It was a curious thing, Lex thought, that people always compared tactics, plans, and warfare to chess. Now, he admitted, he did it himself on occasion. It wasn't as though the metephors weren't good, and they did sound pretty. Checkmate. It was final, conveyed power and futility all at once. When you obtained it, your opponent was done. They had lost, and there was nothing they could do.
But that was the root of it all, wasn't it? In chess, it was final. There was no way you could save yourself from humiliating failure.
It was alright, though, because for all the Tao Tzo he quoted and all the obscure analogies he made, Lex knew the secret.
The game wasn't over when the King was trapped.
He smiled as he surveyed the marble floor, littered with broken white and black pieces.
No, Lex thought. It had just begun.