Beside Clark stood a stack of metal disks, each about two feet in diameter. Clark picked one up and turned to the cliff. Hundreds of feet below, the waves crashed into the rocks and sent spray up in the air. He tensed his muscles, then flung the disk like a frisbee. Aiming about thirty degrees above the horizon.

Boom!

The air shattered as the projectile broke the sound barrier almost immediately after leaving Clark's hand. It seemed that whatever his body did to suppress shockwaves didn't work for something not in contact with him.

A fraction of a second later, when it was hundreds of feet away, Clark's eyes blazed bright red. He unleashed his heat vision. He was accurate enough that by the time the beam reached the disk, it was only a little larger than the projectile's diameter. Almost a full second later, the only remains of the disk were bits of red-hot slag falling into the ocean.

Each disk had a mass of about twenty kilograms and was made of a titanium alloy. It had taken Clark time to get a handle on exactly how much power to put in his heat vision to destroy them. Now that he had the intensity, he needed to work on accuracy.

"Hell, that was loud." Qrow's voice emitted from the transmitter in Clark's ear. "That was you trying to mute it?"

"Yep." Clark responded. The huntsman was a safe distance away from the shockwaves, too far to speak to him normally. They'd learned from Clark's early, fully unleashed punches that it wasn't safe to be nearby.

Which was why they were about fifty miles from Vale in the Grimmlands, and why they were using transmitters rather than scrolls. There wasn't any signal out here.

It would have been nice if they could use The Emerald Forest, but too many students were going there to train for the Vytal Festival. Clark would have been able to hear any that came by, but he couldn't afford the interruptions.

Besides, if that boom had been in the Emerald Forest it might have been heard from Vale. That would draw too much attention.

Clark launched another disk, accompanied by another sonic boom. He repeated the process of obliterating it with his heat vision. This time he was more successful, and hardly any of it remained.

The nearby wildlife fled at the sudden blasts. Clark heard the squirrels chitter away and birds nervously tweet their departure. Some soft footsteps bounded away too, different from the ones Clark was used to hearing. Rabbits?

This was also a good test of his hearing. So far away from Vale, he couldn't even make out conversations. He could detect the hum of the city though, which was mostly traffic.

This far out, Clark wouldn't be able to tell if the phantom was in the city. It was the middle of the day, which would hopefully deter him. Although if that didn't stop him, Ozpin and the others wouldn't even be able to call Clark to come and help.

At least not by scroll. There was still a way to contact him. The general had prepared a sound generator that would produce a resounding tone with a frequency of 45,000 cycles per second. Clark would hear something that distinct and loud even from this distance.

With Clark's attention back on his immediate surroundings, he heard weighty steps approach. Seemed like the booms hadn't scared everything away. From the sound, it was . . . an Ursa. Clark recognized the rhythm of its gait. He could hear claws digging into the earth, and it definitely had four legs. Beowolves were different, they put most of their power in their hind legs even when they got down on all fours. This sounded more balanced.

Clark heard Qrow dash at the Grimm hundreds of feet in the forest behind the cliff. A roar filled the forest, an Ursa, confirming Clark's assessment. A weapon sliced into its flesh, cutting off the roar and all the other sounds it made. Its heartbeat and breathing halted as it died and faded away.

Clark brought a finger to his ear to activate the transmitter. "Thanks." He said.

"What for?" asked Qrow. He didn't wait for Clark to answer. "Oh right, you heard all that. No problem, I'd be useless here if one didn't show up to bother you."

"Hey, your advice is still helpful."

"Really, my nonexistent advice on how to shoot lasers out of your eyes? Or throw things hard?"

"You know what I mean." Clark referred to the man's combat knowledge.

Despite Qrow's joke, the huntsman had actually helped Clark with his heat vision. He'd recommended guns Clark could use to improve his aim and temperature control. Single bullets, even high-speed sniper rounds, were too easy for Clark to vaporize. Shotgun shells, on the other hand, had been challenging. There were so many bullets spread out in each shot, and Ms. Goodwitch would only deem his attempts acceptable if he managed to destroy all of them without burning his surroundings.

Lots of cardboard had burned from his dozens of tries, placed to mark the spots where his aim went wild. Eventually though, he'd even managed to keep them intact.

Another supersonic toss propelled a metal disk into the clear blue sky. Seconds later it was nowhere to be found.

The problem with training with bullets was that both Clark and the phantom were faster than them. The phantom especially, during their fight, his flight had eclipsed Clark's full sprint. Heat vision was Clark's only ability that had the range to hit the phantom mid-air and was almost guaranteed hit him.

It was likely that only high-intensity beams would even affect the phantom, which were harder to control. Clark had pretty much mastered using them for bullets, but with those the beams were too focused on small objects. He'd need the same intensity in a wider beam, which required a lot more power.

Which was why he was here, throwing disks in a variety of arcs to simulate the phantom's speed. Short of some heavy artillery, only Clark could make an object go that fast.

After a few more throws, Clark had to wait a little while before using his heat vision again. His eyes didn't hurt, but there was a sort of itch behind them. He tried to blink the sensation away, and it took several seconds before he was fine again.

He continued. The pile dwindled, and eventually ran out.

"Is it safe to come out?" asked Qrow.

"Don't worry sir, no more boom-booms." Clark said, grinned wide.

"There better not be." Qrow walked out of the forest and took out his earpiece. "You want to work on hand-to-hand now?"

"Actually, I think I'm good on that front for now. Ms. Goodwitch assessed my stances and attacks at full speed. She thought they were good."

"Full speed? How did she do that?"

"With a high-speed camera." Clark said. "I basically punched and kicked the air while it recorded me, and she looked over the footage."

"And she thought they were good enough?"

"Yep."

"Huh, she's not an easy woman to impress. Still, don't let it get to your head." Qrow warned. "That's in a classroom. In a real fight it's a lot different. Too bad you can't really spar with anyone as fast as your evil twin."

Evil twin. Qrow wouldn't change his name for the phantom, no matter how many times Clark told him how painfully unfunny it was.

Clark didn't even mention it this time. The huntsman had a point, Clark had sparred with Ms. Goodwitch and Qrow, but he lacked knowledge of fighting someone else like him. It was awkward reining in his perception speed to human levels when sparring. He couldn't give them his all, and training like that wouldn't be much help when both he and the phantom would probably be supersonic for much of their fight.

"Though I actually am planning to spar with someone." Clark said. "I talked it over with Penny, the general's robot, the last time I met. She's pretty strong and tough."

"That's good I guess, even if she's probably nowhere near as fast. Anyway, how's training your other abilities coming along?"

"Good, by now I can make a steam cover in a couple seconds. Plus, I can direct all of my breath abilities more accurately."

"And from what I saw, your heat vision's getting even better." Qrow noted. "By the way, what about flight?"

Clark cocked his head slightly. "What about it?"

"All this time we've been working on training you to fight your double assuming that you're on the ground while he zips through the air. You'd have a better chance if you could even the playing field, but you haven't really explained much about whether or not you can."

"Is it really that important?" asked Clark. Right now, he'd prefer to avoid the question of his flight capabilities.

"A lot." Qrow said bluntly. "Besides how great flying is - and trust me I know - what if he tries to fly away and you can't follow. Like over the ocean or something?"

"Well . . . I can run on water." Clark added.

Qrow gave him a doubting look, his eyes narrowed. "Are you serious?"

Clark nodded.

"Since when?"

"I only knew for sure on my way here." Clark explained. "I tried going over the river out of Vale. If I go fast enough, the water can . . . support me somehow."

Qrow shook his head. "So that's another item on the list of things you can do. What's next? Moving things with your mind?"

"Hey, I was surprised too. It wouldn't have occurred to me to actually try it if I hadn't seen someone else do it."

Qrow's eyes widened. "Who?"

"A friend of mine back home. Someone who's actually faster than me." Clark said, recalling the impromptu race between him and Bart before the speedster had left. "Anyway, that's not important. The point is, I can chase the phantom over water."

"Fine, but we've already worked out a lot of flight combat advantages. It doesn't look good for you if he has them and you don't."

Qrow wasn't wrong. The phantom wouldn't get off-balance, footwork would hardly matter to him, and he could gain leverage over Clark from any position. Flying was also faster than running. While the phantom could retreat, Clark would be hard-pressed to do the same.

"I know." Clark answered. "But the question 'can I fly' doesn't have a simple yes or no answer."

Qrow sighed and took out his flask. "I'm all ears."

Clark quirked an eyebrow at the alcohol.

"What?" The huntsman kept a handle on its cap. "I'm about to listen to an alien telling me why he can't fly, I'm pretty sure that deserves a drink to take in."

"You can fly by turning into a bird. Why is my situation that much different?"

"That," Qrow emphasized with a pointed finger. "is not at all the same. At least I have wings to flap instead of just simply defying gravity."

Clark glanced back down at the flask.

"Fine." Qrow grumbled and put it back into his pouch.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

At that, they both sat down near the edge of the cliff. Clark explained his convoluted history of flight. How it had begun when he'd woken up one day when he was fourteen, floating a foot above his bed. The dreams had started after that, the ones calling him to his ship and the caves below Smallville. There had been nights where he'd wake up in the middle of the street, and he wasn't sure whether his feet had ever touched the ground during those times.

Then, Clark described one time he'd been in a tornado. When he'd been swept up to save a friend, and it had almost felt like he'd been willing himself in her direction.

Then, there was Clark's most recent flight. Which was an incident he'd prefer not to remember. It had definitely been flight, but it was debatable whether it was strictly his. He hadn't been in his right mind when Jor-El had tried to force him to follow his destiny, but as Kal-El, he'd truly flown.

He remembered it. The wind rushing by, clouds below him, and easily catching up to Lex's plane to find a Kryptonian artifact.

"I haven't really thought about flying much since then." Clark said. "Looking back, it was an amazing feeling, but during it I was . . . a completely different person. My parents, friends, the ones I loved. It was like they didn't matter compared to my mission." He sighed. "Every time after that, I guess I started to think that being able to fly would mean I'd have to let go of everyone I cared about."

"Do you?"

Clark shook his head. "No, the phantom flew, and he didn't seem to think the way I had when I was brainwashed."

"Brainwashed." Qrow shook his head. "And I thought my sister was a shitty parent."

Clark frowned at the language. "I wouldn't put it that way, but my AI dad has been kind of a jerk." He patted the crystal in his pocket. "I'm still not sure if he's not telling me how to get home until I pass a bunch of tests."

"Then you better ace them, otherwise I'll take it as an insult of my teaching skills." Qrow stood up and gave him a serious look. "I didn't know about your . . . experiences with flying, but I still think you should work on it."

Clark nodded and got to his feet. "So do I."

"Good. So, how does it work?" asked Qrow.

That was a good question.

"Um . . . I'll try to focus I guess and remember what it was like the other times."

"Then I'll be here in case you need me." Qrow took a couple steps back. "Good luck."

Clark closed his eyes, bringing to mind the only memory he had of controlled flight. Back then, he'd heard the signal and . . . pushed away his mom. Focused only on retrieving another Kryptonian crystal.

He bit his lip. Forget that, remember how it felt to rise in the air. The sudden rush of wind. Soaring higher and higher until he could touch the clouds. The blue sky deepening to black space, the sun beaming down and the farms below like a patchwork quilt on the Earth.

Clark . . . didn't feel like he was going up.

Okay, maybe he could try something else. Clearing his mind was a bit of a cliché, but there wasn't anything better he could do. Maybe if he did that first, focusing on his first flight would be more successful.

Clark took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. In and out. In and out. The rhythm was easy to focus on, and after a few more cycles even the focus on his breathing was gone. He emptied his mind.

Swish swish.

Crick crick crick.

Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump.

Tweet tweet tweet

Caww! Caww!

Clearing his mind wasn't helping. All it did was make him lose his control of his super-hearing. The waves crashing into the rocks below, animals running around or calling each other, Qrow's heartbeat and breathing, even the constant noise of Vale in the distance. Without Clark filtering it subconsciously, they all came in at once.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. "It's not working."

Qrow rubbed his chin. "Well . . . there is the sink or swim method of teaching, and we do have a cliff right here." He pointed over the edge. "Maybe if you jump, it'll kick in?"

Clark peered over the cliff. The jagged rocks peeking above the waves wouldn't hurt him, but he still wasn't eager to jump onto them.

"Let's wait a little while before we get to that." Clark decided. He looked around, wondering what else he could try.

In the distance, some sea gulls flew in. The resounding booms didn't seem to have spooked them off for long. Or maybe these were newcomers.

If clearing his mind didn't work, maybe he should focus on one thing completely. He closed his eyes again, concentrating his hearing on the air passing through the wings of a single gull.

Whhhoooooo. A slow, steady sound. Hardly interrupted by flapping as the bird glided in thanks to sea breeze.

A constant, relaxing sound.

"Uhhhh, Clark?" Qrow's voice almost didn't register since Clark had been so fixated on the flow of air on a bird's wing.

The young man frowned, but kept his eyes closed. "Qrow, I'm trying to concentrate. Can you give me a couple minutes?"

"Clark, look down." His voice sounded concerned. What was wrong?

Clark opened his eyes and looked to his feet.

He was floating a foot above the ground.

"I'm flying." A whisper, full of shock and amazement. The emotions were mirrored on Qrow's face.

With a thought, Clark shot up in the air. Then, he instinctively slowed down. He'd gone up faster than he'd meant to.

Turn, how was he supposed to turn?

As soon as he thought it, he suddenly went the way he wanted. His vertical trajectory curving until his body was completely horizontal. With another burst of speed, he rushed over the forest. If it weren't for his enhanced senses, the trees below would have been a green blur.

"Ha ha! Whooo!" He couldn't believe it! He was flying! Under his own control!

He should probably go back to Qrow now. Work on fine-tuning his flight. He made a sharp turn and did a one-eighty back to the cliffs.

He was going a bit fast, maybe he should slow down.

Slow down.

He was still going at the same speed, and was he falling now?

He was falling! Go up! Up!

"Ahhhhh!" Clark screamed as he tumbled through the air. The forest was beneath him, then he fell under the layer of green and into the trees. Too quickly for them to stop him, their trunks splintered against the six-foot-tall missile.

Clark crashed, but didn't come to an immediate stop. He skid for a few dozen feet, the ground furrowed behind him.

He took a moment to recover. Maybe jumping off the cliff had been a better idea after all.

A pair of wings flapped nearby, and the sound was replaced with a man falling the last few feet and landing in front of Clark.

Clark looked up, Qrow stood in front of him.

"Man, you're fast, good thing you turned back. Ready to try that again?" asked the huntsman. A wide smile split his face.

Clark groaned.

\\\\\

Even for Him, Ironwood's ship didn't look easy to board. He examined it with X-ray vision from the ground. A couple rooms had lead blocking His sight.

So, Clark had told them about X-ray vision, and probably his other abilities.

He filed away that little tidbit and focused on His task. Cinder had already given Him some of the best spots to sneak in, and He checked those first. The locations of the cameras, the soldiers nearby, the best routes to the point of interest on the flagship, He took it all in.

After a while, a smaller ship that suited His needs approached. Super-hearing confirmed that the pilot was coming in to dock with the general's ship.

The brief opening on the side of the flagship was enough for Him to speed in. He burst through the air and flew inside the ship. A few soldiers were nearby, but at the speeds He went, He perceived them as motionless.

He halted at an empty corner. A blind spot between the cameras. After some time, He walked out in the uniform of an Atlas soldier. Convenient that the helmet and visor covered his face, and the clothes covered a lot of skin, protecting him from the sunlight. He'd stolen it from a soldier on the ground. The man had been off-duty and wouldn't notice his outfit was missing until the next day.

After all, He didn't want to alert anyone that He was here. With Clark out of town, this was a prime opportunity. Cinder had been skeptical of His claim that He and Clark could sense each other nearby. She didn't know about super-hearing, and why would He tell her when she said so much when she thought he couldn't hear?

Her little plans aside, He was the only one who could sneak aboard the ship with Ironwood on alert for Cinder and her people.

He knew that had irked her, how much she was forced to depend on Him. She thought her magic made her special, but He could fly rings around her before she threw a single fireball. Not to mention she only had her full power thanks to Him.

Now what she needed was for Him to upload her little virus.

He'd memorized the map Cinder had given him of where to find the servers. Not like He'd needed to, but He hadn't exactly advertised X-ray vision to her. Clark hadn't shown off his abilities either, but only because he'd been afraid of what Qrow and the others would think of him.

Stupid. Keeping an ace, or several, up your sleeve would make all the difference if they ever turned on him.

Luckily, His alliance with Cinder hadn't gotten to that point. She had the resources to help Him, and He had the abilities to do things she or her subordinates couldn't. A nice, simple relationship that would end when He returned to Earth.

The room He needed to get into was locked. Not like that was a problem for Him, but both He and Cinder wanted this done with Ironwood none the wiser. He wasn't quite ready to go toe-to-toe with Clark yet, and it wouldn't be good for her if they purged the systems of her virus before it was ready.

He swiped the plastic card that served as a key for the room. One of Cinder's friends had provided it, a man named Watts.

Who He probably shouldn't know about, but super-hearing was really convenient.

He walked into the empty room, full of servers with blinking lights and cables strewn across them. The air conditioners were on full blast, since all that equipment produced a lot of heat. Infrared vision revealed that it was actually several degrees warmer in here than in the halls, although such a tiny change in temperature didn't even register to His skin.

He connected the flash drive to a certain server and waited until the process was complete. A few minutes later, He walked out of the room with it in His hand.

After another ship docked, another burst of speed got Him out of the flagship. From there, He kept low to the ground to avoid radar detection, and left the city.

\\\\\

Councilor Owen Asenich typed on the computer in his study, he'd ordered that no one disturb him while he browsed the news online. Under normal circumstances, he never would have wasted his time with the idiocy of the public.

These weren't normal circumstances. The Dart, the man who'd invaded Asenich's home and made demands, was running through the streets freely. There had been a brief opportunity to upend his popularity. The vigilante had shown that he had the time to deal street justice, but hadn't offered the smallest bit of assistance during the Breach.

It was obvious that the Dart would do a lot more good fighting Grimm than doing the police's job. More than a few had noted it, but it wasn't until the Breach when even the mouth-breathing majority had realized and begun doubting him. Although a stubborn and vocal minority had still maintained their belief in him.

Asenich had thought that he and Floren had truly achieved their goal. He would have preferred to know the Dart's identity and make him suffer. However, mass hostility was good enough. The Dart had an ego, as shown by that mark he left over the city. He would have torn his own hair out if the people stopped loving him.

Then, the Dart had gone down into the Grimm-infested tunnels. What should have been suicide had instead resulted in his greatest success. Leading all of those monsters away, he was a madman to go to such lengths to regain the people's devotion.

And it had worked.

The Dart Saved Me!

Heart the Dart!

Motion Sensors And High Speed Cameras. The Best Set-up For Catching a Glimpse of Vale's Mysterious Hero!

Asenich let out a slow breath as he scrolled through. He didn't read any of the posts, they were all mindless babble anyway. The titles were enough to show how the manic enthusiasm had spread. With the Vytal Festival about to begin, tourists from all kingdoms had arrived to celebrate. Happy to support the vigilante like their counterparts in Vale.

The vigilante who primarily toyed with the police ever since the Council had scheduled their increased patrols. Who did little more than lead them to violent crime scenes, and somehow was still given credit for stopping them. At times, even by the very officers he fooled.

Asenich's doctor had warned him of rising blood pressure, but that mattered little. He needed to go through the inane commentary of the people, remind himself of the insult of the Dart's existence.

After a few minutes, Asenich received a notification. He clicked it to reveal a message.

Councilor Owen Asenich,

You are responsible for the incident months ago when a gang kidnapped and used an innocent woman to ensnare the Dart. Below is the enclosed evidence within my possession.

Asenich clenched his teeth. Any evidence should have been buried, he'd made sure of it. Whoever this was couldn't have found anything.

He opened the attached files.

Records of transfers between accounts at the West Mistral National Bank, busted money laundering schemes in the same kingdom, confessions of the street scum in Vale who'd been paid to tell the rest of their kind that money was offered for the Dart's capture.

The third party, the one Asenich had contracted. They'd been compromised, the incompetent idiots.

The message continued.

While I'm sure you understand that the above evidence is rather damning, I do realize you have the resources to draw out a trial into a lengthy legal battle. Below, you'll find documents unrelated to the above incident, but relevant to yourself.

Additional files had been attached containing much of Asenich's past actions. Bribes that he'd accepted from certain private corporations, his involvement in the disappearances of certain troublesome individuals, evidence of his embezzlement.

Asenich's nostrils flared. How dare-who in the hell was this?! This could ruin him. Even if by some miracle he didn't go to prison, he would have no chance of being elected for another term.

I suppose you'll have more difficulty with those. I can release them at any moment, but I will not if you listen to me.

Stop supporting a smear campaign of the Dart. I know you and Floren are responsible, and it will end.

That is all you'll need to do for now. More suggestions will be sent after the Festival.

Lastly, although you may not believe me, I am not the Dart. I am, however, in contact with him. He knows that you are to blame for the gang incident, and he was not pleased. I was able to persuade him from his initial brash response. Keep that in mind.

'Listen' 'suggestions'. Ridiculous, no matter how he worded it. This was simple blackmail, and those were orders.

Asenich read the sender's email address, but it was a jumble of symbols and letters. No matter, he'd have people track it down.

The Councilor considered the last portion of the message. No one would have been able to gather all that evidence alone, so it didn't matter whether the sender was the Dart or not. He was involved.

Asenich would find them, and those 'disappearances' that they waved in his face would seem like nothing compared to what he'd do when he got his hands on them.

\\\\\

In his office, Ozpin sipped from his cup of coffee. This body had become accustomed to the caffeine, a constant pattern since he'd discovered the drink centuries ago. It provided much energy at first, but as always, he needed more to maintain his alertness after a year or so.

Earlier that day, he'd informed Clark that Ironwood's investigation had uncovered that Asenich had been behind the reward for his capture.

Both Ozpin and the general had agreed that it would be better to give the impression that they lacked sufficient evidence to try the Councilor in court. It was doubtful that Clark would agree to the ways the knowledge could be used more effectively.

Even so, the young man had been furious. Immediately claiming that he'd confront the Councilor. Luckily, Ozpin had managed to convince him otherwise. Informing him that criminal investigations took time, and that they'd be able to gather more evidence.

The evidence that Ozpin had already gathered, which he'd copied in a message on the very computer in front of him. He'd finally arranged for lead shielding in his office's walls, otherwise he'd have used the room on Ironwood's ship.

Ozpin glanced at the windows. Qrow and Clark had informed him that they'd had a minor success with Clark's flight. Only a brief spurt they hadn't been able to repeat, but still of interest.