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

After riding the horse to send Lana back to the ranch, Peter went to visit the Jonathan's family.

"I heard about what happened to the Louis' family, Peter."

Jonathan poured Peter a cup of coffee. "It was an accident that no one would ever want to see."

Martha sat beside her husband, quietly listening to their conversation.

Occasionally, she glanced at Peter.

Six years had passed, and Peter hadn't changed at all! It was as if time had stopped for him.

As a woman, she couldn't help but envy Peter's ability to retain his youthful appearance.

One day, she must ask him the secret to maintaining his youth.

Jonathan, unaware of his wife's thoughts, asked Peter, "Any leads on the body-snatching culprit?"

"No, not yet," Peter replied, purposely withholding the suspicion that Louis' wife might be involved.

"These burial vaults are quite simple. After the funeral, the casket is lowered into the tomb, and then the church officials place two top covers together, tie them with wire, and put them over the tomb. It's easy to pry open," Peter said, taking a sip of coffee.

He set the cup down and asked, "Jonathan, have you ever heard of the undead?"

"The undead?" Jonathan was taken aback. "You mean like the zombies in George Romero's movies?"

"Yes."

"I've seen plenty in movies," Jonathan said with a smile.

Peter shook his head. "No, I mean in reality."

He suspected that the land polluted by kryptonite might have the power to bring the dead back to life.

Otherwise, it wouldn't explain why Vanessa had secretly buried her son there.

But bringing the dead back to life was strange and impossible, no matter how one looked at it.

Even if kryptonite had miraculous abilities, it couldn't truly resurrect a dead person. At most, it could make the corpse stand again, turning it into a mindless zombie.

So, Peter wanted to ask Jonathan if there were any similar legends in Smallville.

If such stories existed, it would prove that similar incidents had occurred in town—that someone had buried bodies in that land, and the dead had come back to life. That would explain why Vanessa firmly believed in it after witnessing it herself.

Of course, it was also possible that Vanessa was mentally ill, which would overturn all these theories.

"I've never seen anything like that," Jonathan replied, thinking Peter was joking. "Unless the zombie apocalypse is upon us."

Martha chimed in, "I have seen some strange animals acting like 'zombies,' but they weren't humans."

Jonathan looked at his wife in surprise. "Are you sure you're not joking, Martha?"

"Of course not," she recalled. "Do you remember Bill's Plott hound?"

"Yes, that dog is fierce."

"Well, about a month ago, I saw that dog get hit by a car. It was dead, but strangely, I saw it again two weeks ago."

"Hmm, maybe it was saved," Jonathan said, unconvinced.

"But it had become much more aggressive, and there was a strange smell coming from it."

"So, you think it turned into a 'zombie'?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't know," Martha replied. "I only made the connection because Peter mentioned zombies. But it could also be that old Bill got himself a new dog that looks just like the old one. Who knows?!"

Peter listened thoughtfully to Martha's words, nodding slightly.

...

"That's Bill's house!" Clark pointed to a nearby house. "He has a Plott hound. Maybe—"

Afraid of dogs, Clark hesitated. "Maybe we could get your godfather to help us retrieve the kite."

Clark's eagle kite had fallen into old Bill's yard.

Although he really wanted to get it, the thought of the guard dog made him reluctant.

"We can't always rely on Dad for everything. I'm Homelander! Nothing can hurt me. I do whatever I want!" Azu declared confidently, hands on his hips.

He didn't really understand why his father gave him such a nickname, but it sounded cool.

Azu liked the name.

He shot Clark a condescending glance and started walking towards Bill's house.

As he bent down to pick up the kite, he noticed that the door of the nearby shed suddenly opened a crack.

A bad feeling rose within him. Azu narrowed his eyes and took a step back.

Bang!

The shed door was flung open with force.

A massive hound charged at him.

"Sh*t!" Azu cursed, mimicking Peter as he turned and ran.

Waiting outside, Clark suddenly heard deep growling.

In shock, he watched as a huge dog chased after Azu.

Seeing Azu being chased, Clark immediately ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

In the face of danger, Clark forgot all about brotherhood.

"Help!" Azu yelled as he ran.

But there was no one around except for the vicious dog hot on his heels.

Clark had already run away, but hearing Azu's cry for help, he mustered up the courage to return.

Holding a stick, Clark shouted, "Over here, run this way, John!"

Seeing Clark, Azu immediately ran toward him.

Swish!

Clark swung the stick at the charging hound.

But the dog was incredibly agile, dodging the blow and knocking Clark to the ground.

Ignoring Clark, the hound leaped toward Azu.

With a thud, Azu lost his footing and fell to the ground.

At that moment, the hound pounced.

In the nick of time, Azu grabbed the dog's neck, preventing its sharp teeth from reaching him.

The foul stench from the dog's mouth almost made him pass out.

Gritting his teeth, Azu tightened his grip on the hound's neck.

The red glow in his eyes grew stronger.

"Ah!"

Just as the hound was about to bite him, a laser beam shot out of Azu's eyes.

The heat vision, radiating intense heat, cut right through the hound's neck.

The laser beam sliced through the dog's neck as if cutting through butter with a hot knife.

The once ferocious dog suddenly froze.

With a plop, its severed head fell onto Azu's body.

Thick, foul-smelling black blood poured down like a waterfall.

Azu's face was instantly covered in the filthy blood.

Clark got up and was stunned by the sight before him.

Azu stood a short distance away, holding the dog's head in his hands, his face and body drenched in blood.

With a face full of filth, Azu forced a smile at Clark that was more pitiful than joyful.