The arrival of the rainy season in Smallville filled the air with a damp atmosphere.
Clark stood by the window, his brow slightly furrowed as he gazed outside.
The rain had intensified—it was no longer a gentle mist but had escalated into a torrential downpour.
With his superhuman vision, Clark could see a squirrel on a distant tree. Amidst the heavy rain, the gray-furred creature dashed across the rain-soaked ground, vanishing in a blur before leaping onto the tree.
The squirrel flicked its tail on the branch, as if issuing a warning—either to an approaching enemy or to its fellow squirrels, urging them to leave.
Clark glanced toward the farm and noticed that the car, which had been parked outside, was now gone.
Since yesterday, he had been aware of this black car lingering near the farm, seemingly watching him.
"They're probably with the federal government."
Jonathan walked over and stood beside Clark, asking, "Clark, have you accidentally exposed your abilities in any way?"
"I don't think so," Clark replied after a brief moment of reflection.
He couldn't recall any instance where he had revealed his powers.
However, given how frequently he appeared at accident scenes, he couldn't help but wonder if he had unknowingly drawn someone's attention.
"Maybe you overlooked something, Clark—something you didn't notice," Jonathan said with a frown. "Every time there's trouble, you're always the first to rush in. That alone could make some people suspicious."
As soon as Jonathan finished speaking, a low rumble of thunder echoed from the distant sky—like a tractor-trailer hitting a bump on the interstate.
"No, I haven't, Dad. Why do you never trust me?" Clark's frustration was evident in his voice.
"Your father trusts you; he's just worried about you," Martha interjected, stepping forward. "After all, you're not an ordinary person, Clark."
"Then I'd rather just be normal," Clark muttered, his mood darkening along with the weather.
"If I were normal, I wouldn't have to live so cautiously. I can't even play basketball properly. I can't join the football team. I have to constantly watch my back to make sure no one finds out who I really am."
Clark vented his frustration to his parents. "If I had a choice, I'd rather be an ordinary person. That way, I wouldn't have to live in fear."
Realizing that he might have gone too far with his words, Clark hesitated, then muttered, "Sorry."
After apologizing to his parents, he turned and headed upstairs.
Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances as they watched their son's retreating figure, each seeing the worry reflected in the other's eyes.
Meanwhile, at the Padrick Farm
Loki sat in the study, using Peter's computer to search for information.
As he combed through various records, he quickly found something of interest.
Though he didn't uncover anything valuable about the God of Sleep, he did come across a book that supposedly contained spells to summon Death.
According to legend, a book called The Magdalene Codex existed, detailing a ritual to summon and imprison Death itself.
The process involved summoning Death and then using specific spells from the book to trap it.
"The Magdalene Codex?" Loki murmured, repeating the name.
While the book allegedly contained dark magic powerful enough to summon and bind Death, its authenticity was questionable. Even if it were real, where would he find such a forbidden tome?
Shifting his gaze away from the computer screen, Loki propped his chin on his hand, staring out at the pouring rain, lost in thought.
Could mere spells truly imprison Death—or even the God of Sleep?
It wouldn't be that simple.
At the very least, one would need to catch them off guard or wait until they were weakened to stand any chance of success.
Loki stood up, his expression shifting as he pondered his next move.
Then, he remembered the black magic book his father had given him.
Maybe he should ask his father about it?
Resolving to do just that, Loki erased the browser history and headed downstairs in search of Peter.
Downstairs
Peter was sorting through a pile of letters.
Several days' worth of mail lay scattered across the table in no particular order.
After skimming through a few advertisements, Peter found a postcard buried beneath them.
The front of the postcard depicted a vast, majestic snow-capped mountain. On the back, there was a brief handwritten note in familiar handwriting.
Reading the message, Peter was slightly surprised.
The postcard was from Bruce Wayne. It contained a few simple greetings and a short note saying he would be back soon.
The handwriting was rushed and slightly messy, as if Bruce had written it in a hurry.
"The Tibetan Plateau?" Peter muttered.
He hadn't expected Bruce to be training in Tibet.
By his estimate, Bruce would be returning to Gotham very soon.
Peter smirked and silently offered a moment of sympathy for Gotham's criminals. Then, he tucked the postcard away.
"Dad."
As Peter put the postcard aside, Loki came downstairs.
"What's up?" Peter asked.
"I, uh… I have a question," Loki said hesitantly.
Peter nodded. "Go ahead."
"I heard that people have come back from the dead in Smallville."
Loki sat beside Peter, choosing his words carefully. "Is that true?"
Peter's eyebrow twitched. "Who told you that?"
"I read it online. Smallville High's Torch newspaper frequently reports strange incidents in town," Loki explained.
"That was a long time ago. Supposedly, a man named Tim James came back from the dead," Peter said. "He was killed by machine-gun fire during a charge in 1943, in Rome. He was awarded the Silver Star posthumously. His body was shipped home on July 20th and buried on the 22nd."
Loki listened intently as Peter continued.
"But four or five days after the burial, a mailman named Maggie claimed to have seen Tim walking along the road. She was so terrified she nearly drove off the road."
Loki hesitated before asking, "Dad, is it true? Can the dead really come back to life?"
Peter shook his head. "That's just a rumor—probably one of the many ghost stories that have circulated around Smallville. Death is irreversible, Loki."
But deep down, Peter had a feeling that the strange phenomenon might be connected to the swamp just outside Smallville.
That eerie place had been there for a very, very long time.
"But if it were the God of Death, would he be able to do it?"
Loki asked the question that had been weighing on his mind. "Dad, if we could imprison the God of Death, would we then be able to reverse death?"
Peter's eyes widened in shock at the child's question.
What is this kid thinking?!
"There is no God of Death, and even if there were, you wouldn't be able to imprison him. Loki, why would you even think of such a thing?"
"It's nothing. I just read about it online."
Loki tried to appear casual. "Some say there's a book called The Magdalene Tome that contains spells capable of imprisoning the God of Death."
"Dad, is it real, or just a myth?"
"I don't know. I've never seen it myself."
Peter's answer left Loki disappointed.
"I thought the book was in Smallville and that it was The Magdalene Tome that brought that man, Tim James, back to life."
Loki let out a deliberate sigh. "Looks like I'll never get to see this legendary book of magic."
As he spoke, he sneaked a glance at Peter from the corner of his eye.
Noticing that Peter seemed intrigued by The Magdalene Tome, Loki silently praised himself.
As long as his father was interested in the book, he would have a far greater chance of finding it than Loki ever could.
And once the book was found, Loki could study its magic openly, learn the spells, and figure out a way to imprison the God of Sleep.
Lost in thought, Peter had no idea that Loki was trying to use him to locate the book.
After all, Loki was just a four-year-old child. It never crossed Peter's mind that the boy would dare to consider imprisoning a god.
Meanwhile, as the rain began to ease, Clark drove toward the Patrick Farm.
On the way, he used his super vision to scan the surroundings but found no trace of the agents who had been monitoring him.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled out his phone and dialed his godfather's number.
As his car approached a bridge, Clark lowered his phone and noticed a teenager standing at the very top of the structure.
A high school student with a backpack—he looked like he was about to jump.
Clark recognized him immediately. It was his classmate, Eric Rosenbaum.
"Hey!"
Seeing the boy's movement, Clark slammed on the brakes and shouted, "Eric, don't!"
Eric hadn't actually intended to jump, but Clark's sudden yell startled him. His foot slipped.
He lost his balance and plunged downward.
"Aaah!"
Eric screamed as he fell.
Clark sprang into action, activating his super speed and lunging forward to catch him.
Grabbing Eric's arm, Clark looked at his terrified face and prepared to pull him back up.
BOOM!
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, striking right where they hung.
Eric had no time to react—he was hit directly by the lightning.
A brilliant white light erupted as the energy surged around them.
Screaming in agony, Eric clung tightly to Clark's hand.
Inside his backpack, a shard of Kryptonite absorbed the lightning's energy, crackling with an eerie electric current that surged between them.
Clark felt a sudden wave of weakness. His strength drained rapidly.
Clenching his teeth, he used every last ounce of his power to pull Eric back up.
Both boys collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath.
"Thanks, Clark… I was just out exploring rocks. I never thought I'd almost die in the process."
"You… don't need to thank me, Eric," Clark replied, still catching his breath. His gaze fell on Eric's backpack.
Ten minutes later…
Clark pushed open the door to the living room.
"Hey, Clark! Catch!"
John's voice rang out, followed by a football hurtling toward him at full speed.
BAM!
Clark had no time to react. The ball slammed into him, sending him flying.