[Third Person's PoV]
Clark and Zastin didn't need to exchange another word. Tension snapped like a drawn wire as they charged at one another, their movements blurring into near invisibility. The air cracked with pressure as they zigzagged between the remaining trees dotting the small island, their footfalls barely audible compared to the roar of their impact.
They met in the center with the force of a meteor strike. Zastin's sword carved through the air with deadly precision, aiming directly for Clark's neck. But Clark twisted just in time, the blade slicing through empty space and instead cleaving the thick trunk of a nearby tree cleanly in two.
As the massive tree began to topple, Clark seized it mid-fall with a single hand. Without missing a beat, he swung the entire log like a club, slamming it into Zastin's side. The force shattered the wood on impact, sending splinters and shards flying in a wooden explosion.
Zastin staggered back, unfazed for long. With a powerful shout, he retaliated, bringing his sword down in a blinding diagonal arc. Clark responded quickly—his arm shot up and caught Zastin's wrists mid-swing, stopping the sword just inches from his chest.
With a sharp twist, Clark drove his fist into Zastin's side, followed by a punishing uppercut that cracked through the air like thunder. The hit connected squarely with Zastin's jaw, sending him skidding backward across the torn-up ground.
But Zastin wasn't out yet. Snapping back into motion, he began slashing at the air with rapid, calculated strokes. Each swing of his blade released a shockwave of compressed energy, dozens of them launching forward in a blinding barrage aimed directly at Clark.
Clark's eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, before unleashing a concentrated blast of icy breath. The freezing wind collided with the incoming energy waves, instantly crystallizing them into glittering ice constructs. As the frozen attacks closed in, Clark raised one hand and shattered them with a single dismissive slap, shards of glittering ice flying in all directions.
Their battle reached a fever pitch as both combatants began moving with relentless speed. The ground around them froze over from Clark's breath, a thin layer of frost glistening beneath their feet. Still, Clark intensified his assault. His breath grew colder, heavier—every slash Zastin sent his way froze in midair and shattered away with a slap.
Before Zastin could regroup, Clark clapped his hands together with earth-shaking force. A concussive shockwave erupted outward, obliterating the frozen attacks and blasting Zastin backward with such power that trees bent from the gust.
Zastin flipped mid-air, landing sideways against the trunk of a thick tree. Without hesitation, he launched himself forward again with a thunderous boom, the tree exploding behind him from the sudden pressure. Sword in hand, he became a silver streak as he aimed straight for Clark.
Clark arched his back, bending at a perfect ninety-degree angle as Zastin soared just above him. But before Zastin could clear the pass, Clark's fist rocketed upward into his torso, slamming into his gut like a piston. The impact knocked the air out of Zastin's lungs and redirected his flight upward in a ragdoll spiral.
Reacting instantly, Clark straightened and grabbed Zastin by the waist before he could fly out of reach. With a grunt, he slammed the warrior down in a crushing tackle. The ground trembled as Clark curled a leg behind him, driving Zastin into the dirt with brutal force.
The breath was completely knocked out of Zastin, who coughed violently as he hit the ground. His sword slipped from his grip and clattered across the field, landing several meters away.
"Woah… Superman is amazing…" Peke murmured from the sidelines, eyes wide in awe. "Commander Zastin is by no means weak, but he's being completely outmatched."
Lala beamed with pride, her chest puffed out proudly. "Of course he's amazing… He's Superman!"
"You know," Momo chimed in, her legs crossed as she floated effortlessly above the ground, cheek resting against her fist, "that commander of yours isn't anything to scoff at either."
Lala tilted her head. "Hm? How so?"
"Well, from my perspective, there's no one out there faster or stronger than Clark," Momo explained, eyes locked on the fight below. "But this Zastin guy… He's actually keeping up. He's tanking hit after hit and still going. That kind of durability and endurance is incredible."
Back on the battlefield, Clark raised a fist and brought it down like a hammer aimed for Zastin's head. But at the last second, Zastin twisted his head to the side, and Clark's fist crashed into the ground instead. The earth cracked beneath the blow, spiderweb fractures spreading in every direction.
In the same motion, Zastin grabbed Clark's arm and yanked himself upward, slamming both feet into Clark's chest with the force of a battering ram. The blow forced Clark to stagger backward, his expression tightening with a grimace. Yet, Zastin clung to his arm and used the momentum to swing upward.
Without hesitation, Zastin delivered a savage headbutt that collided squarely with Clark's forehead. The clash rang out like a church bell, leaving both fighters momentarily dazed—an exchange of brute force that left the air crackling with tension.
"Ugh! What is your head made of…?" Zastin groaned, clutching his forehead, a grimace etched across his bruised features.
Clark winced and rubbed his own face, feeling the sting of the impact. "I could ask you the same thing," he muttered through clenched teeth.
They shook off the pain with matching growls, and without a moment's hesitation, charged at each other once more with renewed ferocity.
Their fists collided in a whirlwind of strikes, too fast for the human eye to track. Shockwaves rippled through the air with each connection, the very earth trembling beneath their feet. Both of their capes whipped violently in the storm of their clash, like banners caught in a gale.
Zastin raised an arm to deflect a powerful punch from Clark, then retaliated—landing two clean strikes across Clark's face. But the third punch was caught mid-swing, Clark's fingers snapping shut around Zastin's fist like a vice. Without pause, Clark drove his knuckles into Zastin's gut, and the alien commander's armor groaned and cracked, falling off in metallic flakes.
"Argh!!" Zastin wheezed, the breath knocked out of him.
Clark didn't let up. He stomped down on Zastin's foot, pinning him in place with crushing force. Then came the flurry—a barrage of punches slammed into Zastin's face, each one turning his head in a different direction. Blood burst from his features with every hit, splattering to the ground and staining Clark's fists.
Reeling, Zastin ducked beneath a particularly savage blow and brought his arms up in a tight boxer's guard. Gritting his teeth, he surged upward, slamming a devastating uppercut into Clark's jaw.
Clark was launched backward. He twisted in mid-air and landed hard, shattering the earth beneath him. As the dust settled, his face lifted—eyes burning with resolve, he moved his tongue around his cheek and spat a drop of blood.
Zastin was already on the move, charging forward with relentless intent, a battle cry tearing from his throat.
He unleashed his own counteroffensive, repaying every hit Clark had delivered. His fists blurred as they pummeled into Clark's head and shoulders, causing the Man of Steel's head to jerk side to side with brutal force. Spit flew from Clark's mouth with every impact.
Then, suddenly, Clark took a step back and caught both of Zastin's fists mid-swing. He grinned, his expression fierce, eyes starting to glow a deep, menacing red.
"I hope Deviluke has warm weather," Clark said, voice low and dangerous. "Because this is going to sting."
With a roar, he unleashed a searing beam of heat from his eyes. The concussive blast slammed into Zastin, sending him skidding violently along the ground. Dirt and debris erupted around him as he was dragged back, his body carving a deep groove in the earth.
Zastin cried out in pain, his armor scorching and his skin blistering under the relentless heat. His hands flailed across the ground, desperately searching for something—anything. His fingers brushed the familiar hilt of his sword.
"ARGHHHHHH!!!" Zastin roared, stabbing the blade down into the ground in front of him.
The crimson beam split against the sword's edge, dividing into two streams that veered off in opposite directions, continuing to scorch the earth but sparing Zastin from further destruction. His momentum slowed, and finally, he came to a stop—knees buried in the dirt, arms trembling violently.
He stayed crouched there, his body wrecked, his breath ragged and sharp. Blood streamed down his face, mixing with sweat and dirt. One of his eyes remained shut from swelling, while the other glared forward with raw determination. Steam rose from his scorched abdomen, his trembling hand still gripping the sword as though it were the only thing keeping him upright.
Clark halted his heat vision and exhaled slowly. Vapor hissed from the corners of his eyes as the glow faded. He opened them and surveyed the aftermath. A massive 'Y'-shaped scar had been carved into the battlefield, with Zastin kneeling at the fork—charred and battered.
"Surrender," Clark said calmly, his tone even and clear. "You stand no chance against me. You've lost."
Zastin grit his teeth, his body shivering from pain and exhaustion. Slowly, with agonizing effort, he pushed himself back to his feet. Every movement was a struggle, but he endured it, refusing to collapse.
"Apologies… but I can do no such thing," Zastin rasped. "I am my King's sword. To surrender would be to bring shame upon his name."
He raised his weapon again, blood dripping from his fingers, and took a combat stance—legs wobbling but rooted in sheer willpower.
"I will continue to fight and never surrender… so long as breath remains in my lungs."
Clark closed his eyes briefly and sighed. 'How stubborn… But I can't deny that his will is admirable. Still…'
He opened his eyes again, gaze steady. "Very well," he said as he took his own fighting stance, his respect for Zastin clear in his stance. "Then I'll teach you… that at some point, all swords have a breaking point."
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