark's back, never missing a beat.
But then it struck—an invisible wave of psychic force that slammed into Clark’s mind like a sledgehammer. He screamed, clutching his head in agony. His eyes became bloodshot, veins bulging at his temples, blood streaming from his nose and tear ducts. He gritted his teeth, trying to block out the searing, brain-rending pain that threatened to shred his consciousness apart.
Behind him, Krypto howled in shared suffering, though the beast endured it with a warrior's resolve.
Refusing to fall, Clark drew in a deep breath, channeling the burning pain into determination and will power. Together, he and Krypto unleashed a frigid blizzard from their lungs. They flew in wide circles around the battlefield, spiraling as one. A whirlwind of frost swept through the horde, freezing Reticulans midair.
Dozens were instantly encased in thick, crystalline ice—locked in place like grotesque sculptures, their final expressions frozen in fear.
Clark raised his hands, then clapped them together with a thunderous boom.
The resulting shockwave detonated outward, shattering the frozen army into glimmering shards that were scattered like snow by the sheer force.
Krypto unleashed a sonic howl, tearing through what remained of nearby structures. Buildings trembled and collapsed, dust and rubble rising like clouds of smoke.
But it wasn’t over.
More Reticulans descended, surrounding them again, this time focusing all efforts into concentrated waves of psychic energy. Spears of invisible power stabbed into Clark’s skull. Each one was precise, meant to destroy—not his body, but his mind.
Clark staggered, faltered in the air. But his resolve hardened. He wouldn’t fall.
Through the pain, he adapted.
The solar energy stored in his cells began to respond instinctively. A golden aura shimmered around his body, flickering like sunlight over water. Spiritual energy—raw, untamed—pulsed from deep within. As dozens of aliens piled onto him, dragging him down with their combined mass, Clark began to fight back with something new.
He was pulled toward the ground with a thunderous crash, buried beneath a writhing hill of enemies.
For a moment, all was still.
Then—from the cracks between the bodies—a Flash of red and gold light erupted.
Heat vision lanced upward in twin beams, incinerating anything in its path. Several Reticulans were vaporized instantly, their bodies turning to ash.
Clark emerged from the pile, glowing like a divine being.
He ignored the weapons firing at him now—bolts of energy that fizzled and dissolved against his torso and face.
He focused, not on the physical, but the mental aspect of his abilities.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the storm inside his mind.
The pain was still there—stabbing, relentless—but now he fought against it will power. He channeled his spiritual energy not just into his muscles, but into his brain. His thoughts grew clearer, sharper. The pain began to lessen. Every second he focused, the attacks lost their edge.
His gamble had paid off.
Clark slowly opened his eyes, the pain behind them receding as a fierce snarl curled across his lips. The air around him shimmered from residual energy. His voice was low, dark, and laced with a dangerous calm.
“Thanks for the training,” he growled. “I’ll try for real this time.”
In a blur of light and force, he crouched—then launched himself forward like a missile. His figure became a streak of red and white, carving through the battlefield.
Wherever he passed, Zeta Reticulans were reduced to clouds of gore and dismembered limbs. Krypto followed, a spectral flash beside him, tearing through the enemy with deadly grace.
The two Kryptonians zigzagged through the shattered maze of ruined buildings and alien bodies. With each sharp turn or sudden appearance, a Grey was eliminated, often before it even realized what was happening. Clark and Krypto moved like twin comets, weaving through the battlefield in perfect sync.
The Greys—once confident in their numbers and hivemind—began to panic. Their laser weapons, now seemingly ineffective, were abandoned in favor of desperate tactics.
Their suits glowed with built-in gravity manipulation fields, once used for flight, now projected outward in clumsy attempts at defense. Yet before those could be fully deployed, the user was already a smear across a wall or vaporized in a flash of heat vision.
Their psychic attacks, once the spearhead of their offensive, became futile against Clark’s reinforced mind. His spiritual and solar energy shielded him in ways they couldn’t comprehend. He had adapted—and quickly. Every wave of mental assault was met with a hardened will and growing resistance.
They regrouped, forming a dense phalanx, channeling gravity fields into a barrier meant to stop him. It resembled a dome of warped space—bending light and distorting sound. But their collective strategy became their undoing.
Linked by their hivemind, they all experienced the same terror. Every gruesome death, every hopeless attempt at resistance, every instinct screaming flee—it all echoed in unison. What once gave them the edge in combat, now paralyzed them with a fear that no single soldier could shrug off.
And worse… they knew. They knew Clark was learning, adapting, evolving mid-battle.
He was the predator now. They were just the prey.
Clark rose into the air again, eyes glowing a vivid crimson. Krypto landed beside him on a building’s edge, fur bristling, growling echoing in the smoky wind.
With a calm breath, Clark tilted his head and released a sweeping wave of heat vision. The crimson beam traced a perfect arc across the battlefield—cutting through the last ranks of clones like wheat before a scythe. The remaining Greys were burned away in a matter of seconds, leaving only one alive.
The original.
X’under.
Clark didn’t move immediately. He stared toward the horizon, silent. Then he vanished.
In an instant, he reappeared across the battlefield, hand outstretched—and seemingly gripping empty space. Space shimmered and twisted where his fingers closed, and from that unseen veil, X’under was violently revealed into view, suspended mid-air by his throat. He kicked and thrashed helplessly.
“You didn’t think I’d notice you trying to escape?” Clark asked coldly, his voice void of emotion, eyes shimmering an eerie blue.
X’under trembled, his arms clawing at the invisible grip holding him aloft. “It was a mistake! I—I’m sorry!” he pleaded, tears streaming down his oversized eyes.
Clark tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing in mock confusion. “Did I ask for an apology?”
X’under froze, the chill in Clark’s voice striking him harder than any blow.
Clark’s eyes narrowed. “You caught me on a very bad day,” he said softly. “Killing you would be easy… but it serves me no purpose. No, I have a better idea.”
X’under’s eyes widened with cautious hope. “Anything! I’ll do anything, please, just don’t—!”
Clark cut him off, his smirk vanishing as his grip tightened. “That wasn’t a request. I wasn’t asking. You will serve a purpose, whether you want to or not.”
He leaned in slightly. “You’re going to be my messenger. You will spread the word to every species, empire, and galactic syndicate that so much as thinks about interfering with Earth. If they intend to conquer, subjugate, or manipulate this planet—they better reconsider.”
His voice grew to a threatening whisper, echoing through the silence of the ruined city.
“Tell them Earth is under the protection of Superman. And that if they come with bad intentions, I will meet them like I met you. With force. With fury. With no mercy.”
He squeezed X’under’s neck just a bit tighter. “Do I make myself clear?”
X’under gasped, face pale and twitching. “Y-Yes! Crystal clear!”
Clark gave a short nod, his grip finally relaxing. “Good. Now let’s make sure you’re in shape to deliver the message.”
He smiled. It was not a kind smile.
Comments
Bryan Vargas
Is that a bad thing?
Alex Delgado
Your squaring him up for a Superman Prime
