It looked as if Adrian had simply crushed the lightning with a casual squeeze of his hand.
Jerome froze, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Was this even human?
He had thought the gift of lightning—his mutation, his stolen power—was enough to make him untouchable. But standing here now, he realized he had run headlong into something far worse. Something inhuman. Something that looked at him the way a predator looks at prey.
"You gained lightning," Adrian said coldly, his voice carrying the edge of curiosity mixed with contempt. "Or rather, high-voltage electricity, through mutation. Kryptonite played a part, didn't it? Tell me—how did you manage it?"
"I… I…" Jerome stammered, his throat dry. His body still buzzed with electricity, but against Adrian, it might as well have been nothing.
"Adrian…?"
Clark's faint voice carried across the field.
Adrian released Jerome's collar and turned toward his brother. That tiny window was all Jerome needed.
Now!
Lightning surged through Jerome's veins, silver arcs sparking across his body as he bolted with superhuman speed. Cornstalks split apart in his wake, the crackle of thunder fading as he vanished into the distance.
Adrian didn't chase him. He didn't need to. His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. Jerome was already marked. Smallville wasn't large. The boy couldn't hide forever.
Adjusting his hair, Adrian peeled off what remained of his jacket, scorched and shredded from the encounter, and walked toward Clark.
"A–Adrian," Clark breathed out, sagging in relief at the sight of his brother. His voice was hoarse, his skin pale from prolonged exposure to kryptonite.
"It hurts, doesn't it, Clark?" Adrian asked, his tone calm, almost amused. He didn't immediately move to free him. Instead, he stood there, studying the pathetic sight of his brother strung up on the wooden frame, paint smeared across his chest.
Clark wished it had been anyone else who found him. Anyone but Adrian. He could already imagine the smug remarks coming.
"Whitney did this, didn't he?" Adrian's gaze slid down to the glowing green necklace hanging against Clark's chest.
Clark stayed quiet. Silence was safer.
But Adrian reached out anyway. His hand brushed against the kryptonite.
"No, don't touch it!" Clark panicked. "Adrian, it'll hurt you too!"
"This amount of meteorite can't threaten me."
The moment his skin made contact, Adrian's arm twitched violently. His muscles convulsed, twisting unnaturally beneath the surface as though poisoned.
Of course, the weakness was a lie.
Adrian's body was far beyond Clark's, beyond Kryptonian limits. Kryptonite couldn't truly harm him. But Adrian was a planner. A manipulator. He knew what people wanted more than anything else—a weakness. And so he gave it to them.
Through sheer psychological suggestion, he had conditioned himself to react to kryptonite as if it affected him. A fabrication. A false vulnerability to keep his enemies guessing. Better to hand them an illusion than let them dig for the truth.
Clark watched with alarm as Adrian gritted his teeth and held the necklace anyway.
"This is Lana's, isn't it?" Adrian said, smirking despite his "pain." "You saved her boyfriend, and in return, he strung you up like this. Repaying kindness with cruelty. Touching."
"Lana doesn't know!" Clark shot back quickly. His strength slowly returned as Adrian's hand pulled the necklace away. Clark tore through the ropes in one burst and stumbled down from the cross, gasping. "It was Whitney and the football team. Not her."
"Is that so?" Adrian tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Do you need my help? I could pay them back for you. End their little careers. Make them suffer as you did." His smile sharpened. "I could make them Scarecrows."
"No!" Clark protested immediately. He knew what Adrian's "help" looked like. "I'll handle it myself."
Adrian chuckled, clearly unconvinced. His brother's sense of mercy was a constant source of irritation—and amusement.
"Suit yourself."
Clark glanced at Adrian, frowning. His brother's chest was bare, scorch marks still lingering on his skin. "Your clothes… what happened out here?"
"I crossed paths with another unlucky one," Adrian replied vaguely. His voice carried no warmth. "Clean yourself up before heading home. Show up like this and Mom and Dad will start asking questions."
Before Clark could argue, Adrian blurred into motion. A sonic boom rattled the cornfield, flattening stalks in every direction. Within seconds, he was gone.
Clark stood there in silence, wiping the paint from his chest. His sigh carried the weight of humiliation. Pete had been right. He had become this year's Scarecrow.
---
The next morning, Smallville High buzzed with its usual chaos.
At the front steps, Pete dragged Clark into a quiet corner, glancing around nervously. "Tell me straight. You mean to say you were the Scarecrow last night?"
Clark nodded, shoulders heavy. "Whitney and his gang did it."
Pete groaned. "Alright, I'm siding with Chloe on this one."
Clark blinked. "What?"
"You shouldn't have stopped Adrian from wrecking Whitney yesterday. Sure, you won me five bucks, but come on, Clark. Look where that got you."
Clark groaned, but before he could answer, Chloe appeared.
"Morning, boys." She strolled over with a coffee in one hand, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Her grin was as bright as the morning sun.
"You'll love this," she said, lowering her voice theatrically. "Word is Coach Watt's been letting the team cheat on exams. And when one of his own tried to speak up? He threatened him."
Pete raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a hot headline."
"I was thinking… 'Smallville's Dark Side: Coach Watt's Dirty Game.' Catchy?"
Clark pointed at her coffee. "You should cut back on caffeine."
Chloe rolled her eyes, but before she could argue, her phone buzzed.
One glance at the message drained the color from her face.
"Chloe? What's wrong?" Pete asked.
She looked up, her voice low. "Dan Brown is dead."
Clark's heart skipped. "Dan… from the team?"
"Yeah. The same guy who threw the ball at me yesterday." Her voice shook slightly. "He was found dead at home this morning."
The three of them exchanged uneasy looks.
Something was very wrong in Smallville.
---