Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

"Of course, I'm not some biker gang member, John. I just think this looks cooler."

Clark unloaded his luggage from the motorcycle, smiling as he said to John, "Also, I'll be staying here from now on—I'm not going back."

John stared in surprise at the transformed Clark, who stood before him, suitcase in hand.

The metal bucket he had been holding, filled with milk, clattered to the ground, spilling its contents across the floor. His tone was incredulous as he asked, "You're saying you're staying here forever?"

"That's right. From now on, this is my home. I'll live with you all, John. I've got a brand-new life."

Clark walked over, giving John's shoulder a firm pat.

"Why would you want to live with us? You have your own home, Clark," John said, puzzled by this new version of Clark, so different from before.

"Because I've parted ways with them. We've gone down different paths. From now on, I'll live with the Godfather. I'm his son now," Clark said with conviction.

"No, you're not, Clark," John retorted, visibly displeased. "Your father has always been Jonathan Kent. Your last name is Kent, not Podrick."

"Think what you want," Clark shrugged, brushing off John's irritation as he carried his luggage into the house.

He greeted Star-Lord, who was coming out of his room. "Hey, Star-Lord. How about I take you for a ride later?"

Star-Lord froze, bewildered as he stared at Clark, whose demeanor had completely changed.

Is this the Clark I know?

Noon.

John and Star-Lord were having lunch in the living room. Since Peter was out, they had settled for reheating food from the fridge in the microwave.

Taking a bite of his bread, John asked Star-Lord, "Have you seen Clark?"

"He seems to be busy over at the barn," Star-Lord replied.

No sooner had he spoken than a blaring, jarring burst of music erupted from the barn.

The two exchanged looks before rushing over to investigate.

What they saw stopped them in their tracks.

The barn had been transformed into an entertainment hub, complete with a booming stereo, television, gaming consoles, and bizarre decorations like plasma balls and multicolored disco lights scattered about.

Clark was seated in front of the TV, wearing headphones and gaming.

"Clark, what are you doing?" John asked, bewildered. "Where did all this stuff come from?"

"Discount Eddie's in Metropolis. They're open 24/7," Clark replied nonchalantly, pausing his game. "I figured I needed some cool stuff, just like everyone else."

"The Godfather told me not to let myself be shackled by chains. I can do whatever I want now."

John glared at him, feeling the urge to punch him. "Wait. Where did you get the money for all this?"

"I borrowed it from the Godfather," Clark said nonchalantly. "I know where he keeps his credit card, so I just swiped it."

"What?!"

John clenched his fists upon hearing this, while Star-Lord shot Clark a sharp glare.

"Relax. No need to pay it back immediately," Clark said, waving off their concerns.

"How dare you steal Dad's credit card!" John's eyes flashed faintly red, barely containing his fury.

"It wasn't stealing. I just used it," Clark corrected, taking off his sunglasses. "And besides, the Godfather won't mind."

"He won't mind?" John laughed angrily.

"Of course not," Clark replied confidently, turning off the stereo with the remote. He seemed oblivious to John's simmering rage as he continued, "After all, I'm the Godfather's son. We share the same gifts."

He held up his right hand, gazing at the ring on his finger. "The Godfather taught me not to be shackled. Do you know what that feels like? That connection of minds?"

Clark stared at the "S" emblem on his ring, his expression shifting slightly.

"It's as if the Godfather has entered my heart. He knows what I want, who I'm meant to become," Clark murmured.

John fought the urge to blast Clark with his laser vision. "You're spouting nonsense, Clark. Lies to dodge responsibility!"

Clark shot John a pitying look. "You're the one living in lies, John. Haven't you noticed? The Godfather has always treated me differently—like I truly belong."

"And by the way, here's a secret," Clark added, stepping forward with a smug grin, sunglasses back on.

"My biological parents aren't Jonathan and Martha. I'm adopted. I heard it with my own ears."

He shrugged, his tone casual. "Maybe they adopted me from the Godfather. So technically, I'm the boss here. You, John, and Star-Lord—maybe you're not even second or third in command."

Before he could finish, a fist sent him flying.

With a resounding crash, Clark's body hit the barn floor, smashing the stereo to pieces.

John stared at his clenched fist in shock. He hadn't even thrown the punch.

It wasn't until he noticed Star-Lord, fist raised and eyes glowing faintly white, that he understood.

"Shut up!" Star-Lord growled, glaring furiously at the dazed Clark.

Meanwhile, in Metropolis

Peter sat at a bar, asking the bartender for a drink.

This upscale establishment, bought by Bruce Wayne and gifted to him, was impeccably furnished and had a lively yet relaxed atmosphere.

Sipping his wine, Peter bantered with the long-absent Martian Manhunter.

"Thanks for the drink," said the Martian Manhunter, savoring the wine. "It's been ages since I've tasted something like this. It brings back memories of old friends."

Peter glanced at his own glass. "I envy you guys who can pick out all these flavors. Chocolate, tobacco, fig, grass... or the sweat of a nine-year-old Cuban boy adrift for two weeks on a raft made of banana crates."

Setting his glass down, he quipped, "Me? I just taste 'angry grapes.'"

After some lighthearted banter, Peter got to the point. "So, what's been keeping you so busy? You haven't even had time to visit the kids. Clark's been asking about you. He misses you."

"I miss them too," the Martian Manhunter sighed. "But I've been dealing with something urgent."

"Saving the world again?" Peter asked, intrigued.

"Something like that," the Martian Manhunter admitted. "I've been monitoring some dangerous individuals. I can't afford to look away, not even for a moment. Please tell John, Clark, and Star-Lord I'm sorry for not being there."

He gave Peter a probing look. "By the way, are you sure you're not an alien too?"

Peter grinned. "Yep, I'm an alien. Here to stir up chaos. Oh, and I've got 20 genetic clones helping me bring humanity back to greatness."

He raised his glass theatrically. "One day, we'll launch the Great Galactic Crusade."

The Martian Manhunter blinked, momentarily unsure if Peter was joking.

"The destiny of humanity is to rule the galaxy!" Peter declared.

"Uh..."

The Martian Manhunter looked genuinely alarmed, imagining Peter uniting Clark, Star-Lord, and his own formidable abilities to conquer the cosmos.

Seeing his unease, Peter chuckled. "Relax. I was kidding. I actually need your help with something."

He handed the Martian Manhunter a red gemstone ring.

"Do you recognize this?"

The Martian Manhunter's eyes widened. "That's... red kryptonite!"

Peter leaned forward, intrigued. "What does it do?"

"It's unpredictable," the Martian Manhunter explained. "No two pieces affect Kryptonians the same way. Its effects are temporary, but they vary—sometimes personality changes, other times bizarre physical transformations."

Peter frowned. "Clark bought a red kryptonite ring too. I wonder what it's doing to him..."