"Yes, Clark's brother. I never imagined Eric would have such talent. Although it's strange, absurd, and incomprehensible, it possesses an inexplicable mysterious power!"
Lana handed Aunt Neil a few manuscripts. "These are illustrations Eric drew. I think they're very similar to his writing."
"The drawings and the writing give the same feeling, as if he didn't create them, but rather presented what was in his mind using these two mediums."
Lana had been reading Eric's manuscripts and writings recently, even constantly checking related documents online, and she was in an excited state.
"Especially this piece, 'The Shadow Over Innsmouth,' which mentions a type of merfolk—the Deep Ones of the Trench Kingdom. I searched online, and some people claimed to have seen similar creatures."
"Lana!"
Aunt Neil, sensing that Lana's mental state wasn't quite right, stopped her from speaking.
"Such things are not suitable for you right now."
Neil glanced at the drawing in her hand, which depicted an indecipherable color of night and was labeled "Arkham," then said to Lana, "These dark, madness-filled, and reason-depriving articles and paintings are like an abyss. If you stare into it for too long, the abyss will also stare into you. Lana, at your age, you are not suitable for reading such articles."
"Like the investigators mentioned in it? They pursue the truth and end up tragically, losing their sanity and going mad the closer they get to the truth."
Lana was not as obsessed and crazy as Neil had thought; on the contrary, she was very calm.
"Aunt Neil, do you remember the diary Mom showed me before? It was her diary from when she was in high school, at the same age as me. During the summer vacation, Mom and her classmates formed an expedition team to look for the Goatman of Louisville. Although the closure of the North Fork railway led to them finding nothing, she wrote this adventure in her diary."
"Perhaps I inherited some of Mom's curiosity."
Lana smiled at Aunt Neil. "But obviously, I'm the kind of person who prefers to direct my curiosity towards books rather than actions, so Aunt Neil, you don't have to worry that I'll impulsively go investigate these existences."
"You're always so sensible, Lana."
Aunt Neil reached out and stroked Lana's hair with relief.
"Oh, by the way, Aunt Neil, don't you know someone at Metropolis Publishing House? Can you try to contact them? Maybe Eric's works can be published."
Lana quickly started planning for publication.
"Hmm,"
Neil hesitated for a moment. "The artistic and commercial value of these texts and illustrations is not low; there might really be a chance for publication. However, don't have too high expectations. I'm just helping you ask."
"Of course."
Lana, with a beaming smile, linked arms with Aunt Neil. "I knew Aunt Neil would definitely help me."
That night.
The dinner atmosphere at the Kent's was particularly somber tonight.
Eric, however, continued to calmly enjoy the delicious thick soup.
The thick soup, made of shelled oyster meat, flour, diced potatoes, onions, and pepper, surprisingly suited his taste.
Clark lowered his head, quietly eating the fried onion rings in front of him.
"I saw you playing, Clark."
Jonathan stood up, carried the empty plates to the kitchen, and casually said to Clark:
"You can easily hurt ordinary people. This superhuman strength is very easy for you to lose control of."
Clark looked up and retorted to his father, "The point is, I didn't! Why do we always have this meaningless conversation?"
"Because it's necessary!"
"I think you don't trust me."
Clark said, not backing down.
Eric, having finished his thick soup, listened to their argument with no ripples in his heart, continuing to deal with the fried shrimp in front of him.
He had grown accustomed to Clark and his father's arguments.
But for some reason, their argument quickly involved him.
"Eric refused Coach Watt, and there's no reason why you can't, Clark."
Jonathan brought up Eric's refusal to join the football team under Coach Watt.
"Actually, Coach Watt couldn't tolerate me never attending team practices."
Eric put down the fried shrimp he had picked up, saying calmly.
When he first entered Smallville High School, he was invited by Coach Watt to join the football team.
However, because football had become a challenge-free existence for him, he proposed the condition of "not attending practice."
The result, of course, was that Coach Watt refused.
Eric's sharp words silenced both Clark and Jonathan.
"Ring-a-ling!"
Just as the living room fell into an eerie silence, the phone rang.
Jonathan let out a long breath, and to escape the awkward silence, he picked up the phone.
After saying a few words to the person on the other end, he hung up.
"Looks like we'll be busy tonight."
Jonathan took his jacket from the hanger. "Old Harris squeezed his finger due to clumsy operation. His tractor is parked 30 miles from his farm, and I have to go help him drive it back."
"Let Eric drive you."
Martha worriedly looked at the gloomy sky outside, took the car keys from the drawer, and handed them to Eric. "There's a good chance of rain tonight; remember not to be too late."
"Uh-huh, that depends on how tricky the situation is."
Jonathan put on his coat and smiled at Martha.
After the father and son came out, Eric started the old Ford car and drove his father towards Harris's farm.
"Phew!"
Jonathan sat in the passenger seat, letting out a sigh of helplessness, and said to Eric, "Your mother must be at home playing peacemaker and comforting Clark now. Sometimes, she'll side with Clark against me."
Eric estimated that his father's "full of grievances" had been held back for a long time. While driving the car, he casually said, "Men and women have different distributions of rationality and emotion, so it's natural for them to have different views on the same matter."
"Uh-huh, Martha says I'm rude and impolite on one hand, and then tells Clark he must be prepared to accept his mistakes on the other. That's more like a fence-sitting approach."
Jonathan hadn't finished speaking when a sudden change occurred!
Eric's eyes suddenly sharpened. In an instant, before Jonathan could react, he slammed on the brakes and turned the steering wheel to the left.
"Screech!"
The car made a violent friction sound on the road, drifting sideways to the left side of the road at high speed.
With his super reaction and learning abilities, his experience in driving was comparable to a twenty-year veteran driver.
The old Ford's body hadn't fully drifted to the left side of the road when a dazzling, rapidly moving fireball came towards the center of the road!
The rushing flame seemed to be a burning car!?