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Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings:

Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death

Categories:

F/MGen

Fandoms:

Parahumans Series - WildbowSuperman - All Media TypesSuperman (Comics)

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Additional Tags:

AngstCrossoverNot a Fix-ItAmnesiaTrying to do gooddumb main characterNot a stompficIn character LisaAntagonist Lisa

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English

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Published:2025-02-21Updated:2026-07-01Words:146,552Chapters:49/?Comments:137Kudos:230Bookmarks:90Hits:12,983

...But I was Superboy

Leotholdus

Chapter 23: Justice - 2.2

Chapter Text

Halfway down the street, Clark came to the realization that he had no costume. No disguise. His old one now lay somewhere near the site of Lung's capture, and he had not bothered to spend time on a new one. A glance through the sides of nearby dumpsters showed no clean clothes he could use, just old and rotting refuse. What did a costume mean to him? He did not need it for protection, if he was as hard to hurt as he felt. His old costume had not afforded any protection either. It had hid his identity well enough, even if more people knew his home than he felt comfortable with. Is that all a costume meant to him? Some way to hide his identity and protect his family?

No, there had to be some sort of symbol. Some semblance of recognition. The hat and coat might have been simple, but they cut a recognizable silhouette. What to do for a symbol? An easy enough question for some, but there was no simple or understandable theme to his powers. X-ray vision, enhanced hearing, and now some form of invulnerability. Besides, he did not have too much time before he would reach places the ABB patrolled, and he wanted to have something before then.

He blinked, as the easy answer came to him.

Clark continued into an alley-way, with a quick glance about to check if anyone could see him. Confident in his isolation, he pulled off his shirt, and tied it around his face. The cold chill of a November night hit his bare chest, the ever-present scar twinging with some forgotten memory. He gave it a small scratch. He could ignore the cold. If he could ignore Grand Scorpion's fire, a small chill would do little. Shirtless, with only jeans and his boots to cover his lower half and bound t-shirt to cover his face, Clark proceeded into the night.

Somehow, in some strange way, this felt familiar. Maybe shirtless with pants was an old style of his, as bizarre as that statement sounded to him. Even now, he had no better answers about the shield-shaped scar. Still, if no one claimed it, he could use it as his own symbol. It felt… right. And wrong in some ways. Perhaps someone would recognize it and give him answers to his past at long last.

It did not take long to check known ABB locations with his vision. To have a meeting, they needed space. Enough to accommodate at least most of the gang - those outside of the deal at the docks. After some time, he recognized one of the ABB members who had seen his face. A guard outside of a warehouse. He had visited that place on his second meeting with Lung, what felt like months ago. It looked like most of the ABB not at the docks had gathered at there. Some sixty or so soldiers, lieutenants, and other assorted members. From the shouts and growls, Clark guessed that it was a meeting to decide the future of the gang in the wake of the capture. One at the head of the table waved some bit of paper about - maybe some offer of absorption from another gang? He could not understand what words were said, each small clump of Azn Bad Boyz speaking their own languages, but he could tell by simple tone that they were nervous. A gang without a parahuman leader was a hard place to be. Some theories claimed that Coil was not a parahuman, but at least his group had their tinkertech and seemingly endless money. The Bad Boyz had neither. Just a bunch of aftermarket or stolen guns, and crates upon crates of drugs. An easy target for any rival gang, or parahuman vigilante. Besides, the different ethnicities in the gang had been bound together mostly by Lung's presence. If their discussion tonight failed, they might split. A return to the more chaotic status quo of a few years ago. No, Clark had to end them tonight.

Given the stacks upon stacks of crates and multiple shipping containers that filled parts of the warehouse, it looked as if it was being used for its intended purpose as well as this meeting ground. A massive pile of what looked to his vision to be ammo crates caught his attention. He could not quite see too far into it, given the high concentration of lead. Still, he filed the thought of it away. That much ammo in one place was dangerous. He'd have to be careful around it. He did not want to kill anyone tonight, after all. Just scare a few and arrest the rest, or something like that.

Several tow-trucks waited outside. Yet another side-job the ABB ran, and an easy way to launder money, he supposed. Given how eager the tow companies in Brockton were to grab any misplaced car as quickly as possible, it surprised him that others had not guessed their criminal associations. Tevye certainly complained about the tow companies enough, and his various antics to avoid them had colored many a dinner-table conversation. A cement truck sat near to the tow-trucks, some probable affiliate from the construction crews that paid tribute to the Bad Boyz. Or had, at least. It was odd that the mixer on it churned, still spinning without a driver, but Clark supposed that people besides bakers had early hours as well.

It took half an hour of walking to reach the warehouse. Not many strode the streets at this time of night, and fewer still would bother a scarred, shirtless man in a mask. Much of Brockton Bay's population - especially in the docks - got by avoiding anything that looked like cape trouble. Clark supposed that he fit that description.

He waited behind a car near the warehouse, the story of the Golem turning over and over in his mind. Tevye had tried to draw parallels between the clay man and Clark himself. Some of them, he understood. Tevye had created him, after a fashion, just like the Rabbi in the story. He had investigated the enemies of Tevye's people and brought their truth to light. What Clark struggled to understand was what Tevye had meant to teach him. He could not go through his night-time antics without any plans or broader intentions anymore. He had to be better.

The more he considered it, the more one simple moral of the story stared him in the face. All of the Golem's detective attempts, all of the criminals that it brought to justice before the law, none of it had brought about change. Just more hatred, just more crimes. Peace had only come after the riot, which to Clark signaled one obvious lesson:

Change only came through violence.

He stood up, and strode with purpose towards the door. The guard looked up as Clark approached. His hand went to his side, eyes widening. "You!"

"Me." Clark continued to walk towards the man.

"Stop. Stop right there." The guard's hand had fully clamped around his pistol now.

Clark did not answer. He just continued with his slow, leisurely pace.

The gun came up, the guard pointing it at Clark. "It'll make me happy to kill a traitor." The barrel wavered, a slight tremor in the guard's hand. "I'm warning you."

He ignored the threat, right until he saw the flash of fire from the barrel. It felt as if time itself slowed down, the hot lead flying forth into the air. For a moment, he wondered if he should have tested out his durability before doing a trial by fire like this.

The bullet slammed against his bare chest.

The skin rippled from the impact. He had expected it to hurt, at least somewhat, but he felt nothing at all. He resumed his walk, even as the guard readied his weapon once more.

Another shot.

Another impact on his pecs. This time, he did not pause. The march towards the guard continued, the distance between them slowly closing. Three more shots rang out, and thrice more the bullets flatted against the shield of scars. They bounced off, landing with a tinkle against the ground.

Clark stood before the guard now. With a rapid swing, he yanked the gun from the other man's hands. Other guards and gangers from the building had turned to look at the noise, readying their weapons at the doorway. Clark kicked it open, intending to burst his way in. Instead, the hit tossed the door from its hinges. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. It would add to the intimidation. Before those inside could react, he brought the pistol up.

Barrel held directly against the side of his skull, only a small gap of air between the tip and the cloth of his make-shift mask. Pointed at his own head, and no one else.

He pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times, four. Again and again and again. The heat and flame singed the shirt, gunpowder residue staining the white fabric where it did not just burn away. He made sure to turn his head and look at a different member each time he shot. The flattened bullets bounced off his bare, broad shoulders until the magazine had emptied.

Clark pulled the trigger a few more times, the mechanism clicking with each dry-fire.

The gang inside lowered their weapons.

No one spoke. Clark realized he had not prepared any sort of speech for this moment. He had not prepared much of anything.

"Drop your guns, or somebody is getting hurt." He clenched his fists as he spoke. "And it can't be me."

Before the group could respond, a slow, crawling darkness spilled across the ground. The black fog obscured all sight of the floor, even Clark's. A few curses and yelps came from the gangsters as they noticed it, but Clark had already started to stare at its source - the pile of ammo crates. From behind them came forth a denser stygian mist, one that expanded to a small cloud before its slow dissipation.

In place of the cloud stood seven figures.

A blonde girl in purple. She smirked at Clark, an infuriating grin that got under his skin. She had an almost animalistic sense about her, the way a predator watches its prey. The shining eyes beneath the mask betrayed an anger as well - a desire for vengeance, probably. Clark reflected that he perhaps made enemies quite a bit quicker than he made friends. He understood it, to a point. He had broken into her house and stolen her team's pay. On the other hand, she had likely helped Coil get Max Anders under his control and prevented his outing as an Empire Eighty-Eight supporter before the election. Clark understood her anger, but did not regret his actions.

A broad woman in a tanktop and dog mask. He had only seen her once before, acting as a guard when the team had stolen documents from Medhall. Her costume displayed a lack of effort - just simple, comfortable, and study everyday clothes, with a simple dog mask. Then again, Clark knew his own costume had taken even less effort. He respected her for it. The three monsters that stood beside her worried him more. The muscle of this teenage gang, no doubt. He figured that he could maybe, just maybe, hold his own against one of them. Three could pose a problem. His vision did reveal the shape of a dog deep beneath the strange natural armor that covered them, though he did not quite understand what he saw.

The origin of the smoke - the black leather clad Grue. The skull-shaped helmet billowed out the darkness. He had seemed quite reasonable back when Clark had spoken to him at the heist, but out of the whole group, he scared Clark the most. The complete darkness that his power brought forth terrified him. Memories of a being composed of that black void surfaced unexpectedly. Pain as strikes rained down upon him. Deeper still, he felt a near primordial fear of being trapped in that darkness forever. Without light, without warmth. Had he been in a state like that before? Conscious, but unable to interact with the world? Would he be trapped like that again?

The final member was slip of a boy in some fancy shirt and crown, and a silly mask. The one he had incapacitated back at the group's base. Clark paid him little mind, and ignored the boy's twist of his angry face beneath his mask.

"You know, I've gotta recommend you consider our offer," the blonde said. Tattletale, Clark remembered. She addressed the room. Not Clark. "It's quite reasonable."

He could fight. It depended on how strong his invulnerability was, of course, but he felt an strange confidence on that front. He might even win. Coil would be the problem. If Clark publicly fought Tattletale's gang with the knowledge of their allegiance to Coil, he would earn the ire of a powerful enemy. He considered his options, refusing to move from his spot by the doorway. He had impenetrable skin. His family did not.

The ABB lieutenants exchanged glances. The one that held the paper made the first move, raising it up towards Tattletale.

"We agree." Some grumbles followed the man's statement, but quiet enough that only Clark's enhanced hearing picked up the discontent.

All eyes turned to him, now.

It took a feat of will to keep himself still. He did not step back. He could not run. He should not. Coil could try what he wished. Clark was here to make sure his family stayed safe from ABB reprisal, and Coil did not know his family's identity.

Tattletale opened her mouth to speak, but Clark beat her to it.

"Tell Coil to suck it," he said.

Clark threw the empty pistol at Grue, hard enough to slam against his helmet with a satisfying *thunk*. He fell backwards off the crate with a cry, arms flailing in the air, more of the dark mist rapidly flowing outwards. The buff girl whistled, and pointed at Clark. Two of the beasts began to bound towards him, yelps of dismay and pain coming from the gangsters they bowled aside. Clark squared up his stance, bringing his fists up in preparation. But the monsters moved fast, and though he guarded his bare chest, they had a different target in mind.

Each dog-like thing bit down on an arm. Not hard enough for an attempt to rip at his skin. It would have seriously injured someone without his abilities, but the bite could not be their main attempt at an attack. He twisted in place as they tugged, pulling his arms to the side. The shock of it kept him in place. The scream of fear that had started to rise died in his throat. He had no injuries from these monsters, even as they tried to use him like a chew toy. A laugh of disbelief erupted from him instead, starting small and rising as he felt no pain, no tearing skin, no bloodshed.

The girl in purple - Tattletale, Clark corrected himself again - had disappeared, along with the skinny kid in the crown. The darkness had covered almost half the room. Clark could not see through it, but… but he could hear footsteps. Distorted, strange sounding footsteps, but he heard them all the same. A look around the room showed that most of the gang members had either fled into or from the darkness, the room rapidly emptying out. Grue must be bringing them out of range of the fight. He heard a yell from the darkness, still distorted, still hard to understand what word was said.

A particularly violent wretch from the beast on his right brought Clark out of his thoughts. His feet left the ground, the other monster let go of his arm, and the right hand beast whipped its head to the side, Clark's arm still in its mouth. He felt his muscles stretch at the violent motion, before the monster's jaw unclamped from his bicep and he went airborne.

He sailed through the doorway and into the open air. He knew that he should feel some sense of fear, or worry at the way the wind rushed over his skin. The way the ground rushed past beneath him. Somehow, it felt natural. Peaceful, even.

That peace ended as he felt himself slam against the side of a tow-truck. The old metal panels of the outdated vehicle crunched against his body, warping where he hit it. Still uninjured, he staggered to his feet.

Another bite around his arm, another whiplash, and another short flight through the air. He landed against a wall. Or rather, the wall landed around him. Bricks fell around him, mortar turned to dust. A cloud of it floated around him. He saw through it, the beasts bounding across the asphalt towards him. He could see some type of dog buried deep beneath all of the extra bone and sinew, and he could not bring himself to try and seriously harm one. But that did not mean he could do nothing. Clark lunged to the side as two monsters approached. He ripped open the door of a truck, grabbing what his vision had revealed to him - a long length of tow chain, with a hook at the end.

The dog-beasts found him once more, and threw him into the air. He held on tight to the chain, clutching it against his chest as he flew.

The impact rattled him. It did not hurt, of course, but he had hit something other than one of the tow trucks. The metal behind him shrieked as it tore from his body slamming against it, giving way from the hit. The gritty liquid engulfed him, coming up like a wave then crashing across his body. The dogs had thrown him into the cement mixer. He saw through the liquid, the purple form of Tattletale outside with a blowtorch, joined by the skinny kid with the crown. They had planned on this.

The two flipped off the cylinder.

Clark spun about, some cement spraying out through the opening. The chain tangled around him as he spun, wrapping around his neck, constricting. Somehow, it did not seem to restrict his breathing. A dark cloud rolled towards the vehicle. He could not see through it, a complete blackness that brought forth that fear. Terror gripped him. He could not be stuck in place, cocooned in darkness and cement. He had to escape. He had to get out.

He always got out.

He punched outwards, through the the metal. His fists found open air, his fingers gripped against the edges of the holes he made. With a roar, Clark pulled himself forward.

His forehead impacted the mixer's side, bursting through. The rest of his body followed next, head, neck, and shoulders. The wet cement had stuck to the shirt wrapped around his head, forming a blob that he ignored. Globules of it stuck to his chesthair, between his fingers.

Tattletale and the other kid had backed off now, and he could see those stupid dog things running towards him. The lesson of the Golem mixed about in his head, along with half-remembered words from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Violence. The only way to make change.

The only way to solve problems.

"IN BLACKEST DAY," Clark screamed. The chain dangled from his neck like a makeshift noose.

"IN BRIGHTEST NIGHT." He grabbed on to the chain and began to spin it. Tattletale and the other kid had tried to run, but he could see them. He could see them all, except Grue.

The dog-masked girl, directing her monsters. Standing on the back of a truck, whistling and pointing at him.

"BEWARE YOUR FEARS MADE INTO LIGHT" Clark threw the chain's end at the dog girl. The hook-end ripped into her shoulder, tearing through skin and sinew. The momentum from the throw carried it through to the other side, bloodied chain links following through as the hook flew on. Chunks of flesh came out as well, ripped by the chain. The girl howled in pain.

"LET THOSE WHO TRY AND STOP WHAT'S RIGHT." Clark broke the chain a little before it pulled taut, a length still stuck around his neck. The three gigantic beasts charged at him. The black mist had shifted to cover Tattletale and the other members of her crew, though the monsters remained visible.

"BURN LIKE MY POWER-" Clark screamed out in rage again, and jumped towards the dogs.

Before he landed, the darkness covered him. All sight left him, no matter how far. It felt like a cut off limb. The shock from the loss of sense made him fumble his landing, rolling across the asphalt. He lashed out with a punch and hit against something that felt like one of the dog-beasts. He whipped out his arm again, this time in an attempt to grab on to one. He found nothing.

Panic filled ever part of him, his veins turned to ice. He could not be stuck in here. Not again. Never again.

Clark leapt.

In a single bound, he cleared Grue's darkness, sailing through the sky to the other side of the tall warehouse. Chunks of the still wet concrete rained down around him, thrown off by his rapid descent. The ground cracked with his impact, a spiderweb of crevices created as his feet and fist slammed against the concrete.

Gunfire erupted. Sporadic, close by, but not aimed at him. Some of the ABB members clustered nearby, in the middle of reloading their weapons They watched him with fear in their eyes. Other members lay dead on the ground, lifeless eyes and shrunken skin covering their thin forms.

Tattletale and her crew would come around to fight him again soon. But none of their abilities did anything close to this, unless that runt in a crown had some strange tricks up his sleeve.

He looked wildly about, trying to see the cause of so many deaths.

A woman dressed in nothing but pure blackness and heels strode through the interior of the warehouse, accompanied by man in a hooded grey costume. Corpses littered the ground around them, All that remained of the gangsters that had tried to fight against a living fog and a nightmare made flesh. Clark recognized the faces of the duo, beneath their masks. The Nazi pair that had almost killed his family, on that night with Laserdream.

Purity, the other Empire goon from that night, had already been torn in half.

Clark began to run back to the warehouse. He would make the two inside join Purity in her fate.

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Chapter 1440 - 23