Chapter 42: Radioactive
The woods outside Smallville became my laboratory.
I set up a training area half a mile from the nearest road, far enough that no one would stumble across me by accident. Brought supplies for a week. Prepared to understand this power or die trying.
[KRYPTONITE AURA ANALYSIS: RADIATION TYPE — SYNTHETIC. ORIGIN — METEOR CORE INTEGRATION. EMISSION PATTERN — VARIABLE. CURRENT OUTPUT — 47 RADS AT 1 METER.]
The System provided data, but data wasn't control. I needed to understand the Aura on a physical level—how it felt, what triggered it, what made it stronger or weaker.
Day one: I focused on suppression.
The Aura responded to my emotional state. When I was calm, the glow faded to almost nothing. When I was stressed or angry, it flared bright enough to illuminate the surrounding trees.
Emotional regulation. That's the key.
I spent hours in meditation, trying to find the mental state that kept the radiation minimal. It worked—sort of. I could reduce the output, but not eliminate it. There was always a baseline, always a whisper of green energy seeping from my skin.
Day two: Clark found me.
I heard him coming—footsteps crunching through underbrush, deliberately loud to announce his approach.
"I figured you'd be out here." His voice carried from the treeline. "Kara told me what happened."
"Stay back." The warning came automatically. "I don't know my range yet."
"That's why I'm here." He stepped into the clearing, stopping at what looked like thirty feet. "I need to know how bad it is."
"Clark—"
"I'm invulnerable, remember? If anyone can test this, it's me."
He had a point. The radiation would hurt him, but it wouldn't kill him—not at this intensity, not with temporary exposure. And we needed to understand the parameters.
"Okay," I said. "Walk toward me. Slowly. Tell me when you feel something."
Clark approached. At twenty feet, he winced.
"Headache. Mild."
At fifteen feet, he started sweating.
"Nausea. Like a bad flu coming on."
At ten feet, he dropped to one knee.
"That's—" He gasped, face pale. "That's significant. My strength is halved, at least."
"That's enough." I moved toward him instinctively—and he flinched. "Sorry. I'll stay back."
We mapped the effects carefully over the next hour. Lethal exposure at under one foot—though neither of us tested that boundary. Severe impairment at five feet. Noticeable weakness at twenty. Barely detectable at fifty.
[AURA EFFECT MAPPING: COMPLETE. DATA LOGGED. NOTE: KRYPTONIAN SENSITIVITY HIGHER THAN BASELINE HUMAN.]
"The good news," Clark said, recovering his color as I maintained distance, "is that you can be near us. Just not close."
"Fifty feet isn't exactly intimate."
"Twenty is manageable for conversation. Thirty for extended interaction." He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll adapt."
"Kara and I—" I stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Kara and I can't touch anymore. Can't kiss. Can't hold each other. Can't be together the way we were.
"She loves you, Cole. Distance doesn't change that."
"Distance changes everything."
Clark was quiet for a moment. Then he walked closer—to twenty-five feet—and extended his hand.
"We'll figure this out. Together."
I walked toward him, stopping at the edge of my safe zone, and shook his hand. His grip was weaker than usual, affected even at this distance. We both pretended not to notice.
"Thank you," I said.
"What are brothers for?"
That night, I sat alone in my makeshift camp, studying everything the System could tell me about Kryptonite radiation.
The Aura was part of me now—integrated at a cellular level, a byproduct of the meteor enhancement that had given me all my other abilities. I couldn't remove it any more than I could remove my enhanced strength or accelerated healing.
But I could potentially suppress it.
[SUPPRESSION ANALYSIS: THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK AVAILABLE. REQUIRES: EXTREME EMOTIONAL CONTROL. ESTIMATED TRAINING TIME: 4-6 WEEKS MINIMUM. SUCCESS PROBABILITY: UNKNOWN.]
Four to six weeks of isolation. Of staying away from Kara, from the Kents, from everyone whose Kryptonian heritage made them vulnerable to what I'd become.
I can do that. I have to do that.
The alternative was unacceptable. Becoming a weapon against the people I loved. Hurting Kara every time I got too close. Watching the pain in her eyes when my presence became unbearable.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message to her.
I talked to Clark. We mapped the effects. Twenty feet is safe for short interactions. I'm going to learn to control this.
Her reply came within minutes: How long?
Weeks. Maybe longer. I'm sorry.
Don't apologize. This isn't your fault. A pause, then: I miss you.
I miss you too. More than I can say.
We'll get through this. El mayarah, remember?
Stronger together. Even when together meant maintaining a twenty-foot buffer zone.
El mayarah, I typed back. Always.
I set the phone aside and stared at the stars. The same stars Kara had taught me to name. The same sky we'd watched together from the Kent farm porch, close enough to share warmth, close enough to kiss.
That closeness was gone now. Maybe temporarily, maybe forever.
But the love remained. The connection. The determination to find a way back to each other.
[TRAINING PROTOCOL: INITIATING. DAY 1 OF ESTIMATED 30-40. OBJECTIVE: AURA SUPPRESSION. MOTIVATION: RELATIONSHIP PRESERVATION.]
The System's clinical assessment of my motivation made me smile despite everything. Even the machine understood what mattered.
I closed my eyes and began the long work of learning to contain the poison inside me.
Tomorrow would bring more training. More isolation. More distance from everyone I cared about.
But eventually—eventually—I would master this. Would find a way to be close to Kara again without hurting her.
I had to believe that.
The alternative was unthinkable.
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