DC: Chapter 113/114

Chapter 113

Smallville, Kansas.

A brand-new four-seater minivan, painted in warm yellow, gleamed under the sunlight. The open-air compartment in the back was packed with an assortment of baby supplies.

Baby bottles, sippy cups, bowls, teething keys, thermometers, bathtubs, fever patches, mosquito repellent, nasal aspirators, shampoo, baby cream, talcum powder, outlet covers, safety locks, padded table edges, strollers, diapers, baby wipes, various formulas, toddler harnesses, cloth diapers, changing pads—more than enough to fill the space.

Raising a child was no easy task, but it was a necessity. The instinct to nurture was embedded in human nature, passed down through generations. Without it, humanity wouldn't exist.

The yellow minivan swayed along the uneven farm road, carrying a family wrapped in warmth.


---

The driver was a typical American man strong, though not particularly large. Years of farm work had built him into a sturdy figure, his tanned skin a testament to the labor he endured under the sun. His hands were rough, calloused from long days in the fields.

Jonathan Kent was in his forties, still in his prime, yet genetics had denied him and his wife the one thing they had always wanted.

A child.

That regret had lingered in their hearts.

Until one day, when an alien spacecraft crash-landed on their farm.

Jonathan had been utterly stunned.

Inside the wreckage, a baby lay babbling, tiny hands reaching out as if asking to be held.

His wife, Martha, had instinctively picked up the child. He was heavier than a normal baby, but her arms, hardened by years of farm work held him effortlessly. She had laughed, radiating a motherly warmth Jonathan had never seen before.

It reminded him of his own mother gentle, kind, overflowing with unconditional love.

At that moment, he knew.

This child was theirs.

From that day forward, this baby would be their son.

That very night, Jonathan had hidden the spacecraft.

It took immense effort, dragging it to the basement, burying the crash site, flattening the cornfield, removing all traces. Days of work went into covering it up completely, ensuring no one would find a single clue.

Even now, he remained uneasy.

He and Martha had only one child. He refused to let anyone take him away.

Not the government. Not anyone.

Jonathan would protect his son.

Because that's what a father does.

Because that's what family means.

But…

Some things are beyond human control.

Like a terminal illness.

Like a tragedy that cannot be undone.

Like the fact that the child he was raising…

Was an alien.

A being beyond human comprehension.

One day, Jonathan Kent might find himself powerless to stop what was coming.

But that day had not yet arrived.


---

Jonathan frowned, gripping the steering wheel as he eyed the uneven road ahead through the windshield.

He had driven this path countless times, yet now, with a baby in the car, every bump irritated him.

If Clark ever walked this road in the future and tripped…

If rain turned the dips into puddles, making it dangerous…

No. He wouldn't allow it.

This road needs fixing.

Tomorrow, he'd smooth it out.


---

In the back seat, Martha Kent cradled Clark, while beside her sat a white dog, faithfully guarding the baby.

His name was Krypto.

A name derived from Krypton itself.

Some called him "Little Krypton," others simply "Krypto." Either worked.

Martha frowned as she bounced slightly in her seat, jolted by the rough road.

"Why is this road so uneven?"

They had driven this path countless times, yet today, it felt worse than ever.

"I'll fix it tomorrow," Jonathan said firmly, his decision already made.

Martha glanced at him, then at the baby in her arms, nodding in agreement.

She carefully adjusted her hold on Clark, ensuring he was balanced and wouldn't wake abruptly.

To her surprise, Clark was already awake laughing.

She had feared he might cry from the sudden jolt, but instead, his bright blue eyes sparkled with joy.

Her heart softened instantly.

She smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Clark's forehead, then began humming a familiar tune.

"Home on the Range."

A song as old as Kansas itself.

Clark's big, curious eyes focused on her, entranced by her voice.

From the driver's seat, Jonathan heard them, and his irritation faded.

A small smile crept onto his lips.

The road was still rough, the ride still bumpy…

But within the warmth of that car, everything felt right.

This was home.


---

Soon, they arrived at the farmhouse.

Jonathan parked the minivan, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out to open the door for Martha.

She stepped out, shielding Clark's face from the sun with her hand.

"I'll take Clark inside, then come back to help with the bags," she said.

Jonathan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head with a relaxed grin.

"No need. I've got it. You take care of Clark."

Then, turning to the white dog, he smirked.

"Krypto, you're helping me, right?"


---

Krypto's face froze.

He narrowed his eyes.

Am I being treated like a… dog?

I AM a dog.

But even a dog shouldn't be carrying diapers…

Jonathan casually slung a diaper bag across Krypto's back, rubbing his head with an amused chuckle.

"Take it to the living room, Krypto. And be careful, it's Clark's diapers. Take good care of his little butt."

Krypto's eyelid twitched.

But at the mention of Clark's name, he sighed, accepting his fate.

His paws padded swiftly toward the house, carrying the diaper bag.

_________
Chapter 114

Smallville at Night

The night sky over Smallville was vast beyond imagination, stretching endlessly overhead. It was shockingly clear, as if freshly washed, with stars twinkling against the dark expanse and the moon shining brightly.

Inside the wooden house, soft lights glowed, accompanied by the sound of quiet laughter and babbling.

Beneath the eaves, Krypto propped up his forelegs and sat on the wooden porch. Moonlight cast a faint glow over his snow-white fur, making him resemble both a wolf and a dog.

A cool breeze swept through the farm, rustling the crops in the darkness, a peaceful, quiet comfort beneath the night sky.

From time to time, Krypto opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue to dissipate heat. Dogs lacked sweat glands, so this was a natural response.

But deep down, he reminded himself, he was not an ordinary dog.

Not just a dog.

Yet, his instincts still drove him to act like one.

Closing his mouth again, Krypto lifted his head, gazing at the moon with thoughtful eyes.

For a moment, he felt the urge to howl.

But he was a dog, not a wolf.

Suppressing the instinct, he remained silent.

He was Jor-El.

Though, not entirely.

His eyes activated their telescopic and X-ray vision. Scanning past the cornfields and beyond, he focused on the distant town, where dim, scattered lights glowed softly in the night. The familiar sights blurred as he extended his gaze even further, locking onto a location sixteen kilometers outside town.

It was empty.

That was where he had placed the kryptonite.

Now, it was gone.

He had seen Mike take the kryptonite. With his X-ray vision, he had watched as Mike retrieved it, prepared to store it, and then left Kansas—destination unknown.

Krypto hadn't followed.

He had to stay with his son.

More than anything, he feared that if he left, Bardi would appear.

Take his son.

Extract the genetic Codex.

Destroy his life.

After all, Bardi had arrived on Earth too soon. A few years' head start was enough for him to establish a powerful presence. On this primitive planet, he should have easily risen to dominance—becoming a ruler, a god.

Krypto's head turned, his vision sweeping the landscape in every direction. He extended his farsight to its limits, scanning everything within range.

Kansas prairie.

The farm's crops.

Nothing else.

He let out a slow breath, momentarily relieved, only for an oppressive weight to settle over him once more. A deep unease clouded his thoughts.

Bardi's absence wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Krypto knew Bardi.

And he feared him.

The memory of Bardi lingered, unwilling to fade.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Worry.

Fear.

Doubt.

According to Kryptonian genetic sequencing, Bardi was merely a low-class warrior, genetically inferior, a defective sequence. His potential should have been limited, his destiny predetermined.

At best, he could have become a high-ranking soldier.

But Bardi had defied everything.

He was the first in Kryptonian history to break the limits of his genetic programming. He used sheer effort to overcome what was believed to be an inescapable biological destiny. On Krypton, genetics determined all, future status, abilities, and fate.

And yet, he had shattered that notion.

From a common soldier, born with defective genes, he had risen through the ranks.

Soldier.

Senior soldier.

Sergeant.

Lieutenant.

Captain.

Major.

Lieutenant Colonel.

Colonel.

Until, in an unprecedented coup, he seized the rank of General.

His rise had been blindingly fast, an unthinkable miracle.

To Krypton's lower class, he had become a beacon of hope.

A symbol of revolution.

His existence defied every established belief.

"Genes do not determine the future!"

"Talent doesn't define everything!"

Through sheer willpower, he shattered the scientific doctrines Krypton had upheld for centuries.

It was… unscientific.

Completely unscientific.

At the time, Jor-El, along with every scientist who studied Bardi's genetic sequence, had been utterly dumbfounded.

It was impossible.

Yet, no matter how many times they tested him, the results remained unchanged, he was still a low-class warrior with defective genes.

Some theorized that his genes were not defective but something more advanced, something Kryptonians had yet to comprehend.

But even after exhaustive experimentation…

No evidence supported that theory.

The only anomaly was Bardi himself.

This realization had left Jor-El deeply unsettled.

This man had twisted his very existence through sheer force of will.

And during Bardi's coup, when Jor-El faced him in person, he had sensed something truly terrifying.

Bardi had plunged Krypton into war, igniting an uprising among the oppressed. The lower-class Kryptonians, long resigned to their fate, now followed him with fervent devotion, charging into battle, willing to die for him.

Against all odds, Bardi's rebellion had held its ground.

It defied logic.

The Kryptonian military had cutting-edge technology.

They had superior genetics.

They had war heroes like General Zod.

And yet, against Bardi, they struggled.

He dictated the battlefield.

He turned the war against them.

He forced them into a desperate, brutal fight.

In the end, only one thing had stopped him, Jor-El's realization.

Through information obtained from H'EL, he deduced Bardi's ultimate goal: the Codex of Life.

Acting swiftly, Jor-El conspired with General Zod, setting a trap near the Codex. It was the only way to stop him.

Of course, Jor-El had already hidden the real Codex.

What Bardi found… was a fake.

Had Bardi obtained the true Codex, Krypton's entire civilization would have been thrown into upheaval.

Jor-El had felt an unprecedented chill at the thought.

The final battle was grim.

Fifty of Krypton's most elite warriors, its highest-ranking generals were sent to stop Bardi.

And yet…

He killed over thirty of them single-handedly.

The battlefield had become a bloodbath.

With no alternative, Bardi had been forced into an escape pod.

H'EL had begged Jor-El to execute him.

But Jor-El refused.

Instead, he designed a final trap, a funeral in the cosmos, an explosion that would scatter Bardi's remains as a brilliant burst of light.

But clearly, Bardi had planned for this.

His intellect was no less than that of Krypton's most gifted scientists.

Somehow, he had delayed the detonation sequence of the ship's bomb.

When the explosion failed to occur, Jor-El was left horrified.

Even after everything, Bardi still lived.

And Jor-El could already imagine the bloodshed to come.

There would be no peace between them.

There could be no negotiation.

It was war.

Either the House of El would perish…

Or Bardi would fall.

Jor-El had made his choice.

And so, he had prepared.