Smallville Phantom Dystopia: Return of Isobel
That evening, Lana waited until the farmhouse had gone quiet before slipping outside. The sky had deepened to blue-black, and the fields stretched around her in uneasy silence. Every creak of the porch made her flinch. Every shape near the barn looked too much like someone watching.She found Clark near the edge of the tree line, exactly where he said he would be.The real Clark.Even in the dark, she knew him instantly now. Not because of his face, but because of the way he looked at her. Worried first. Himself second.“What happened?” he asked.Lana hugged her arms around herself. “At the market today, a man tried to steal an ear of corn.”Clark’s expression tightened.
“He was desperate. He had kids. Martha told him we couldn’t help, and he panicked.” Lana swallowed. “The other you grabbed him. ”Clark went still.
“He broke his wrist.”The silence after that felt heavy.Clark looked toward the farmhouse, his jaw flexing. “Is he getting worse?”“I don’t know,” Lana said. “But I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I don’t know how to sit across from him at breakfast, or talk about the wedding, or pretend I don’t feel sick every time he smiles at me.”Clark stepped closer, careful and gentle. “Lana...”“No.” Her voice cracked. “Tomorrow we’re supposed to start setting up for the wedding. I’m supposed to stand there with him and pick flowers and arrange chairs and pretend I’m happy. I can’t. ”Clark looked torn. Every part of him wanted to go into that house and drag the impostor out, powers or no powers. Lana could see it in his face.But he did not move. Not yet.
“My strength is coming back,” he said. “The sunlight’s helping. I’m not where I need to be, but I’m better than I was last night.”“How much better?”He hesitated. “Maybe twenty-five percent.”Lana gave him a look.“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”“A little,” Clark said, almost managing a weak smile.She didn’t laugh.He looked down. “Probably more tomorrow. Every hour helps.”“And until then?”“Until then, you keep him calm. Don’t push him.”Lana glanced back at the farmhouse. A warm light still glowed in one upstairs window.His room.Or what had become his room.“I hate this,” she whispered.“I know.”
Clark reached for her hand, but stopped short, letting her decide. Lana closed the distance herself and took it.His skin was warm.Real.“I won’t let him hurt you,” Clark said softly.“You can’t promise that.”His eyes lifted to hers. “I can promise I’ll try.”For some reason, that was more comforting than if he had sworn everything would be fine.Lana squeezed his hand once, then let go before she could talk herself into staying there all night.“I should go back in.”Clark nodded, though he looked like he hated the idea as much as she did.She had only taken a few steps when he spoke again.“Lana.”She turned.“I’ll be close.”
She held his gaze for a moment. Then she walked back toward the house, toward the thing wearing Clark’s face, and tried not to look as afraid as she felt.The following morning arrived gray and humid. Low clouds drifted lazily over Smallville, trapping the heat close to the ground and promising rain that never seemed to come. The Kent farmhouse was already busy.Martha had been up since dawn gathering decorations from the barn while Clark loaded folding tables into the pickup. Bales of hay, wooden benches, mason jars, and boxes of white ribbon slowly filled the truck bed.
Only one person was missing. "Lana should've been back by now," Martha said, checking her watch.Clark looked down the driveway."She said she was just going into town to pick up a few things." "It's been nearly two hours."Clark frowned, but said nothing.
Across town, Lana pulled her truck into an empty parking spot outside the Talon.The café looked abandoned.The lights were off.Dust clung to the inside of the front windows.She checked her phone out of habit before remembering there still wasn't any service.Looking across the street, she spotted Chloe climbing out of her own vehicle."You made it.""You sounded nervous," Chloe replied. "What's going on?"“I’ll tell you inside.”The front door was unlocked.Both women exchanged a cautious look before stepping inside.The familiar smell of coffee had long since faded.Instead...Old paper.Wax. Something earthy.Ancient.Both were too intrigued to follow a train of thought, they walked around the room puzzled.Books covered nearly every table.Some looked centuries old, their leather bindings cracked beyond repair.Others had handwritten notes sticking out from between yellowed pages.Candles sat everywhere.Some burned.Some had melted into strange shapes, their wax dripping across the floor.Symbols had been drawn in chalk over sections of hardwood.Latin phrases covered loose parchment."What..."Chloe slowly turned in a circle."...happened here?"
Lana picked up one of the books.The pages were filled with illustrations of circles, runes, and rituals.She immediately recognized the handwriting."Isobel."Chloe looked over."You're sure?"Lana nodded."This is exactly how she used to leave the mansion."Her stomach sank."I thought she was hiding.""So did I."Lana looked around the room."She's planning something."She walked deeper into the café.
Behind the counter, cabinet doors stood open.Storage shelves had been emptied.Every available surface had become a workspace.One notebook lay open.Its pages were filled with the same sentence over and over again.Power.Power.More power.Lana slowly closed the book."I just had to get away from him."Chloe’s eyebrows furrowed, “who, Clark?”“Yes, I mean, no, it’s not him. It’s a phantom.”“What?!”Lana’s face tighened, “…yeah.”“Well, where is the real Clark?”“He’s close by, watching. At the moment he’s not strong enough to take on the phantom. He’s waiting to get his strength back.”
Chloe blew out a breath. She should have been surprised, but then again, this was Smallville, land of the the weird.“Anyways, I just said I need to go and grab something from town…”Chloe looked on sympathetically."Every time he looks at me..."She shook her head."...I know it isn't Clark.""And now this."She gestured around the Talon."As scary as he is...""...I think we may have an even bigger problem."
Back at the church...The sanctuary buzzed with activity.Neighbours climbed ladders hanging flowers.Children carried baskets of ribbons.Someone tuned the old piano while another group arranged folding chairs beneath the stained-glass windows.Martha smiled despite everything."We're finally getting somewhere."Bizarro stood near the altar with his arms crossed.He had hated every minute of it.People kept asking questions.Where should this go?Could he move that?Did he like these flowers?Smile for a picture.He didn't understand why they cared about any of it. It was...Slow. Pointless. One elderly volunteer approached. carrying a box. "Clark, dear?"Bizarro sighed."What?""Would you mind helping me move these candles?"His jaw tightened.Another person interrupted."Clark, could you help me lift this?"Before he answered—"Clark!"Someone else waved."Can you come here for a second?"His eye twitched. Another voice. Then another. Questions. Requests. Small talk. The constant noise built inside his head until—"ENOUGH!" The entire church fell silent.
Bizarro grabbed a wooden pew and hurled it across the sanctuary.It smashed through two support columns.People screamed.Someone dropped an entire tray of candles.The stained-glass windows rattled.Another pew exploded into splinters."What are you all looking at?!"His heat vision ignited.Fire raced up one wall.Smoke immediately began filling the sanctuary.People ran.Parents grabbed children.Workers shoved one another toward the exits.Within seconds, the church emptied into the parking lot.Bizarro stood alone among the flames."Lana!"
His voice echoed through the building."WHERE ARE YOU?!"He punched straight through one of the stone walls.Bricks exploded outward. Outside, several people pointed toward town. Someone yelled for help.Someone else simply whispered..."Something is seriously wrong with Clark."Several miles away, hidden among the trees beyond the Kent farm-the real Clark heard the explosion. His eyes lifted. Then another crash.His expression hardened.Without another thought...He disappeared in a blur of motion toward the church. Clark arrived just as the last of the townspeople poured out of the church.
Smoke billowed through the shattered front doors, carrying with it the smell of burning wood and melted wax. The white decorations Martha and Lana had spent days gathering were already catching fire. Pieces of stained glass littered the church steps, glittering in the afternoon sun.Children cried as parents hurried them toward their cars."What happened?" Clark asked, grabbing the arm of a man rushing past him."It's...," the man stepped back scared..Clark's expression hardened. The man turned away and ran. Clark sprinted inside. The sanctuary had become unrecognizable.Pews lay overturned. Support columns had been smashed apart.
The altar had collapsed beneath a pile of stone. Orange flames danced along the walls, slowly climbing toward the wooden rafters overhead. Standing in the middle of it all was Bizarro. He turned slowly. For the first time, the two Clark’s stood face to face. They looked identical. Same height. Same build. Same face. The only difference was in their eyes. Clark's carried concern. Bizarro's burned with annoyance."So..." Bizarro said, tilting his head. "You're finally here."Clark took another step forward. "This doesn't have to end with anyone getting hurt." Bizarro laughed.
pixelskylines
romaincrisis
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
