"This is what we found inside the ship when Clark's spacecraft arrived."
Jonathan handed the "Magic Stone" to Peter.
"It followed Clark here. Perhaps... it's connected to his origins."
Jonathan spoke with a complicated expression. "I believe that one day, Clark will embark on a journey to find his purpose in life. When that time comes, I plan to give this to him."
As Peter listened, he carefully examined the object in his hand, which the witches had referred to as the "Magic Stone."
"I suspect it might be a key—a key to unlocking a 'Fortress of Secrets.'"
He suddenly recalled the Kryptonian spaceship buried in the Arctic.
Maybe this "Magic Stone," which had followed Clark, was the key to activating that ship.
Although he wasn't sure of its exact location, he could have Martian Manhunter search the Arctic for it.
"A Fortress of Secrets?"
Jonathan repeated Peter's words, falling into deep thought.
Beside him, Martha poured Peter a cup of coffee and said, "Clark isn't ready yet. I don't agree with giving this to him so soon."
"He shouldn't bear too much responsibility at his age. Right now, I just want him to focus on school, family, and enjoying his life."
Martha voiced her concerns with a hint of sorrow.
"Yes, he doesn't need to carry any burdens—at least not yet."
Peter nodded and handed the "Magic Stone" back to Jonathan. "Keep it safe. I know some people are after it."
"Who?"
Jonathan looked at him, puzzled.
"Witches."
Peter then explained how a witch had possessed Lana.
After hearing his story, the couple exchanged uneasy glances.
"Witches... they actually exist?"
Martha looked at Peter in shock.
Peter took a sip of coffee and replied, "If aliens and de-aging are real, then witches don't seem all that unbelievable, do they?"
Jonathan studied the crystal in his hand. "I never imagined it could be connected to the Magic Stone… the Philosopher's Stone."
Then he turned to Peter and asked, "Does this mean that Clark's ancestors came to Earth a long time ago? That's how the witches discovered these stones?"
Peter nodded. "Something like that. The witches found that these crystals greatly enhance magical power, so they named them Philosopher's Stones."
After a brief hesitation, Jonathan handed the crystal to Peter.
"I think it'll be safer with you, Peter."
Peter didn't refuse. He accepted the crystal, his eyes narrowing as he studied the faint glow emanating from within. He could feel a subtle warmth radiating from it.
Meanwhile, Star-Lord had just finished buying batteries at the supermarket and was heading home.
The evening light bled into the darkening sky as the sun set and the moon rose.
Listening to his Walkman, he strolled down a secluded path.
Glancing up, he noticed a North American pitch pine by the roadside.
This species thrived in harsh environments, often appearing stunted and twisted.
Star-Lord recalled his father telling him that these trees, after surviving forest fires, would grow strong and dominate their surroundings, eliminating weaker competitors.
He also remembered that pitch pine forests were said to be the home of the Jersey Devil—a creature with the head of a donkey and the wings of a bat, much like a Chupacabra.
"Let's hope I don't run into a Chupacabra tonight."
Muttering to himself, he continued walking.
Before long, he noticed a group of teenagers gathered ahead, their laughter echoing through the quiet street.
Curious, Star-Lord approached to see what was going on.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
The group was torturing frogs with craft knives.
A Black teen wearing a white baseball cap was at the center, slicing a frog's head off with his knife. Blood spurted as the head and body separated, falling to the ground.
The surrounding kids didn't stop him—instead, they cheered and whistled.
Outraged by the cruelty, Star-Lord shouted, "Stop! What the hell are you doing?"
The group turned toward him.
"This ain't your business, fatass. Get lost!"
The Black teen in the baseball cap spat on the ground and raised his craft knife threateningly.
"Why are you doing this?"
Star-Lord clenched his fists, struggling to contain his anger. "Frogs are living creatures too. Why would you kill them like this?"
"Because..."
The kid in the baseball cap walked up to Star-Lord and flicked the bloody knife, splattering his face with red.
"Because I feel like it."
A smirk spread across his face.
"What? You got a problem with that, fatass?"
Without hesitation, Star-Lord wiped the blood off his face—and then punched him.
Hard.
His fist connected squarely with the kid's nose.
With a sickening crunch, blood gushed out as the kid staggered back, clutching his face in shock.
Seeing his own blood on his hands, he let out a furious scream.
"Get him! Beat the crap out of him!"
The man in the baseball cap clutched his nose and shouted at his companions.
Hearing their friend's voice, the remaining gang members snapped out of their daze and charged toward Star-Lord.
With a furious roar, Star-Lord grabbed the nearest thug's arm and slammed him to the ground.
As another opponent rushed at him from behind, he quickly turned around, using a technique he had learned from Martian Manhunter. He seized the attacker's arm and drove his elbow hard into the man's chest.
Chaos erupted as both sides clashed in a fierce brawl.
Even though Star-Lord didn't tap into his Celestial energy, he still overwhelmed his opponents, forcing them to retreat.
Just as the "Frog Killers" were on the verge of collapse, another group of tall, burly men arrived, drawn by the commotion.
These newcomers were upperclassmen—the reinforcements for the "Frog Killers."
With a resounding thud, Star-Lord sent one of the charging thugs flying with a kick.
Before he could react, someone grabbed him from behind. Another attacker, showing no sense of honor, sucker-punched him in the ribs.
Staggering back, Star-Lord found himself swarmed by a group of assailants, pinned down and unable to move.
His rage surged, white light flickering in his eyes as his Celestial energy threatened to burst forth.
But the next second, he caught sight of a figure rushing into the fray.
As he got a clearer look, the glow in his eyes faded instantly, his mouth slightly agape.
Of all people… John had come to help him fight?!
Hadn't they just been arguing that morning?
John joined the battle without hesitation, grabbing the arm of a massive thug and slamming a fist into the man's chest.
Thud! The guy immediately collapsed to his knees, retching violently.
Expressionless, John turned and struck the nearest young man, sending him crashing to the ground, howling in pain.
In less than ten seconds, John had beaten every single one of them into groaning heaps on the floor.
As Star-Lord stood there, stunned, and the defeated thugs moaned in agony, John walked over to the man in the baseball cap, towering over him before pressing a foot down on his head.
Feeling the increasing pressure, the baseball cap guy let out a pained scream.
"No! Please, please, please—don't do this! Spare me!"
He pleaded desperately as John's foot bore down.
John lifted his foot slightly, then glanced at a dead frog lying nearby. His voice was cold: "Get up. Shove that dead frog into your mouth, or I'll shove it up your ass."
Seeing the terrifying look on John's face, the man in the baseball cap was convinced he wasn't bluffing. Trembling, he shuffled over to the lifeless frog, picked up a headless one, and—fighting back his disgust—forced it into his mouth.
Urgh!
He barely chewed twice before gagging, vomiting everything—including his lunch—onto the ground.
Watching the pathetic display, John shook his head. "You're just a useless, ordinary, pathetic bastard."
He cast one last glance at the rest of the terrified "Frog Killers," then turned and walked away.
Finally snapping out of his daze, Star-Lord quickly followed after him.
"Thanks, John."
He walked alongside John, his gratitude sincere.
"No, no, no."
John turned to him, wagging a finger. "I didn't help you, Star-Lord."
"If you lost control and accidentally killed them, Dad would be the one in trouble."
John made his stance clear. "And I have no interest in watching Dad pack up the family and flee to Mexico."
Even though John said that, Star-Lord was at least 90% sure he was just being stubborn.
"Whatever the reason, you helped me, so I'm thanking you, brother."
"Wait a minute."
John suddenly stopped and held up a hand, a puzzled look on his face. "What did you just call me?"
"John. I called you—John."
Star-Lord coughed, pretending it was nothing.
"No, before that. I think you called me… 'brother'?"
John stepped closer, cupping a hand behind his ear. "Mind repeating that?"
"You must've misheard, John."
"Oh? I do have super hearing."
"Well, super hearing doesn't mean you hear everything."
Star-Lord played dumb.
"Whatever. But next time something like this happens, I suggest you cool your head first—so you don't charge in like an idiot."
John exhaled, his mood seemingly lighter, before turning back toward the road.
That Night, at the Podrick Farm
As Peter arrived home, he noticed a police car parked outside, along with several unfamiliar people.
"Officer Ryan?"
Peter looked at the officer, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, and asked curiously, "What's going on?"
"You should ask them."
Ryan's gaze shifted toward Star-Lord and John.
...
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