Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark

The wight came out of nowhere, its sunken eyes gleaming with cold malice. It moved faster than Clark expected, its skeletal fingers clawing for Tormund's throat.

Clark didn't think—he moved.

In the blink of an eye, he was between Tormund and the creature, his arm snapping up to catch the wight's wrist. Bones crunched beneath his grip, and the wight let out a guttural hiss.

"Gods!" Tormund bellowed, stumbling back, his axe raised defensively.

Clark's gaze didn't waver as he tightened his hold, snapping the wight's arm like a dry twig. The creature lunged again, but Clark slammed it into the ground with a force that shook the snow from the cliffs.

The sound of cracking ice filled the ravine.

"More coming!" Ygritte shouted, her bow already in her hands.

Clark turned. She was right. Shadows moved among the trees, the crunch of snow heralding the arrival of a dozen more wights. Their forms were twisted and unnatural, bodies in various states of decay.

"Stay behind me," Clark said, his voice steady.

Tormund cursed under his breath. "You've got to be jesting! You think you can take them alone?"

Clark didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his fists clenched.

---

Ygritte

Ygritte had seen many things beyond the Wall—things that would turn the stomachs of men south of it. But what she saw now was something entirely different.

Clark moved through the wights like a storm, his strength terrifying in its precision. When a wight lunged, he caught it midair, hurling it into another with a sickening crunch. When one tried to strike him with a rusted blade, the weapon shattered against his skin.

"Bloody hell," Ygritte muttered, loosing an arrow into the nearest wight.

Beside her, Tormund was swinging his axe with wild abandon, but even he kept casting glances at Clark.

"What in the gods' names is he?" Tormund growled, his voice thick with disbelief.

Ygritte didn't answer. She couldn't take her eyes off Clark.

The man was a force of nature, moving with a speed and strength that defied explanation. And yet, there was something almost... measured about him. He didn't revel in the violence, didn't lose himself to the fight the way others might. He was calm, focused, as if this was just another task to be done.

For a moment, Ygritte forgot to fire her bow, too mesmerized by the sight of Clark ripping the head off a wight with his bare hands.

"Ygritte!" Tormund barked, snapping her out of it.

She turned and loosed another arrow, her aim steady despite the chaos.

---

Tormund

Tormund had fought wights before. He knew their strength, their relentlessness. Yet here was Clark, tearing through them like they were nothing more than sacks of bone and rot.

It wasn't just his strength—it was the way the man moved. Every strike was precise, every motion efficient. Tormund had seen seasoned warriors fight with less control.

When the last wight fell, its skull crushed beneath Clark's boot, the ravine fell silent once more.

Tormund leaned on his axe, his chest heaving. "Well... that was something."

Clark turned to him, his expression calm despite the carnage. "Is everyone okay?"

"Better than we should be," Tormund muttered. He gestured to the mangled remains of the wights. "Care to explain how you did that?"

Clark hesitated, glancing at Ygritte, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. "It's... complicated."

Tormund snorted. "Aye, I'll bet it is."

---

Clark

Clark could feel their eyes on him as they continued their trek through the ravine. The air was tense, the silence broken only by the crunch of snow beneath their boots.

Tormund was the first to speak.

"I've seen strong men," he said, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. "Men who could lift a stag on their shoulders or wrestle a bear. But you? That's something else entirely."

"I told you," Clark said, keeping his tone neutral. "I'm not like most men."

"That's putting it mildly," Ygritte muttered.

Clark glanced at her. Her expression was sharp, thoughtful. She wasn't afraid of him, but she was clearly trying to figure him out.

"You're hiding something," she said, her voice low. "And whatever it is, it's not just strength. Those wights—they didn't scare you. Not even a little."

Clark didn't respond. He didn't know how to explain what he was—or where he was from—without making things worse.

"Does it matter?" he asked after a moment. "I'm here to help."

Ygritte scoffed. "Help, is it? You keep saying that word, like it means something to us."

Clark frowned. "Doesn't it?"

She stopped walking, turning to face him. "Help gets people killed. You think you can fight for us, but what happens when you're gone? Who do we turn to then?"

Clark met her gaze, his expression steady. "I don't plan on leaving."

Ygritte held his gaze for a moment before shaking her head. "You don't understand. Not yet."

---

The Lost Hunters

They found the hunters near the base of the cliffs, their bodies frozen in the snow. The wights had torn them apart, their faces twisted in expressions of terror.

Tormund cursed softly, kneeling beside the bodies.

"Poor bastards," he muttered. "Didn't stand a chance."

Clark's jaw tightened as he stared at the scene. He could have prevented this, if only he'd been faster.

"We should burn them," he said quietly.

Tormund looked up, surprised. "You know about that?"

Clark nodded. "I've seen what happens if we don't."

Ygritte and Tormund exchanged a glance, but neither argued. They gathered wood and built a pyre, working in somber silence.

As the flames rose, Clark stood apart, his thoughts heavy. He had saved the others, but it wasn't enough. The dead were still out there, growing stronger with every soul they claimed.

If he was going to protect these people, he would need to do more than fight. He would need to prepare them for what was coming.