Chapter 40: Demolition in Progress

"Cough, cough..."

Clark stood up, clutching his chest and coughing.

His extraordinary defense rendered him almost completely unharmed, save for a slight feeling of tightness in his chest. However, Homelander's sudden attack caused his rage to surge.

Clark leaped out from the barn and charged fiercely toward Homelander.

"Bang!"

Homelander took a heavy punch from Clark straight to the right side of his face. The impact sent him spinning through the air like a top before he crashed heavily onto the ground. Mud splattered into the air, accompanied by a dull, resounding thud.

Dazed and slightly disoriented, Homelander stared with shock at the panting Clark.

Was this still the same Clark who never fought back and always relied on his help?

"Liar! Deceiver! So you've known how to fight all along, Clark!"

Feeling utterly betrayed, Homelander clenched his fists, climbed back to his feet, and glared furiously at his opponent.

"I am not a liar."

Clark panted lightly, wiping the rain from his forehead. "I was just exercising restraint—the kind of self-control my godfather taught me."

"That is—a lie!"

Enraged, Homelander's eyes glowed with a scorching red light.

"Zzzzt!"

A crimson beam of energy tore through the air, reaching Clark in a split second.

Sensing the danger, Clark tried to dodge instantly, but the blast still grazed his shoulder, sending him tumbling into the living room.

The deflected heat vision maintained its momentum, tearing straight out of the opposite side of the living room and striking the rear wall of the warehouse outside.

Amidst a flurry of shattering sounds, the dining table and sofa in the living room were instantly blown to pieces.

Clark rolled across the floor of the living room, his back slamming into the television cabinet and reducing it to splinters. Shards of broken furniture and electrical components rained down upon the floor, instantly reducing the once neat and clean living room to absolute chaos.

"Thud!"

Homelander leaped into the living room, but before he could locate Clark, he felt a sudden shift in the air pressure.

Having been thoroughly provoked, Clark struck back with all his might, his fist driving fiercely toward Homelander.

Homelander tried to raise his arms to block, but the very next second, his body was sent flying out of control.

With a loud "bang," Homelander was driven deep into the wooden staircase by the sheer force of the blow, shattering the steps into dust.

Enduring the pain, Homelander quickly rolled and flipped back to his feet. Although this was his first real fight, he and Clark had watched plenty of boxing matches with their father and knew how to launch effective attacks.

Homelander rushed toward Clark, unleashing a rapid succession of heavy punches aimed at his opponent's jaw.

Clark instinctively crossed his arms to defend.

"Boom!"

The air burst violently, and the deafening shockwave of colliding flesh shattered the room's glass windows into a million pieces.

Though Clark managed to block the blows with his arms, the sheer force drove him to the ground, fracturing the floorboards beneath him. Unharmed, he instantly sprang back to his feet and lunged at his opponent.

With blazing red eyes, Homelander intercepted him. After a brief scuffle, their fingers locked together in a grapple.

Because Homelander had matured faster than Clark, he held a slight advantage in raw physical strength.

"You can't beat me, Clark. I've always been stronger than you!"

Homelander panted as he spoke, pressing down on him with all his weight.

"No, you aren't!"

Gritting his teeth and drawing upon every ounce of his strength, Clark suddenly grabbed Homelander's arms and surged upward.

Bolstered by his super-leap, Clark dragged Homelander up into the second-floor hallway.

The floorboards of the corridor shattered into a massive crater as the two of them collided. With a sudden burst of power, Clark hurled Homelander aside like a sack of grain.

"Crash!"

The flooring cracked and splintered in every direction.

Homelander lay sprawled across the spiderweb-fractured floor, a burning sensation radiating across his back.

The physical pain in his back was secondary, however; the psychological blow was far worse. The humiliation of being slapped down right after boasting so loudly made his face burn with fiery heat.

Inside the abandoned factory, Peter was still entirely unaware that his two sons had already started fighting before he could even make a move—and that the two unruly boys were about to tear his house apart.

He took another step closer to Horie and demanded, "Who the hell are you? As far as I know, Smoville doesn't have any Black men like you."

"Who knows? Perhaps—I was never meant to belong to this era in the first place."

Horie jumped down from the elevated platform and said in a leisurely tone, "Fate brought me back here to exact vengeance on this era."

"Fate?"

Peter frowned at him. "What fate?"

Could this Black man possess some sort of dark magic, much like Father Norma?

"Fate can be interpreted in many ways, Mr. Patrick. My interpretation is this: everything a person experiences in life is predestined. Heaven has already arranged our destinies long ago, and even the conversation between you and me right now has been scripted. No one can change it."

He continued in a low voice, "Just like when I accidentally drifted down the Smoville River and was bitten by those glowing green fish. I originally thought I would find my grave in the belly of those creatures, but I never expected it to restore my youth."

Peter listened quietly, his gaze turning serious when the other man mentioned "restoring youth."

Horie paused for a moment before looking at Peter. "Clark and John were also chosen by fate. They are just like me. I know—I once witnessed Clark's reaction to that green meteorite..."

Before he could finish, Peter interrupted him.

"You're old Horie, aren't you? The security guard at Smoville Elementary School."

He had already deduced the fellow's identity. Aside from Martha McConnell, old Horie was the only one who had both lived through the school bus incident and witnessed Clark being weakened by Kryptonite.

Martha couldn't possibly turn into a Black man just to play a tedious game of cosplay with him, which left only old Horie.

Although it was impossible for old Horie to be as young as the man standing before him, combining this with the "restoration of youth" the man spoke of, the notion—while absurd—was entirely plausible.

Hearing Peter call out his true identity, old Horie froze for a fraction of a second before casting a complicated look at him. "Uh-huh, I am old Horie. I never really planned on hiding it anyway, since you're all going to die here tonight. But tell me, why aren't you scared at all?"

"Well, Mr. Horie."

Peter sighed and said, "Since you've been so open and honest, I suppose I should share two secrets with you as well."

"First off, I hate Black men!"

Immediately following this, amidst old Horie's furious glare of "How dare you be racist," Peter teleported like lightning straight in front of him.

With a dull thud, Peter's fist struck dead-center against old Horie's chest.

The air seemed to be instantly evacuated from old Horie's lungs. Overwhelmed by a wave of sharp pain, he tried to double over and catch his breath, but found himself completely unable to do so, leaving him to hack violently instead.

It felt as though some wild beast had locked itself inside his chest cavity, and he was desperately trying to force it out.

"And the second secret is," Peter whispered, "I'm not exactly a normal human being either."