Clark sensed something wasn't right.
"Adrian, can you go any faster?" he asked, gripping the back of Adrian's suit as they cut through the dark sky.
They were flying above Metropolis, but Adrian's pace was barely quicker than a large bird's.
Clark wasn't afraid of heights, but the sensation of being carried through the air still felt strange.
"If I speed up, I'm afraid you'll fall right off," Adrian said with a cold glance down at Clark's grip.
It was funny to Clark, because he'd always imagined Superman carrying others through the sky, never being the one carried. Even though he couldn't hug Adrian, the reversal of roles left him with an odd feeling.
"I wonder when I'll learn to fly," Clark said, a touch of melancholy in his voice.
Adrian barely reacted. "I once had a similar experience," he said. "One day I woke and found myself above my bed without touching the ground. It was… surprising."
Clark remembered the story Adrian had once told him about that strange early moment, how he had floated just above his mattress and accidentally shattered it.
"If you ever learn to fly," Adrian continued, his tone flat but thoughtful, "it might mean you've fully matured."
Clark knew how powerful he could eventually become. In future battles against threats like Darkseid or the Anti-Monitor, Clark had risen to meet every cosmic danger. When he learned to fly, it would mark a major turning point in his powers — possibly greater than anything Adrian had achieved so far.
Adrian felt that truth keenly. If Clark's strength outpaced his own, their dynamic could change completely.
The wind buffeted around them as they landed in a deserted alley near Metropolis's underbelly.
"Is this the so-called Thug Gang territory?" Adrian asked, eyes scanning the shadows.
"Yes. Last time I was here there were more people," Clark replied, glancing around warily.
Adrian activated his enhanced vision. His gaze pierced darkness and walls alike, revealing the interiors of buildings. Bars, apartments, even the headquarters of this gang — nothing was hidden from his sight.
Inside the cramped headquarters, a gang leader was explaining recent developments to someone cloaked in darkness.
"We found him," the bald gang leader said nervously, "He's not ordinary. Bullets don't affect him, and he moves like the wind."
The shadowed figure did not react.
Suddenly, Adrian and Clark entered the dim room.
"It sounds like you're planning something big," Adrian said casually.
The bald man stared wide-eyed at Clark behind Adrian. "You… how did you get in here? Where are my guards?"
Adrian shook his head. "They've already been dealt with."
Before he could react, Adrian reached forward, grabbed the bald man by the neck, and lifted him easily.
"This arrow — is it from your group?" Adrian demanded, holding up the black arrowhead.
The gang leader choked for breath, fear flashing in his eyes. He had expected this stranger to be another ordinary thug, not someone with strength matching Clark's.
"It was just a warning," he managed between gasps, "We didn't mean to hurt anybody!"
Clark felt uneasy under the man's gaze. He remembered his agreement with Adrian to stay quiet, so he looked away.
Adrian didn't relent. "Another question. Are you a gang or a terrorist organization?"
"We're just a gang!" the man blurted, eyes darting.
Adrian released his grip and stepped back. A hooded figure seated across the room rose slowly, arms crossed.
"Either you die now, or you still might have a chance," the masked man said with chilling calm.
Adrian didn't flinch. "I think the choice is yours." Then with a swift motion, he struck the gang leader's neck, and the man fell dead without a sound.
The hooded man's heart raced with fear and caution. He had never faced someone so fast and utterly ruthless.
Within moments he drew his bow, releasing a sharp arrow toward Adrian.
Adrian caught it mid-flight, gripping it in his palm as easily as if it were standing still.
"Is that all your arrows can do?" Adrian said coldly as he dropped it to the floor.
"Prepare to die," the hooded man snarled, but before he could move, Adrian was on him in an instant.
The hooded man leaped back, pulling another black arrow from his quiver, but Adrian was too fast. In a blur, the arrow he had drawn from the man's hand pierced the other's shoulder, the titanium blade lodging deep into muscle tissue.
Pain and fear washed over the hooded man at once. He had trained with the League of Assassins, he prided himself on combat skill, but this opponent was unlike anything he'd faced.
Adrian stood over him, eyes cold. "Now," he said, "tell me your name."
The hooded man, clutching his wound, gasped out, "Malcolm Merlyn."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. Malcolm Merlyn is a deadly archer villain in the DC Universe, long associated with the League of Assassins, and one of Green Arrow's most notorious enemies.
"You're from the League of Assassins," Adrian said flatly.
Malcolm nodded weakly.
"I've heard of your reputation," Adrian said with slight amusement. Then he pressed his advantage.
"What was the plan you just mentioned?"
Malcolm, trembling with fear, spilled everything he knew. Plans to disrupt cities, obscure conspiracies, plots tied to Gotham — it was too much for one man to bear under pressure.
Adrian listened impassively. He wasn't interested in large ideological schemes, not here and not now. Yet one detail caught his attention: the presence of a figure known only as Ninja Master — said to have access to Lazarus Pits capable of restorative effects.
Adrian's crimson eyes glowed, not from emotion, but calculation. "When Ninja Master shows up in Gotham, make sure you contact me," he instructed.
Suddenly, a beam of heat vision shot from Adrian's eyes, cutting the room horizontally. Several loyal gang members entering were instantly incinerated, their bodies severed. The smell of blood and heat filled the room.
Clark looked away, deeply disturbed. He knew this was part of who Adrian was — ruthless, unstoppable, unfiltered — but even he struggled to watch it.
Adrian turned to Malcolm one last time. "If you have secrets, don't hide them. You'll end up like the others."
He marked Malcolm's body with a tracking sigil before leaving — every movement now under his surveillance.
Clark followed silently, unsettled by the violence but knowing he had no authority to judge.
"Alright, Clark," Adrian said once they were outside, "you're free to speak now."
Clark hesitated, then asked, "Do you know Ninja Master?"
Adrian smirked. "He's a boastful old ghost, not someone I'm worried about yet."
Clark nodded, concern flickering in his eyes. "Will Malcolm cause trouble later?"
"No," Adrian said simply. "He's smart, but not smart enough."