American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 165 A Broken Group Photo, A Broken Home.

The figure moved extremely slowly.

As if covered in rust, it slowly turned around.

Through the tangled strands of white hair and thick beard, Salafir saw a pair of eyes.

Those eyes, so familiar to him, as blue as the Kansas sky.

But now, those eyes hold no sunlight, no warmth, no hope. Only boundless desolation and a profound weariness remain.

It was as if all the light had been drawn out of him.

All that remained was a cold, empty shell.

Clark Kent stared blankly at the tiny figure that had suddenly appeared in this desperate situation. A look of utter bewilderment flashed in his lifeless eyes, as if he couldn't comprehend this illusion that shouldn't exist.

child?

How could there be children here?

"What are you doing here, little one?"

There was no trace of recognition in his voice.

There was only pure confusion and a...almost instinctive worry.

Yes, even in this state, something ingrained in his bones still prevented Clark from ignoring a small child.

He struggled to his feet, his movements somewhat unsteady, as if he hadn't had a proper workout in a long time.

He then silently shuffled to the side, bent down and picked up the fattest penguin from among the curiously peering ones, and clumsily but without hesitation shoved it into Salafir's cold arms.

The furry touch came instantly.

Salafir instinctively hugged the quacking penguin tightly.

then
The down-on-his-luck Clark reached out his large, frostbitten, and scarred hands, carefully took Salafir's arm, and whispered, "It's cold outside. Come in."

"Gugu—ga—"

Amidst the intermittent calls of the penguins, Clark pulled Salafir along and bent down to crawl into the low, simple hut.

The hut was unusually small, barely enough to fit two people, yet miraculously much warmer than outside. In the corner was a small fire pit roughly built of stones, inside which burned several pieces that looked like animal fat, emitting a faint light and heat.

He gestured for Salafir to sit on an ice block covered with old animal hides, while Clark himself silently squatted by the fire pit, poking at the weak flames with a bone, trying to make them burn brighter.

The flickering firelight illuminated his numb and weathered profile.

Those blue eyes remained empty.

Holding the warm penguin, Salafir curiously surveyed the cold and rudimentary little shelter.
There's almost nothing here, just some of the most basic and primitive survival tools.

Is this really his big, goofy older brother who always smiles like a ray of sunshine?

Looking at the weathered and disheveled man, Salafir was puzzled.

However, his gaze was quickly drawn to something embedded in the ice wall beside the fire pit.

That's a photo.

A picture that cannot hide its damaged state.
Family photo.

It was stuck in a crack in the ice wall.

The edges are curled, yellowed, and even have several obvious tears.

But they were then glued back together using something transparent.

There are five people in the photo.

Standing on the left and right sides.
They were a much younger, smiling uncle and aunt.

And in the very front, in the middle, is his father, Locke Kent.

It looks almost exactly the same as he remembers it now.

The father's left hand was on the shoulder of a blond boy next to him.

Her right arm was around another boy with black hair and blue eyes, who was smiling shyly.

Salafir recognized the photo.

His father had boasted to him more than once that this was the first real family photo.

It hung above the fireplace in the farmhouse living room, and was kept spotless.

It is said that the photo was taken when the two older brothers were eight years old to celebrate a harvest festival.

But... how did this photo end up here? And why is it shattered like this?
Salafir's little brain couldn't understand.

All he knew was that everyone in the photo was smiling, especially Clark, who was smiling so happily that his eyes seemed to be filled with stars.

Then look at this person huddled up by the fire pit.
A man whose very soul seemed frozen...

The stark contrast made Salafir feel extremely distressed.

He held the penguin and whispered again:
"Brother Clark...?"

The man by the fire pit paused, his hand poking at the flames.

"You've mistaken me for someone else, child."

He spoke hoarsely, his voice as soft as a sigh, fading into the crackling of burning grease.

"Your brother is not here."

“You are my brother,” Salafir insisted. “I am Salafir Kent, and you are Clark Kent.”

“My father is Locke, Locke Kent, the Pumpkin King of Smallwell.”

"."

How do you know that name?

Clark suddenly looked up.

For the first time, a violent fluctuation appeared in those lifeless eyes.

The numbness was torn away, revealing the raw pain and unbelievable shock beneath.

"How...how do you know that name?"

His voice was terribly hoarse, trembling with an almost fearful intensity.

Locke Kent…

How many years has it been since he last heard or dared to think of that name?
Salafir didn't answer, but instead reached out her small hand and carefully took the shattered photograph out of the crack in the ice wall.

Clark instinctively wanted to stop him.

But in the end, he just stared blankly.

then
An incredible thing happened.
Salafir gently placed her small hand over the tattered photograph.

A soft, pure white light emerged from his palm, slowly seeping into every crack and every crease in the photograph.

In that magical light, the yellowed and curled edges smoothed out on their own.

The deep cracks silently healed and disappeared.

The blurry smiles in the photo became clear and vivid again...

It's as if time has turned back, gently soothing all the pain.

In the blink of an eye, a perfectly preserved family photo appeared in Salafir's hands.

He held the newly restored photograph as if it were the most precious treasure, raised his head, and looked into Clark's clear eyes, who was speechless with shock. He stretched out his fingers, pointing to each name one by one, and in a childlike voice, read out the names etched deep in the man's soul:

“This is Uncle Jonathan, and this is Aunt Martha.”

"This is Dior."

“This is you, Brother Clark.”

“This is Dad, Locke.”

Clark's body trembled with each name he read.

Especially when Salafir's finger poked at the blond boy, Clark suddenly closed his eyes, his muscles twitching slightly from the pain.

then
When he opened his eyes again and saw the perfectly restored photograph, a faint ripple finally stirred in the depths of his lifeless eyes.

It caused a thin crack to appear in the solid ice.

He reached out, as if touching a fragile dream, and carefully ran his fingertips over each smiling face in the photograph.

finally.
That large hand covered in frostbite and scars
With a long-lost tenderness, it landed on Salafir's head and ruffled his soft hair.

He managed to force a smile with great difficulty, but it was more heartbreaking than crying.

“Although I don’t know… who sent you… or what you really are…” His voice was still hoarse, but it had lost some of its lifelessness and gained a hint of complex emotion, “but… little guy… thank you for letting me… see this again.”

His gaze dimmed again, the ripples that had just appeared swallowed up by a deeper sense of powerlessness.

"So... let's go back." He withdrew his hand, his voice so low it was almost inaudible:
"Right now... I can do nothing. My strength... my hope... have all been taken away by my brothers."

"Help me... and the person behind you, say sorry." Upon hearing this, Salafir was stunned.

His power was taken away? By Dio's brother? Why? What happened?
His little mind was completely incapable of comprehending the complex grudges and tragic changes that might be hidden behind this. He only instinctively felt that his brother in front of him had become so unfamiliar, so distant, like...
A statue completely frozen in ice and snow.

Immediately, an indescribable anger and resentment arose, not because of any specific incident.
Rather, it was this feeling of rejection and denial that suddenly surged into his little head!

He wasn't sent here! He's his brother!

This pent-up emotion, with nowhere to go, eventually turned into laughter for Salafir.

He was angry.

"Nobody sent me!"

He shouted, his voice echoing in the small igloo:

"It was a huge, beautiful dragon! It said its name was Morpheus! It said it could give me a precognitive dream... and then... and then I got here! And that's when I saw you!"

He tried to explain, but the more he spoke, the more confused and aggrieved he felt.
"I just...I just wanted to come see you...You're my brother..."

He took a small step forward, his voice softening slightly, carrying an awkward attempt at comfort:
"Brother, how about I find a way to take you back? We can talk about everything when we get home, okay? We can definitely solve things together..."

However.
Clark just shook his head painfully and buried his face even deeper.

The muffled sound came from the crook of his arm, carrying endless weariness and despair:

"There's no going back... little one... you don't understand... it's all too late... I have... nothing left..."

"If you do nothing and just hide here, it will always be too late!"

Salafir was enraged by his complete surrender and raised his voice again.

In a moment of desperation
Suddenly, a memory flashed through his mind of something he had overheard his father and Uncle Jonathan talking in hushed tones not long ago.

Something that sounds like a fantasy.

He grasped at a straw and blurted it out urgently, trying to show Clark a different 'possibility':
"It's not that there's nothing there! I...I've heard about it! Dad and Uncle Jonathan said that in another world! In another time, you, my brother, are amazing!"

"You didn't give up, you became incredibly strong, although it seemed very tough... but you protected so many people! You even... you're even protecting our world!"

Salafir's eyes sparkled with excitement.

He tried his best to depict the glorious image he had heard about.

Hoping to ignite even the slightest spark in Clark's eyes:

"That older brother never gave up! He kept fighting!"

But these urgent words were like a pebble thrown into a deep pool.

It only made Clark's shoulders tremble slightly.

He slowly raised his head, his face no longer numb, but with a different kind of emotion, almost sorrowful.

He looked at Salafir, his eyes filled with envy and disappointment.

"Another world...another me..."

He muttered to himself, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that was more painful than a grimace, "It's good...it's good...he can still fight, he still has the strength to protect..."

Then his gaze dimmed again, even more desperate than before.

It was as if Salafir's words made him see his own inadequacy more clearly.

"But...that's not me."

He lowered his head, looking at his hands, rough and calloused from the cold and toil, his voice as soft as a sigh, "The me now... really... can't do anything. Even standing up... takes all my courage..."

"you"

This kind of complete refusal to listen to reason, this utter self-abandonment.
Finally, Salafir's last bit of patience and hope were completely crushed!
Anger, sadness, disappointment, and a kind of anxious frustration at not being able to live up to expectations.

All the emotions mixed together and finally erupted in this tiny body!
"You are talking nonsense!!"

Salafir's voice shattered the silence of the igloo, and tears streamed down her face like a burst dam.

He was crying out with almost all his might, his voice trembling:

"You're a coward! Clark Kent is a big idiot! A big liar!"

"Saying that your power has been taken away! Saying that you can't do it anymore! These are all excuses!"

"Dior didn't take away your power! He took away your mind! He took away your heart!"

The air inside the igloo trembled with his cries, and the firelight danced in his moist eyes.

"You've locked yourself in here! You won't see anyone! You don't even want your father, uncles, or aunts anymore! You don't even recognize me! You're the one who abandoned everything!"

You're colder and harder than those icebergs outside!

I hate you! I hate who you are now!

Overwhelmed with anger and sadness, Salafir could no longer speak.

Large tears rolled down and hit the cold ice surface.

He didn't understand anything about complicated precognitive dreams; he only knew that his brother shouldn't be like this!
Can.
"I didn't want to either!!"

A sound suppressed to the extreme
A roar, like that of a trapped beast, burst forth from deep within Clark's throat!

He suddenly raised his head, his face already covered in tears.

"But I just can't do it!!"

He roared, his voice hoarse and cracked, tinged with blood, "I'm just a piece of trash! A piece of trash who can't even protect himself! A pathetic wretch whose hopes were easily shattered by his own brothers! Do you know what that feels like?!"

"Do you know what it feels like to watch everything be taken away and not even have the strength to stand up?! Do you know?!"

He waved his hands excitedly, as if trying to grab something, but in the end he could only let them fall limply, slamming them hard against his knees with a dull thud.

Like a child, he covered his face with his hands, his shoulders heaving violently as he let out suppressed sobs.

"I didn't want this either... I didn't want this to happen... but what can I do... what can I do..."

For a moment, the only sound in the cramped igloo was Clark's devastating sobs.

The sound of howling wind and snow outside
And the 'quack quack' sounds made by penguins when they're startled.

Time stood still in the despair of this polar region.

Salafir was also taken aback by this sudden and completely out-of-control outburst.

He stood frozen in place, forgetting to cry, staring blankly at the tall figure trembling all over.

I don't know how much time had passed, but the wind and snow outside seemed to have gotten even heavier.

A cold wind seeped in through the cracks in the ice wall, bringing a biting chill that made the flames in the hearth flicker uneasily.

Several penguins huddled together at the entrance of the small house, shivering, and huddled together for warmth.

This subtle movement seemed to finally pull Clark out of his emotional breakdown a little.

He lowered his hand very slowly, revealing his bloodshot eyes.

His face was streaked with tears, and his beard was soaked with tears, clinging to his thin cheeks.

He took several deep breaths of the cold air, trying to calm his still slightly convulsing body.

Then he looked at Salafir, who was standing there stunned and pale-faced, and a hint of regret and apology flashed in his eyes.

"I...I'm sorry..." His voice was still hoarse, but much softer, with a heavy nasal tone, "I shouldn't...have scared you..."

Salafir pursed her lips and turned her head away.

She turned the back of her head to him, clearly still angry and not wanting to talk to him.

Watching the little guy's sullen back, Clark gave a bitter smile.

He silently moved to the fire pit, and with trembling hands, laboriously stirred the flames again. Then he picked up the sea fish that he had prepared earlier, skewered it on a sharpened bone, and carefully placed it over the fire to roast.

The grease dripped into the fire, making a sizzling sound.

It exudes a primitive and simple fragrance.

after awhile.

Clark then handed the steaming, perfectly grilled fish, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, to Salafir, saying wearily:

"Let's eat something... There's nothing good to eat here... This is all we have."

Salafir twitched his little nose. He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately couldn't resist the aroma of the food. He angrily took it, turned his back to Clark, and began to eat it in small bites.

He ate with gritted teeth, as if he were treating the fish as some unworthy older brother, each bite filled with lingering anger.

Seeing his expression, Clark smiled helplessly.

The firelight illuminated his weathered and haggard profile, and shadows danced in his sunken eye sockets.

After a long silence, until Salafir had almost finished the fish in her hand, and only the sounds of chewing and the crackling of the fire remained in the igloo, Clark finally spoke in an extremely distant voice:
"brat……"

"Let me tell you a story."

"A story about...how hope is extinguished, how power becomes a curse, how brothers turn against each other...and how a loser is banished to the ends of the earth..."

(End of this chapter)