My fingers held the key, and a thought lingered in my mind. That's it?
It turned out that the power within me was so immense that the key, weighing half a million tons, felt ordinary to me. Just a regular, lightweight key—no effort required. I had expected my arm muscles, or even my whole body, to strain, but… I felt nothing. It was hard to believe.
It was as if I were holding a simple key, so light it made me doubt.
"Could it be defective?" I asked Bruce, who was watching me twirl the key.
"No," he replied curtly. "Try tossing it."
Intrigued, I glanced at him, shrugged, and flicked the key upward. The key shot down unnaturally fast, smacking my hand. That's when I realized it definitely wasn't defective. It hit my palm so hard it nearly threw off my perfect balance. Hmm, maybe?
"You can play with it later. They're waiting for us," Batman said, pointing to the lock's slot where the key belonged. Fine, no fun for super-strong kids with heavy keys. When I asked who was waiting, he stayed silent. Intriguing.
Alright, let's insert it.
The key slid into its place, and nothing happened. I thought something was wrong, but after a minute of waiting, the doors slowly rose, merging with the ceiling. The key went up with them. Convenient, sure, but who's going to put the key back? Peering inside the fortress, my gaze couldn't pierce the walls. Only the room we entered was visible.
A circular crystal hall, all bright blue and white light, with walls reflecting the sun's rays that began to peek from behind. The light danced beautifully around, but the silence of the walls pressed down, as if everyone had died. No one was waiting for us, as I'd thought. Bruce confidently strode toward a corridor straight ahead. Two other corridors branched off to the sides, leading into the depths of this empty fortress.
"The door…" I started, but before I could finish, it slid back into place. Bruce didn't even notice. He seemed deeply unsettled yet calm—contradictory, though with this man, it's hard to tell when he's in control or deliberately letting go.
Following my guide, I couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of this structure. The corridors were long, almost endless, lined with shimmering crystal that reflected light and created an effect of eternal emptiness. We passed through corridors that merged into a labyrinth, and every turn Bruce made with confidence painted a picture that without knowing the fortress's twists and turns, you'd better not wander in. Doors like the entrance, but sized for a tall person, appeared every thirty steps. Bruce ignored them, but I was curious about what lay behind.
Pausing at one door, I lingered for a moment. It seemed monolithic. When I touched it, it slid open quickly, revealing what looked like a laboratory: vials, tubes, and jars filled with murky water, something floating inside. Along the walls were counters, and I noticed various drugs labeled in English. So, Clark's doing something here? I thought, that simple journalist, though I hadn't delved into the life of my superhero namesake. It was the only door that opened for me; the others ignored me. Annoying, I thought—maybe I should steal this fortress for my own world. I chuckled in my head, imagining Superman's shocked face. I was no thief, and you can't just take a massive thing like this with you. Right?
Pushing away bad thoughts, we emerged a minute later into a vast chamber. I stood at the threshold, the air heavy with silence. A melancholic emptiness where I imagined phantoms of Kryptonians who should've been here. A spacious room with high vaults that vanished into the light above, narrowing toward the center like a pyramid. Bruce walked without stopping, and in the middle of the hall, by a massive round crystalline table, he halted. Suddenly, a man appeared beside him, as if from nowhere, hands clasped at his waist, looking at me with interest. He was dressed in black, with the unmistakable House of El symbol on his chest. The walls echoed sounds faintly, and in the vast empty space, there was only this table and a pedestal jutting from the crystal floor. Voices here sounded muffled, as if sound couldn't reach the walls to bounce back.
"You've come, Bruce," he greeted with a nod.
"As we discussed, Jor-El. This is my friend, Cain. Cain, this is Superman's father and the artificial intelligence of this fortress."
"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet the father of Earth's greatest hero."
"I'm merely a personality matrix based on a great Kryptonian scientist. You don't need to dwell on the 'father' part. Jor-El died long ago."
"Alright," I nodded and glanced at Bruce. "Bruce?"
"We're here so the fortress can scan your body, for—"
"No. No scanning," I cut Batman off firmly. I trusted him, but not this AI.
"Alright," he said calmly, turning to Jor-El.
"Alright? I thought you'd insist," I said, surprised he agreed so easily.
"I knew your answer, and we're friends, Cain," he said, removing his mask. "Friends don't force each other to do what they don't want."
"Logical," I nodded, thinking he probably had no other options. "Any other reasons we're here?"
Looking around the empty hall, I realized there was nothing for me here. This guy, based on Clark's father, definitely wouldn't let me mess around. I didn't want to ruin ties with my new acquaintances—or anyone else. I wasn't some dragon hoarding treasures in a cave, and I was more eager to explore this planet. Above all, I just didn't understand how this place worked.
Bruce insisted I avoid flying until he arranged things on the planet so I could move freely. According to him, there'd be too many issues if I just flew around without a proper cover story or reason. The looming war with Apokolips and Para-Demons possibly prowling the planet didn't seem like a good enough excuse. Or maybe I didn't know everything. Bruce answered my question instantly:
"You'll see. Jor-El." The AI waved, and a wall that had seemed solid slid aside, revealing a capsule containing…
"No way," I groaned. "Another costume?!"
Why are all supers in this world obsessed with costumes? Black with red outlines, it boldly highlighted muscles on the mannequin—muscles I didn't have, so it'd look weird on me. It seemed like spandex at first glance, but touching the revealed costume, I was surprised to find it felt like solid metal armor. Well then.
After five minutes of struggling to pull on the sturdy fabric, it was done.
"Kal-El's order was intriguing, and the details I learned piqued my curiosity. May I ask, Cain, what race you belong to? Your ability to interact with radiation seems unnatural. It's too strange, even compared to the powers of the Kryptonian race."
After examining me from all angles, Jor-El concluded the costume was perfectly tailored to my measurements, somehow taken by Batman. The material, custom-made, absorbed 100% more radiation waves and particles. When I asked if that might make me unsafe for those around me, I was assured that, based on assessments the AI had somehow made, it would perfectly absorb everything. And most importantly, it had no cape.
"Taorian, from the planet Taor," I said, curious if the Kryptonian AI knew of my race.
"No such race exists in the database," I wasn't surprised—different universes, after all. But he continued. "However, there's mention of Taorians in historical records from 100,000 years after Krypton's last war."
"Read them, Jor-El," Batman, holding my clothes, requested.
"Very well. Taorians attacked colonial settler ships, capturing and abducting Kryptonians in cryo-sleep on that vessel, report 1-2-591-23134. That's all."
"Your ancestors were invaders?" Batman asked, as if seeing me as an alien for the first time.
"I don't know," I replied without blinking. "Maybe they were, once. I grew up in Kansas, and the only invader I knew was my dad, who loved stealing apples from the neighbor. I don't know my race's history."
"Understood." Taking my word, he handed me my clothes, and I started dressing, thanking the fortress's AI. The costume felt like a second skin underneath. "Thank you, Jor-El."
"For Kal's friends—anything," he said, smiling for the first time, but his lingering glances at me unnerved me. Bruce, noticing, quickly said goodbye to the projection, who watched us with an unblinking stare. The door opened and closed behind us, and the key, back in its place, lay waiting for its owner.
Trekking through the blizzard to the plane, Bruce pointed to the co-pilot seat.
"Get in. I'll explain why all this on the way."
Let's hear what Batman has to say. I was curious why I needed a costume with the House of El symbol on it.
---
"Over this week with you, I've observed your behavior and actions toward people. The psychological profile compiled by me and the League's psychologists was ambiguous."
Flying at high speed toward the mainland, skimming over the water, Bruce began to speak.
"A confident, calm, and resolute subject. Psychological age closer to twenty-five than a twelve-year-old child. Military training, unusual for a kid, was also noted—your movements gave you away."
I nodded, seeing no point in hiding my skills. Why bother? I had nothing to conceal, though the age thing was a slip-up. Acting like a clueless kid all the time wasn't sustainable.
"That doesn't concern me—your past is your past," Bruce said, clearly uninterested in digging into each other's dirt.
"I was more concerned with your actions toward people. And your attitude toward heroism."
"People?" What was he getting at?
"You didn't harm them. That was the first sign you could be trusted," Batman nodded. "Clark once told me how he crushed a classmate's hand, breaking every bone because he couldn't control his strength at your age. You control yours perfectly. Everyone we caught this week took acceptable damage—no serious injuries. You didn't kill anyone, not even the girl who tried to kill you. She got a concussion and a partial skull fracture from hitting the wall poorly. You're not a killer—your movements lack intent to eliminate. This week was your test: to see if you'd kill anyone. We also noted your desire to be noticed."
"So, I passed?"
"Yes," he said curtly, pressing a button.
A screen appeared, showing a volcano spewing ash in all directions.
"This is Kamchatka. Shiveluch Volcano. High-level danger, and you're the only one on the planet who can help."
"You want me to play hero in this costume?" It was obvious the costume wasn't random.
"Yes. The time has come."
"What about staying discreet?"
"Everyone will think you're Superman's cousin or younger brother—whatever suits them. The media's ready. All that's left is a feat to prove it. We need to show the world it hasn't lost Superman, even if it's a younger one. Flash will assist, but you must stop the volcano, or it'll be an ecological disaster. No Para-Demons have been spotted, so this is what we've got. Take this." He handed me a black earpiece. I slipped it into one ear and nodded.
"Got it. Where do I get off?" The volcano was already devouring homes and cars—people might be trapped, and only I could save them. Barry would be there—good company afterward. Business first.
"Now."
I was yanked from the seat, hurtling upward uncontrollably. The plane sealed its hatch and flew on. I shook my head, steadying myself. A warning would've been nice. Blurring with speed, I took off.
My clothes disintegrated, their protection disabled. No time to change. Flying upward at supersonic speeds, the sun felt like a warm morning blanket I didn't want to shed. Spreading my arms to soak in its rays, I surged forward toward the volcano.
---
*Pfft*. Spitting out lava and rocks stuck in my teeth, I glanced at Barry, who dodged my spit.
"Hey, hey, Mr. Superman Junior, careful with your fire-and-stone spit. Some of us can't swim in volcanoes," he said jokingly, waving away the heat with a grin. "Congrats on the debut, Cain. You nailed it."
He raised his hand for a high-five, then ruffled my hair again. What's with that habit? Smoothing my hair, I slapped his hand and looked around.
"You know I've been Superman in my world for, like, three years, right?"
"But that's your world. Here, it's your first debut as Superman, even if it's the junior version." He shrugged and stood beside me. We were on the volcano's crater, cooled by my breath. The world around us was cloaked in a thick gray cloud of ash. The air reeked of sulfur, and the sky, blanketed with clouds, looked grim and threatening. Ash settled, coating everything in gray. The air was heavy, hard for normal people to breathe. The wind carried ash far and wide. Trees and plants choked under it. Waterways turned murky, rivers stained with thick ash layers. The air would've been toxic if we hadn't redirected the winds. Both Flash and I could move at ultra-high speeds, creating gusts with our actions. It worked—the disaster was contained to the nearest city, not thousands of kilometers.
Only at the end, after evacuating everyone, did I realize the volcano wasn't calming. I had to act. First, I froze the main vent and side craters with my breath, but it only bought time. Then Barry suggested freezing the magma chamber. Nodding, I dove into the lava. Wading through that viscous, scorching stuff was no picnic, but I managed. The only annoyance was the hot pebbles in my teeth.
A helicopter spotlighted us, circled, and flew off. Photos and videos were done, I heard the operator say. We could leave—the authorities would handle the rest.
"You'd make a better Superboy," Flash said, slapping my shoulder and bolting off, shouting, "Catch me!"
Ten minutes later, we'd covered roughly 8,000 km from Kamchatka to Gotham. Barry waved and sped to his city via the highway. I arrived at Bruce's place, washed up, and changed. Greeting Alfred, who was awake late reading, I descended through a passage disguised as giant floor-to-ceiling clocks.
Getting to the Batcave wasn't hard, but you needed to know the manor's quirks to find it.
Bruce sat at his massive desk, monitors showing Kamchatka reports. Hearing me, he turned and said, "You did great. Initial reports estimate 20,000 saved. Every media outlet's buzzing with headlines about you."
"As usual." It was the same in my world—nothing surprising.
"They're stirring." Clicking a button, he pointed to footage from cities worldwide. There they were—Para-Demons. "Before your news hit, they stayed off cameras and surveillance. But as soon as this one…" He pointed at a creature in human clothes raising its head. Passing a TV in a shop window showing me on the news, it revealed its faceted eyes. "Saw you, it and others started dropping their disguises, going berserk. The League's handling them."
"Need help?" I asked, feeling partly responsible.
"No," he said sharply, shutting off the screens. "Your time with me is done."
That surprised me. I thought I'd be with him for a month or two. I liked life in the manor, with Alfred excelling at his duties.
"Where are you sending me?"
"Here's your new address." He handed me a card. Seriously?
"Manhattan? Who's waiting for me there?" I'd passed through New York but never stayed long.
"Doctor Fate," he said, surprising me again. "Your training in interdimensional spells will be with him. It's part of our deal. And this."
He handed me a slim vial the size of my palm, filled with faintly glowing green liquid, like a lamp.
"What is it?" I had guesses but wasn't sure.
"Lazarus Pit water. A natural phenomenon with regenerative properties that can instantly heal injuries." *And grant immortality*, I nearly added but bit my tongue. I shouldn't know that. "It'll help your mother."
"I never said it was for my mother. How'd you know?" I raised an eyebrow.
"I figured it out. Your glances at women with kids and prioritizing their rescue in Kamchatka told me everything." Bruce revealed a glimpse of his skills—ones I still had to grow into.
"Thanks," I said, offering my hand. He shook it silently, stepped back to his computer, and said, "Stay tonight. Alfred will see you off tomorrow. We'll meet at the Justice League briefing, Superboy."
Blazing headlines on every screen made me grimace. Again? First Superman, now Superboy.
Waving it off, I headed upstairs to crash in my bed. Oh, soft expensive blankets and sheets—I'll miss you.
---
"Are you sure, Master Bruce, it was wise to let the boy go?" Alfred, fond of the oddly mature alien with godlike powers, couldn't help asking.
"Yeah, Bruce, why not keep him here?" Dick, in pajamas and bummed about losing a new friend, watched Cain vanish into a speck in the sky.
"He's a guest. He'll leave our world once we're sure the invasion's repelled," Bruce replied, reading the paper. "Don't worry—he'll be safe and well-protected."
"But—"
"End of discussion, Dick."
Slowly scanning Gotham's headlines, Batman reflected on his temporary protégé, who'd filled in for Dick during his training.
He had mixed feelings about who Superboy was. An alien, a Superman in his own world, the last of his race. Kansas—a near-identical story to Clark's. It made him think, analyze. At first, he was wary of the boy. Unusual behavior, speech, even military-like skills. Thoughts of a suspicious entity flooded Bruce's mind.
But after a week of tests—DNA from hygiene items Cain used (though didn't need), behavioral responses to stimuli, countless subtle checks revealing everything Bruce needed—he calmed his paranoia.
Yes, the skills were odd, but he could've mimicked what he saw, like Clark could, though never did. His history mattered less after psychological evaluations by Canary and Martian Manhunter. Per the League's psychologists and Bruce's analysis, Cain had a developing god complex tied to his powers. Yet he showed no malicious intent. That's what felt strange. Everything was too perfect. An ideal hero? No such thing. Everyone has a flaw.
Maybe his flaw was a lack of purpose, no guiding star. Like a war-weary soldier or mercenary who'd lost meaning. Cain drifted, his powers giving him a sense of existence. Showing off, he loved people's gazes—seeing him as a savior, a god.
Only his mother's mysterious injuries pushed him to accept Bruce's offer. Bruce saw recognition and combat readiness in Cain's eyes when they first met. Why? How? If he'd attacked then, no one could've reacted in time.
Bruce sighed wearily. A child with the power to move planets, purposeless, seeing no meaning in life. A child who knew much yet missed the basics. A being who could reshape history.
A lost soul with a god complex? What a terrifying combination.