Back in Smallville, Martha Kent's hands wouldn't stop shaking. She'd barely breathed since the battle began, watching her son face something that could actually hurt him. Every major network carried the fight live, cameras tracking Superman and Metallo's devastating dance through Metropolis's skyline. She and Jonathan kept the curtains drawn tight, a habit born from years of protecting their son.
"Not like this," Martha whispered as another blast sent Superman through an office building. Her fingers twisted her apron into knots. "He's not holding back anymore, Jonathan. That thing is trying to kill our boy."
Beside them, Krypto paced restlessly, whining at the TV screen. His claws clicked anxiously against hardwood as he moved between the television and the door, torn between watching and acting.
"He's strong, Martha." Jonathan's voice carried steady reassurance, though his eyes never left the screen. His hand found hers, squeezing gently. "Stronger than anyone knows. He'll find a way."
Their farmhouse sat quiet and dark, a familiar sanctuary from the outside world. Martha gasped as the footage switched angles, catching the moment Metallo's beam struck Superman square in the chest. The impact sent him carving through three buildings before he hit the street below. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling a cry that threatened to escape.
Krypto's sharp bark echoed her distress. The sound carried such raw worry that Jonathan had to quiet him, though his own face was tight with barely controlled fear.
"Shh, boy," he said softly, reaching to scratch behind the shepherd's ears. "We have to be careful."
The battle moved north, helicopter footage becoming increasingly spotty as the combatants disappeared into Arctic airspace. The last clear image showed Superman taking a hit that sent him plummeting toward the ice like a fallen star. Then nothing but static.
Martha felt her heart constrict. "Jonathan..." Her voice caught on unshed tears. This was worse than watching – not knowing, not being able to see if he was still fighting. Still breathing.
Krypto's head snapped up suddenly, ears perking with urgent purpose. The shepherd moved to the door, scratching insistently at the wood. His whole body vibrated with desperate energy.
"What is it, boy?" Martha asked, though she already knew. A mother's heart didn't need super hearing to know when her child was in danger.
Jonathan rose, his movements quick but careful. "Go," he told Krypto softly. "Find him."
The shepherd took off like a white bullet into the darkness. Miles away in the endless white, Clark managed to get one hand under himself. His ears were ringing, vision fading in and out, but he forced his lips to move. The whistle came out weak and wavering, but he had to try.
Again, stronger this time. The sound carried across the Arctic waste at a frequency no human ear could detect, lost in the vast emptiness. Clark's arm gave out and he slumped back into the bloody crater. "Please," he whispered, though he wasn't sure who he was talking to – Krypto, Rao, or just the uncaring ice.
A bark cut through the wind.
Clark's heart leaped at the familiar sound, even through the haze of pain. He'd know that bark anywhere – had heard it through every major moment of his life, from first day of school jitters to teenage heartbreaks to moments of triumph. "Here," he called, his voice barely a croak. Blood trickled from his lips as he tried to lift his head. "Here, boy."
The Arctic wind howled around him, but another bark cut through it, closer now. White fur flashed against white snow as Krypto bounded across the ice, his powerful form a blur of motion. The shepherd's enhanced speed let him cover miles in minutes, each leap carrying him closer to his fallen friend. His paws barely touched the ground, leaving trails of disturbed snow in his wake.
Every movement was precise, controlled – nothing like the playful puppy who used to race Clark through Kansas cornfields. This was Krypto in protector mode, the same intensity he'd shown that day at the river when Clark saved the school bus. The same fierce dedication that had made him camp outside Clark's door the first time kryptonite exposure had left him weak and sick.
"Good boy," Clark managed as Krypto reached the crater's edge. The words came out wet and rough – he could taste copper on his tongue, feel the wrongness in his chest where Metallo's tri-colored blast had struck hardest. The radiation still burned through his cells, making even the weak Arctic sun feel like needles on his skin.
Krypto's whine carried pure distress as he took in Clark's condition. The shepherd moved with infinite care down the crater's slope, each step placed deliberately to avoid causing miniature avalanches of displaced ice. When he reached Clark's side, his inspection was gentle but thorough – nose carefully checking for injuries, eyes showing an intelligence far beyond any Earth-born canine.
The gentleness in every movement made Clark's chest tight with emotion. Here was a creature who could leap tall buildings, who could match him for speed and strength, choosing to be so impossibly careful with his broken friend. Krypto's tongue delicately cleaned blood from Clark's chin, his actions precise and determined despite the clear worry in his eyes.
"Krypto." Clark's fingers found familiar fur, drawing strength from the contact that had anchored him through so many challenges. The white coat was as pristine as ever – no Earth dirt could stain it, no matter how much Krypto rolled in Martha's flower beds. "Home. Take me home."
Krypto's ears perked at the word 'home,' but his eyes stayed locked on Clark's face, reading something in his expression. The shepherd's nose twitched as he sniffed Clark's torn cape, taking in the complex mixture of scents – blood, ozone, and that strange radiation that made his hackles rise. There was something else too, something that made his head turn slightly north.
With infinite care, Krypto took the cape between his teeth. The fabric that could withstand bullets and explosions was frayed and torn from Metallo's assault, but it held as the shepherd tested his grip. Clark felt a slight tug as Krypto found the right tension – enough to pull, but not so much it would choke.
"Good boy," Clark whispered as they began to move. His vision swam with each careful step, but he managed to focus enough to add: "The Fortress. Take me to the Fortress."
Whether Krypto fully understood the words didn't matter – some deeper connection between them, forged in that strange pod that had brought them both to Earth, seemed to guide his actions. The shepherd's path was unerring, each movement carrying them closer to the hidden sanctuary Clark had built in the ice.
Time blurred as they crossed the endless white expanse. The radiation burned through Clark's cells in waves, making him drift in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he thought he heard his father's voice – not Jonathan's warm Kansas tones that had guided him through childhood, but Jor-El's crystalline cadence speaking of destiny and purpose. Other times there was just the wind, and Krypto's steady presence, and the soft sound of blood dripping onto pristine snow.
Every few minutes, Krypto would pause to check on him, nose gently nudging his face until Clark managed some small response. The shepherd's concern was evident in every line of his body, in the way his ears constantly swiveled to track potential threats, in how carefully he adjusted his pace when Clark's breathing grew more labored.
Memories flickered through Clark's mind as they moved – Krypto as a puppy, somehow knowing to be gentle with baby chickens despite his strength. The shepherd standing guard outside his bedroom the night he first told Lana he was different, somehow understanding his friend needed privacy but also protection. A thousand small moments of unconditional love and unwavering loyalty, transcending the boundaries of species and planet of origin.
The radiation made everything hurt in new and terrible ways. Clark had been exposed to kryptonite before, had felt its effects strip away his powers and leave him vulnerable. But this was different – the combination of different types wasn't just weakening him, it was actively attacking his cellular structure. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of agony through his body as the foreign energy rewrote his biology in ways even his enhanced healing couldn't counter.
Krypto seemed to sense when the pain grew worse. His pace would slow slightly, his grip on the cape gentling until the spasm passed. Sometimes he would press closer, letting Clark's hand tangle in his fur, offering what comfort he could while still maintaining their steady progress north.
The cold didn't bother either of them – they'd both been designed for far harsher environments than Earth's poles. But the wind carried ice crystals that stung Clark's exposed skin, now as vulnerable as any human's. Each gust sent needles of pain through his radiation-ravaged body. Krypto adjusted their path to use ice ridges as windbreaks whenever possible, his tactical understanding of their situation as clear as any trained rescue dog's.
The Fortress rose from the endless white like a fever dream, its crystal spires blurring in Clark's radiation-addled vision. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through his body. The triple radiation burned through his cells, turning even the weak Arctic sun into knives against his skin. But Krypto's steady presence beside him kept him moving forward, the shepherd maintaining that perfect tension on his cape - just enough to guide without choking.
Blood dripped onto pristine snow with each step, the copper taste thick on Clark's tongue. The last time he'd been here, just weeks ago before Gulmira, he'd flown in under his own power. Now he could barely walk.
The entrance recognized him anyway, crystals spiraling open with that familiar musical tone that always reminded him of wind chimes in a Kansas storm. Warm air rushed out to meet them, carrying the sharp clean scent of home - both the home he'd never known and the one he'd built here in the ice.
Krypto's claws clicked against crystal floors as he guided them inside. The shepherd's hackles rose at the wrongness of Clark's scent, at the sickly radiation still pouring off him in waves. When Kelex emerged from a side corridor, liquid metal form flowing with urgency, Krypto's growl carried no real threat - just raw protective instinct over his injured friend.
"It's okay, boy." Clark's fingers found white fur, drawing strength from the contact. The words came out wet and wrong. "Let them help."
More of the Fortress's inhabitants appeared, their forms adapting to the crisis. But it was Jor-El's hologram materializing beside them that made Clark's breath catch - his birth father's projected features carrying real fear for the first time since that night in the storm cellar.
"Kal-El." The crystalline voice held centuries of knowledge and a father's love. "The radiation readings..."
"Metallo." Clark tasted copper as he forced the name out. "Three cores... different types... working together somehow." His vision swam. "He's heading for Metropolis. For Lois. I have to..."
"You have to heal." Jor-El's tone left no room for argument as the Med-Units created a stable platform beneath Clark. "Your cellular structure is being actively rewritten. Even your healing cannot counter this without help."
They moved deeper into the Fortress, crystal corridors shifting to create the most efficient path. Krypto stayed close, occasionally brushing against the platform in ways that seemed accidental but somehow always provided support when Clark's balance wavered. The shepherd's ears remained in constant motion, tracking every sound, every movement.
The medical chamber hummed with energy as they transferred Clark into one of the healing pods. The crystal surface felt cool against his burning skin, already adapting to counter the foreign radiation eating through his cells. Through blurring vision, he saw Krypto plant himself firmly beside the pod, those intelligent eyes never leaving his face.
"Stay with him," he heard Jor-El tell Krypto, though the words seemed to come from very far away. "He will need your strength."
As consciousness finally began to slip away, Clark felt the Fortress's healing energies begin their work. Each pulse of light carried fragments of memory - that first day in the cornfield, running through Kansas summers together, Krypto standing guard outside his bedroom the night he first told Lana his secret. His faithful friend had been there for every moment, every triumph, every setback.
While Clark floated in healing stasis, the Fortress's lower chambers hummed with urgent activity. Jor-El's hologram stood before an ancient piece of Kryptonian battle armor, his projected form casting strange shadows across its scarred surface. The armor was one of many relics stored in the Fortress's archives - a remnant of Krypton's more militant age, when their people still waged wars instead of pursuing pure science.
"The radiation damage is worse than we anticipated," Kelex reported, liquid metal appendages carefully disassembling the armor's complex systems. "Even with the healing chamber at maximum power, his cellular recovery rate is significantly impaired."
"Then we adapt." Jor-El studied the armor's internal mechanisms with scientific precision. "This battle suit was designed to protect against extreme environments. With modifications, we can repurpose its absorption matrices to process yellow sun radiation instead of deflecting energy weapons."
The Fortress's fabrication systems whirred to life, crystal machinery precisely reconstructing the ancient technology. Where the armor had once been built for pure protection, now each component was being redesigned to harness and amplify the same solar energy that gave Clark his powers.
"The original power core was meant to shield the wearer from energy weapons," Jor-El noted as new circuitry threaded through the framework. "By inverting the entire collection system, we can create a solar battery that actively enhances his natural abilities instead."
Hours passed as they worked, the armor gradually transforming under their guidance. Its bulky military aesthetic gave way to streamlined efficiency, gold accents emerging along the limbs as focal points for the solar collection system. The chest plate, once plain Kryptonian metal, now bore the symbol of the House of El - not as decoration, but as the central node of the power distribution network.
"Solar absorption rates are exceeding projections," Kelex announced as the first tests began. "Power conversion efficiency at 312% of baseline. But the neural interface still requires significant calibration."
"Keep working." Jor-El's hologram moved between diagnostic displays, analyzing every aspect of the modification process. "The connection between suit and wearer must be seamless. We can't risk any delay in response time when he faces Metallo again."
The armor's rigid plates flowed like liquid metal as the Fortress's systems refined each component. Solar collectors wove through every layer, creating a network capable of storing and focusing exponentially more energy than Clark's natural biology could process. The House of El's crest pulsed with test charges, power flowing through pathways that would soon help protect Krypton's last son.
In the medical chamber above, Krypto's ears twitched at subtle changes in the healing pod's rhythms. The shepherd hadn't left his post since bringing Clark to the Fortress, those intelligent eyes tracking every fluctuation in his friend's vital signs. Even through the crystal barrier, he could sense the wrongness still lingering in Clark's cells from the triple radiation exposure.
The hours crept by as the armor's transformation continued. Each component had to be perfectly calibrated, every system tested and retested. The power levels they were dealing with would have overwhelmed ordinary materials - only Kryptonian metallurgy could handle the concentrated solar energy the suit would need to process.
"Final diagnostics are complete," Kelex reported as the last modifications fell into place. "Solar absorption networks operating at maximum efficiency. Neural interface ready for initial calibration. The suit should provide significant protection against kryptonite radiation, though not complete immunity."
"It will have to be enough," Jor-El said quietly, studying the finished armor. It barely resembled the ancient battle suit they'd started with - now it looked like liquid starlight given form, power humming through every line and curve.
A sound cut through their work - distant but clear through the Fortress's audio pickup systems. A woman's voice, carried from thousands of miles away, filled with equal parts fear and determination:
"Clark!"
Lois' scream echoed through the crystal chambers, raw and desperate. In the medical pod above, Clark's eyes snapped open, blazing red with barely contained power.