Chapter 2: Dog Days Are Over
As Superman soared above the city, the cheers of thousands still echoing in his ears, his mind drifted back to a moment that had changed him forever—one year ago, when he was just Clark Kent, a grief-stricken young man searching for answers.
The memory came rushing back, vivid and raw.
It had been a week after Jonathan Kent's sudden passing. Clark had spent most of those days locked in the barn, unable to face the world, haunted by the thought that even with all his powers, he hadn't been able to save the man who had shaped his life. He'd done everything right, hadn't he? Kept his abilities secret, lived by the values Jonathan had instilled in him, tried to be the man his father believed he could be. But for all his strength, he had been powerless to stop a heart attack.
And so, desperate and lost, Clark had turned to the one thing he thought might hold some answers: the ship.
It had sat in the corner of the barn for as long as he could remember, a strange, alien artifact that had always felt more like a silent observer than a relic. It was the only tie he had to his biological parents, to the world he had come from—a world he didn't understand and, until that moment, hadn't really wanted to. But now? Now he needed something, anything.
He ran his hands over the smooth metallic surface, his fingers tracing the strange, alien glyphs that had always seemed so foreign to him. "Why now?" he murmured, his voice breaking. "Why did you send me here, only to leave me without answers?"
Out of frustration, or perhaps desperation, he pressed his hand to a faintly glowing symbol that had never done anything before. This time, however, it lit up beneath his palm.
Clark stumbled back as the ship hummed to life, its engines emitting a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the barn. Light poured from its surface and in a sudden burst of motion the ship shot through the barn roof, splintering wood and scattering tools everywhere.
Clark didn't think—he just reacted.
He ran out of the barn at full speed, his boots pounding against the dirt. The ship was rising higher, faster, streaking toward the horizon. Panic set in—he couldn't lose it, not now.
He pushed himself harder than he ever had before, his legs carrying him faster and faster. The ground blurred beneath him, the wind tearing at his face and still, he wasn't fast enough.
"No," he growled, his teeth clenched. "I can do this. I have to do this."
And then something shifted.
With a sudden burst of momentum, Clark's feet left the ground, and he found himself... hovering.
His mind screamed at the impossibility of it, but his body instinctively understood. The sensation of weightlessness was startling at first, but he didn't have time to process it—he could see the ship disappearing into the distance.
He willed himself forward and before he knew it, he was flying.
The exhilaration of that first flight was something he would never forget. The air rushing past him, the earth falling away beneath him, the sheer freedom of it—it was like discovering an entirely new part of himself.
He followed the ship for hours, pushing himself to keep up as it soared farther and farther north. The landscape below shifted from green fields to snow-covered forests, and then finally to the endless expanse of the Arctic.
The ship slowed as it approached a jagged mountain of ice and snow. Clark landed nearby, his breath visible in the freezing air, and watched as the ship hovered above the ground before descending into a hidden crevasse.
He followed cautiously, his footsteps crunching on the frozen ground. The air was impossibly cold, but he barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the glowing trail the ship left behind.
The crevasse opened into a massive cavern of ice, shimmering with hues of blue and white. In the center of the cavern, the ship had come to rest its light illuminating the space like a beacon.
As Clark approached the ship emitted a pulse of energy and suddenly the cavern began to transform. Crystals of ice and alien materials rose from the ground, forming spires and arches that stretched toward the ceiling. The space was reshaping itself, becoming something otherworldly—something that felt alive.
And then, a voice echoed through the chamber.
"Kal-El."
Clark froze.
The voice was calm, steady, and filled with a warmth that seemed to cut through the cold. It wasn't a human voice, but it was undeniably familiar.
"Who—" Clark began, his voice trembling. "Who's there?"
The light from the ship coalesced into a glowing figure—a man, tall and regal, with features that were strikingly similar to Clark's own.
"I am Jor-El," the figure said. "Your father."
Clark's breath caught in his throat.
For hours, he stayed in that chamber, listening as Jor-El explained everything—his origins, the destruction of Krypton, and the reason he had been sent to Earth. The Fortress of Solitude, as Jor-El called it, was a repository of knowledge and technology from Krypton, a place where Clark could learn about his heritage and his abilities.
When the explanation was over, Clark had more questions than answers. But for the first time in his life, he felt a sense of purpose. He wasn't just a farm boy from Kansas, or even just an alien. He was something more.
Clark remembered walking deeper into the crystalline halls of the Fortress of Solitude with a mix of awe and mild exasperation. It wasn't just that the place was breathtaking—gleaming spires of ice stretched high into the void above him, glimmering in a way that seemed to defy all known laws of light and physics—it was that the Fortress clearly had a sense of humor.
For instance, the first room he entered had a pedestal displaying what appeared to be a gleaming golden outfit. It looked dignified at first glance, until Clark noticed the ridiculous amount of rhinestones embedded in it. A small holographic display activated as he approached.
"This is the Ceremonial Raiment of the High Council of Krypton," the voice of Jor-El declared solemnly, before adding with what Clark could only describe as smugness, "Yes, the rhinestones were necessary."
Clark tilted his head. "Really?" he muttered.
The display flickered briefly before a smaller text appeared at the bottom: It was a bold choice.
He moved on, his boots crunching softly against the icy floor, passing what appeared to be an ancient library. The shelves were lined with glowing crystals, each one pulsing faintly, as though they were alive. A placard at the entrance read: The Complete History of Krypton. Warning: Contains Entirely Too Much Detail.
Against his better judgment, Clark picked up one of the crystals and inserted it into a nearby slot. A holographic projection of a dignified Kryptonian historian sprang to life.
"Greetings, young learner!" the historian began, puffing out his chest. "You have selected the history of Krypton's taxation system. Sit back, relax, and prepare yourself for an exhilarating forty-two-hour lecture!"
Clark yelped and yanked the crystal out.
"Forty-two hours?" he muttered, shaking his head as he hurried away. "No wonder Krypton's gone."
As he continued his exploration, the Fortress seemed to sense his every movement, lighting his way with shimmering beams of light that danced along the walls like playful sprites. He passed chambers filled with strange artifacts—a golden orb that hovered and hummed when he passed, a garden of glowing alien plants that seemed to whisper to each other, and what he could only describe as a very grumpy chair that squeaked loudly every time he came near it.
At one point he stumbled into a room with a massive display of alien animals preserved in holographic form. Creatures of all shapes and sizes floated in the air, some beautiful, others terrifying, and a few that were... questionable.
"Is that a flying... squid?" Clark muttered, pointing at a particularly bizarre specimen.
The voice of Jor-El returned, calm and utterly unbothered. "Ah, yes. The famed Airborne Mollusk of Ranthar IX. A creature of unparalleled elegance."
The squid, as if on cue, released a cloud of glittery pink gas that smelled faintly of raspberries.
"Unparalleled elegance," Clark repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sure. Let's go with that."
Deeper and deeper he went, the Fortress revealing more of its treasures with every step. He came across a chamber filled with alien star charts, another with holograms of Krypton's greatest scientific minds (one of whom kept muttering about how "nobody appreciated my invention of self-cleaning capes"), and yet another room that appeared to be an entire Kryptonian living room—complete with oddly squishy furniture and a bowl of what Clark could only assume were alien snacks.
But nothing prepared him for what came next.
He had just stepped into a chamber that felt different from the others—quieter, warmer, as if the Fortress itself was holding its breath. At the center of the room was a small, simple bed of ice. Lying on it, curled up and completely still, was a white dog.
Clark froze.
The dog looked... normal. Too normal. Its fur was as white as the surrounding ice, and its ears twitched slightly in the still air.
"What...?" Clark began, his voice barely above a whisper.
The dog's ears perked up. Slowly, it raised its head, and its bright, intelligent eyes locked onto Clark. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with an almost theatrical flourish, the dog stood, stretched, and—
It floated.
Clark blinked. "No way."
The dog floated higher, its tail wagging in slow, lazy arcs, as if flying was the most natural thing in the world.
"No way," Clark repeated, his voice rising.
The dog barked, a cheerful, high-pitched sound that echoed through the chamber. Then in a blur of motion, it zipped toward him, stopping just inches from his face. It hovered there for a moment, tail wagging furiously, before licking his cheek with enough force to knock him off balance.
"Okay," Clark said, wiping his face. "This is officially the weirdest day of my life."
The dog barked again, clearly pleased with itself, and did a little loop in the air.
Clark stared at it, his mind racing. Was this some kind of Kryptonian guard dog? A companion? A pet?
The voice of Jor-El returned, calm and almost amused. "This is Krypto," it said. "A loyal companion genetically engineered to serve and protect the House of El. He has been awaiting your arrival."
"Of course he has," Clark muttered, watching as Krypto zoomed around the chamber, barking happily. "Because why wouldn't there be a flying dog in all of this?"
Krypto returned to him, pressing his nose against Clark's hand and wagging his tail so hard that his entire body wiggled in midair. Despite himself, Clark felt a smile tugging at his lips.
"Well," he said, scratching Krypto behind the ears. "At least I've got someone to keep me company now."
Krypto barked in agreement, his tail wagging even harder.
Clark couldn't help but laugh. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of his grief lifted, just a little. The Fortress of Solitude might have been filled with bizarre wonders, but this dog—this Krypto—was something else entirely.
And, as Clark would soon learn, the surprises were only just beginning.
Clark wasn't sure what he'd expected when he entered the next chamber of the Fortress of Solitude—possibly another library of incomprehensible crystals, or perhaps a room filled with more bizarre alien pets (he was still getting used to Krypto, who was now trotting behind him in midair, wagging his tail with all the enthusiasm of a dog who had discovered gravity was for other people).
What he hadn't expected was a full-blown fashion showroom.
The chamber was vast, its walls lined with glowing alcoves that stretched into the distance. In each alcove stood a mannequin—well, mannequin-adjacent, given that they appeared to be made of light and occasionally shifted positions like bored shop assistants. Each figure was draped in an outfit that seemed designed to scream, "Look at me! I am the height of Kryptonian couture!"
Clark froze, his mouth slightly agape. "What is this?" he muttered, his voice echoing off the walls.
"This," boomed the voice of Jor-El, with the gravitas of someone unveiling the universe's greatest treasure, "is the Wardrobe of the House of El."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "Right. Because what every alien dynasty needs is a walk-in closet the size of a football field."
Jor-El, as usual, ignored the sarcasm. "Each of these garments represents the history, the ideals, and the legacy of our family. They are symbols of hope, unity, and strength."
Clark wandered further into the room, running his fingers over the edge of one of the glowing displays. The outfit inside was a sleek, silver number with long, flowing capes that seemed to defy the laws of fabric physics. Another display held an all-black suit with sharp, angular designs that practically screamed "brooding anti-hero."
And then there were the symbols.
Each outfit was adorned with the same unmistakable sigil: a bold, angular "S" shape enclosed within a shield. Some were small and discreet, others enormous and impossible to miss, but it was always there, standing out like a beacon.
"What's with the letter?" Clark asked, gesturing to one of the displays.
"That," Jor-El said, his voice taking on a solemn tone, "is not a letter. It is the sigil of the House of El. On Krypton, it is a symbol for hope."
Clark stared at the nearest outfit, a brilliant blue and red ensemble that seemed to glow faintly in the light. The "S" stood proudly on the chest, its curves and angles perfectly balanced.
"Hope, huh?" he muttered. "Looks more like a farm brand to me."
The holographic mannequins stiffened slightly, as though offended. One of them tilted its head just enough to look judgy.
Jor-El's voice was calm but firm. "It is more than a symbol. It is a reminder of our responsibility—to guide, to protect, to inspire. That is the legacy of the House of El."
Clark crossed his arms. "Yeah, but what's with the capes? Did Krypton have a no-wind policy or something?"
Jor-El hesitated. "The capes," he said, with the air of someone trying very hard not to lose his patience, "are an integral part of the design. They convey dignity and authority."
Clark tilted his head. "Pretty sure they just convey 'tripping hazard.'"
At that, Krypto barked, wagging his tail in what could only be described as agreement. Pot calling the kettle black, the dog had his own red cape fluttering behind him.
Still, Clark couldn't deny that the designs were impressive. He found himself lingering on that blue and red suit, the one with the cape and the bold "S." There was something about it—something that felt... right.
Jor-El seemed to sense his thoughts. "This particular garment," he said, his tone softening, "was designed for you, Kal-El. It was created to embody the ideals of our family and the potential of your unique gifts."
Clark blinked. "Wait, you're telling me I've got a pre-made superhero outfit just sitting here, waiting for me?"
"Precisely."
"Great," Clark said, throwing up his hands. "Because nothing says 'subtle' like bright red tights."
Still, the design lodged itself in his mind, refusing to be dismissed. He couldn't shake the feeling that, ridiculous as it seemed, there might come a time when he would need it—when he would need to be something more than Clark Kent from Kansas.
For now, though, he had other questions.
"Speaking of my 'unique gifts,'" he said, turning toward the center of the room, where a glowing console hummed invitingly, "how exactly do they work? I mean, I know I can fly now—thanks for that—but why? Why me?"
The console flickered, and the room dimmed slightly as a holographic projection appeared. It showed Krypton, a radiant, jewel-like planet, orbiting a red sun.
"Krypton was a world of immense gravity and thin atmosphere," Jor-El explained. "Its people evolved to survive in such conditions. When you came to Earth, a planet with lighter gravity and a younger, more energetic yellow sun, your body absorbed its radiation and adapted accordingly."
Clark scratched his head. "So I'm basically a walking solar battery?"
"In essence, yes."
"That... actually makes sense. Weirdly."
The hologram shifted, showing diagrams of Clark's body, overlaid with streams of golden light.
"Your cells metabolize solar energy, enhancing your strength, speed, and resilience," Jor-El continued. "It also grants you abilities unique to Earth's environment, such as flight, heat vision, and heightened senses."
Clark nodded slowly. "Okay. That's... a lot to take in."
Krypto barked, zooming in a lazy circle around him, as if to say, You're doing great, boss!
"Thanks, buddy," Clark muttered, giving the dog a bemused look.
He spent hours in the chamber, learning about his powers, his heritage, and the legacy of the House of El. By the time he left, his head was spinning with information, but a strange sense of clarity had settled over him.
He wasn't just a farm boy from Kansas, and he wasn't just an alien. He was something in between—something new.
And as he looked back at that blue and red suit one last time, he couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't hurt to try the cape.
Someday.
Clark wasn't sure what he expected when he walked back into the barn that day, trailing a floating, grinning white dog behind him. Krypto had spent the entire journey zipping around like a hyperactive kite, barking at squirrels and attempting to chase his own tail midair. Clark, on the other hand, was mostly concerned with how he was going to explain all of this to Ma.
"Just play it cool," he muttered under his breath.
Krypto barked, landing briefly on the ground and tilting his head at Clark with a look that screamed, You? Cool? Sure, boss. Let's go with that.
When they stepped inside, Martha Kent was standing in the kitchen, her hands wrist-deep in a bowl of bread dough. She glanced up, smiled warmly, and then froze mid-smile. Her eyes darted from Clark to Krypto, who was now hovering just slightly off the ground with a wagging tail.
"Clark," she said, very slowly, "is there a reason there's a flying dog in my barn?"
Clark opened his mouth to explain, then closed it. Then opened it again. What came out was:
"Uh… surprise?"
Martha put the dough down and wiped her hands on her apron. "Clark Jerome Kent, you better start explaining right now, or I swear I'm going to call your father's old shotgun out of retirement."
Clark sighed and launched into the whole story—about the spaceship, the Fortress of Solitude, the absurd outfits, and the discovery of Krypto. By the time he finished, Martha was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, looking somewhere between impressed and utterly exhausted.
"So," she said, after a long pause, "you found a secret alien ice palace, learned you're a solar-powered superbeing, and brought home a flying dog."
"Pretty much."
Martha took a sip of tea. "And you didn't think to call first?"
Krypto barked, clearly delighted by her reaction. He floated over and gave her a sloppy lick on the cheek, earning a startled laugh.
"Well, I suppose he's got manners, at least," Martha said, scratching Krypto behind the ears. "But what are we going to do with him? We can't exactly have a flying dog zipping around Smallville. People will notice."
Clark crouched down beside Krypto, looking into the dog's big, intelligent eyes. "You hear that, buddy? You're going to have to keep a low profile."
Krypto blinked at him, then tilted his head. And then—because apparently, this day wasn't weird enough already—he spoke.
"Clark," Krypto said, his voice clear and calm in Clark's mind, "I may be a dog, but I'm not an idiot."
Clark stumbled backward, nearly knocking over a sack of feed. "You can talk?"
"Telepathically," Krypto clarified, wagging his tail. "I'm a genetically enhanced Kryptonian companion. Of course I can talk. Honestly, I've been waiting for you to figure it out."
Martha looked between Clark and Krypto, her hands on her hips. "What's he saying?"
"He's saying he's not an idiot," Clark replied, still trying to process the fact that his dog could apparently read his thoughts.
Krypto nodded. "Exactly. And for the record, I don't need to hide in the barn. I'll keep my powers under wraps, but I need to stay with you. You're my person, Clark. Where you go, I go."
Clark looked at Martha, who shrugged. "Well, he's got a point. And if he can talk, I suppose that makes him easier to train than most dogs."
"Right," Clark muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because that's the logical takeaway here."
Back in the present, Clark opened the door to his Metropolis apartment, feeling both exhilarated and completely drained. The city had been abuzz with talk of Superman all day, and he'd spent the last few hours flying high above the skyline listening to the chatter.
He dropped his bag by the door and was immediately greeted by Krypto, who floated over with the air of someone about to deliver a very sarcastic remark.
"Well," Krypto said telepathically, wagging his tail lazily, "look who finally decided to come home. Did you save the day, hero?"
Clark flopped onto the couch, kicking off his boots. "Don't start."
"Oh, I'm just saying," Krypto continued, landing gracefully beside him. "You had the whole city chanting your name, and you still look like you lost a bet with gravity. What's the matter? Super-stardom not all it's cracked up to be?"
Clark laughed despite himself. "It's not that. It's just… weird. I spent so long trying to hide what I can do, and now I'm supposed to be this symbol of hope or whatever. It's a lot to take in."
Krypto snorted. "You're overthinking it. Just keep doing what you're doing. Fly around, save some people, smile a lot. Humans eat that stuff up."
Clark shook his head, grinning. "You make it sound so simple."
"That's because it is," Krypto said, resting his head on Clark's lap. "You, on the other hand, are way too good at complicating things. Honestly, it's a miracle you've managed to fool anyone into thinking you're just some clumsy reporter. Your acting isn't that good."
"Gee, thanks," Clark said, rolling his eyes.
Krypto smirked—well, as much as a dog could smirk. "Hey, don't get me wrong. You're not a bad guy to hang out with. For a human, anyway."
Clark chuckled, scratching Krypto behind the ears. "You're the best friend I've got, you know that?"
"I know," Krypto said, closing his eyes contentedly. "And frankly, it's a little sad."
Clark laughed, leaning back on the couch. For all the chaos of the day, he felt oddly at peace. Sure, his life had taken a turn for the absurd, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
Tomorrow, he'd head back to the Daily Planet, put on his glasses, and pretend to be the bumbling, ordinary Clark Kent. But for now, he had a flying, telepathic dog by his side and a world full of possibilities ahead of him.
"I'm too old for this playacting," he muttered to himself, half-joking.
Krypto opened one eye and snorted. "You're twenty-six, Clark. Get over yourself."And with that, Clark laughed until his sides hurt.
Clark Kent was already running late that morning, which was saying something, considering he was supposed to be the guy with super speed. He'd overslept after spending half the night flying patrols over Metropolis, making sure no more villains with questionable fashion sense were planning to rob banks with explosive teddy bears.
As he jogged down the street, muttering apologies to pedestrians he accidentally bumped into, he was suddenly jolted from his thoughts by the sound of a deafening crack.
A block away, the Metropolis Central Bridge, a massive structure spanning the river, was crumbling like a soggy biscuit in a giant's tea. Cars screeched to a halt, people screamed, and a section of the bridge buckled, sending chunks of concrete tumbling into the water below.
Clark froze for half a second, long enough to think, Really? Now? before ducking into the nearest alley.
The scene at the bridge was pure chaos. Cars were teetering on the edge of the collapse, their drivers frantically climbing out. A school bus full of kids was stuck in the middle of it all, and Clark had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the sheer dramatic timing of it.
He landed on the bridge with a gust of wind, already calculating how best to handle the situation. The crowd gasped and pointed, and someone shouted, "It's Superman!"
"Well, no pressure then," Clark muttered to himself.
His first move was to stop the school bus from sliding off the edge. He grabbed the back bumper, planted his feet, and heaved, slowly pulling the bus to safety. Inside, the kids cheered, their faces pressed against the windows.
"Everyone okay?" Clark called, smiling at them.
A little boy with glasses waved. "You're awesome!"
Clark grinned. "Don't forget to do your homework."
Next, he zipped to the far end of the bridge, catching a section of railing just before it fell into the river. He held it up with one hand while using his heat vision to fuse it back into place.
"That's… probably up to code," he muttered.
Within minutes, the bridge was stable, the people were safe, and Superman was hovering above the scene waving off the reporters trying to shout questions at him.
He took off before anyone could get too close, heading straight for the Daily Planet.
By the time Clark stumbled into the bullpen, disheveled and out of breath, Lois Lane was already at her desk, typing furiously.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
Clark adjusted his tie and grinned sheepishly. "Would you believe me if I said I was rescuing a cat from a tree?"
Jimmy Olsen, perched nearby with his ever-present camera, laughed. "Clark, you look like you got hit by a tornado. What were you doing?"
"Oh, you know," Clark said, waving a hand. "Dodging rush hour. Apparently, bridges aren't what they used to be."
Lois finally glanced up, giving him a onceover. "You're lucky Perry hasn't noticed yet. He's been on a rampage all morning."
Clark chuckled nervously. "Thanks for the warning."
As he sat down, he couldn't help but notice the buzz in the newsroom. Every screen was playing footage of the bridge rescue, and every conversation seemed to revolve around Superman.
"Superman," Clark muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Not bad."
Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived.
"KENT!"
The bellow came from Perry White's office, and Clark winced. He shuffled over, avoiding eye contact with his coworkers, and stepped inside.
Perry White, a no-nonsense man with the energy of a grizzly bear on a coffee binge, was pacing behind his desk. He jabbed a finger in Clark's direction.
"Do you know what makes a good reporter, Kent?" Perry barked.
Clark opened his mouth to answer, but Perry didn't give him the chance.
"Timing! And you, my boy, have the timing of a broken watch!"
Clark blinked. "I—"
"Do you know where you should've been last evening?" Perry continued, his voice rising. "At the bank robbery with Lois, getting the scoop on Superman! And do you know where you should've been this morning? On that bridge, reporting the news while it happened! Instead, you waltz in here late, looking like you've been wrestling with a wind turbine!"
Clark stammered, "I—I can explain—"
"Don't bother," Perry said, waving a hand dismissively. He turned toward the door and shouted, "Lane! Get in here!"
Lois appeared a moment later, looking curious and mildly irritated. "What's up, Chief?"
"Kent here needs a babysitter," Perry said, glaring at Clark. "From now on, you're teaming up on assignments. Wherever you go, he goes. Maybe you'll teach him how to keep up with the news."
Lois groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."
Clark's heart sank. "That's really not—"
"Not up for discussion," Perry said, cutting him off. "Now get out there and find me a story. And Kent—"
"Yes, sir?"
"Try not to embarrass yourself."
As they left the office, Lois gave Clark a withering look. "Great. Just great. Now I have to babysit Smallville."
Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, I'll try to stay out of your way."
"Good luck with that," she muttered, stalking off toward her desk.
Clark sighed, watching her go. This was going to make keeping his secret way harder.
Lex Luthor stood in his sprawling office high above Metropolis, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that turned the city into his personal diorama. Below him, the people moved like ants—industrious, insignificant, and entirely unaware of the strings he pulled to ensure they stayed that way.
The television mounted on the wall played news reports in a relentless loop, each one a nauseating hymn of praise for the "hero" they called Superman. Lex's jaw tightened as he watched yet another replay of the bridge rescue. There he was, a gaudy figure in red and blue, performing feats of strength and speed with absurd ease. The crowd below cheered as though this flying alien was some kind of savior, rather than an unknown entity with unimaginable power.
Lex muted the television, the image of Superman frozen mid-flight. The sight of him hanging there in perfect, infuriating grace felt like a challenge.
"Let the world cheer for now," Lex murmured, his voice low and measured. "They won't cheer for long."
On his desk, a sleek tablet displayed a report from one of his more… discreet research teams. Lex picked it up, scanning the contents with the clinical precision of a surgeon examining an X-ray.
The artifact had been found just outside Metropolis, buried beneath layers of rock and earth. It had taken weeks of quiet excavation, all conducted under the guise of a routine LexCorp geological survey. The result? A piece of something otherworldly, a shard of metal that pulsed faintly with an unearthly green glow.
Radiation. Not enough to harm humans—at least not immediately—but strong enough to register on their instruments. Strong enough to imply that its source was something alive.
Lex allowed himself a rare smile as he turned the tablet around, staring at the image of the fragment. His suspicions were all but confirmed. This Superman wasn't just some costumed vigilante; he was an alien. An invader. And like all invaders, he would have a weakness.
The green hue of the shard reflected in Lex's icy blue eyes as he considered the possibilities.
Lex crossed to his desk and pressed a button on his intercom.
"Mercy," he said, his tone clipped.
"Yes, Mr. Luthor?" came the calm, professional reply of Mercy Graves, his most trusted assistant.
"Have the Kryptonite fragment secured in the lab. I want a full analysis by the end of the day. Every isotope, every possible application. Spare no expense."
"Understood, sir. And the… secondary project?"
Lex's lips curled into a thin smile. "Proceed. I want every news outlet, every influencer, every social media platform questioning Superman's intentions. Push the 'threat of the unknown' angle. Make them fear him."
"Yes, sir."
He released the button, his gaze drifting back to the muted television. The image of Superman remained frozen on the screen, a symbol of everything Lex despised: unchecked power, blind adoration, and the foolish hope of a world that thought itself safe.
Lex turned his chair to face the city once more, folding his hands in his lap.
He was not a man given to petty jealousy or emotional outbursts. No, Lex Luthor was a man of reason, a man of vision. And his vision was one of humanity standing proud, unshackled by the meddling of gods or aliens. Superman, for all his might, was nothing more than a symbol of humanity's weakness—a crutch for a society too afraid to stand on its own.
But Lex would fix that. He would expose Superman for what he truly was: a danger, a liability, an outsider.
And when the people of Metropolis—no, the world—saw Superman for the threat he truly was, they would turn to Lex Luthor. The true hero. The savior humanity actually deserved.
He allowed himself one more smile, colder than the Arctic winds where Superman's secrets lay hidden.
"Let's see how invincible you really are," Lex whispered.
Metropolis was in chaos.
The streets were filled with people running in every direction, clutching children, handbags, and the occasional overpriced coffee as buildings groaned and crumbled under the weight of an unseen force. Cars skidded to a halt, drivers abandoning them in the middle of intersections. Above it all a booming voice rang out, echoing across the skyline like thunder from a malevolent god.
"I've waited for this moment!" the voice bellowed. "A world where heroes rise… so that I might crush them!"
High above the city stood the source of the chaos: a towering figure encased in gleaming white armor. The Ultra-Humanite—a name whispered in hushed tones by those in the know—was here. His robotic frame, an amalgamation of technology decades ahead of anything the world understood, pulsed with crimson energy. And inside the mechanical body, nestled behind reinforced glass, was the brain of a man who once boasted the greatest intellect on Earth.
"I am the pinnacle of human evolution!" Ultra-Humanite declared, extending an enormous mechanical arm to crush a nearby building's spire. It toppled to the ground, sending rubble cascading into the streets below. "I have spent years perfecting myself, waiting for a day when I could test my genius against a worthy opponent. And now…" He paused, scanning the horizon. "Where is he? Where is this so-called Superman?"
At the Daily Planet, the newsroom was alive with frantic energy. Phones rang incessantly, television screens blared breaking news, and reporters shouted updates at each other.
"Who is this guy?" Jimmy Olsen asked, snapping photos of the chaos on the live feed. "Is he, like, a robot? Or an alien? Or both?"
Lois Lane ignored him, furiously typing her story. Her gaze darted toward Clark Kent's desk, now conspicuously empty. She groaned. "Of course. Of course he's gone."
"What's his excuse this time?" Jimmy asked, leaning over her desk. "Bathroom break?"
Lois slammed her fingers on the keyboard. "He better be filing a Pulitzer-worthy story to make up for this. If I find out he's buying another muffin, I swear…"
She trailed off, her attention pulled to the TV. The Ultra-Humanite was now gripping the corner of a skyscraper, his metallic hands crushing steel and glass like cardboard.
"Superman!" he roared. "I know you're listening! Come and face me, or I'll turn this city into dust!"
Far from the chaos, Clark Kent was already tearing his shirt open as he ran into a deserted alley. The iconic red and blue suit gleamed in the sunlight as he took to the sky, a blur streaking through the clouds.
"This guy really doesn't believe in subtlety, does he?" Clark muttered under his breath.
As Superman approached the scene, the sight of Ultra-Humanite's rampage filled him with a mix of frustration and determination. Skyscrapers leaned precariously, rubble littered the streets, and terrified citizens huddled wherever they could find shelter.
He slowed just enough to assess the situation before rocketing downward with the force of a thunderclap. The impact of his landing sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, forcing Ultra-Humanite to turn and face him.
"Looking for me?" Superman said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority.
Ultra-Humanite's mechanical body swiveled, his glowing red eyes locking onto Superman. A slow, sinister laugh escaped from the speaker embedded in his chest.
"At last," he said. "The man who calls himself Superman. Or perhaps… the alien who pretends to be a man."
Superman's jaw tightened. "If you're here to hurt people, you'll have to go through me first."
Ultra-Humanite clapped his enormous hands together, the sound reverberating like an explosion. "Excellent! Let's see if your body is as strong as your moral platitudes!"
The fight began with a burst of energy so intense that the air itself seemed to ripple. Ultra-Humanite launched a volley of plasma blasts from his chest, each one powerful enough to level a building. Superman dodged with superhuman speed, weaving through the onslaught like a needle threading through chaos.
In an instant Superman closed the distance, slamming into Ultra-Humanite with enough force to send the metallic titan stumbling backward. But Ultra-Humanite was prepared. He swung an enormous fist, catching Superman mid-air and sending him crashing into the side of a building.
Inside, office workers scattered as Superman emerged from the rubble, unharmed but visibly annoyed. "You're going to pay for that window," he quipped, before shooting back into the fray.
The battle was a spectacle of power and ingenuity. Ultra-Humanite used every trick in his arsenal—electrified nets, gravity disruptors, sonic cannons—but Superman countered each one with equal measures of strength and cunning.
At one point Ultra-Humanite hurled a bus at Superman, who caught it with ease and gently set it down before turning back to his opponent. "You're really not big on subtlety, are you?" he said.
Ultra-Humanite's laughter boomed again. "Subtlety is for lesser minds! I am a genius!"
"Then maybe you should have planned this fight somewhere less public," Superman shot back, his eyes glowing with heat vision.
He unleashed twin beams of energy, striking Ultra-Humanite's power core and causing it to spark violently. The mechanical giant staggered, his systems faltering.
By the time Superman landed the final blow—a calculated strike that disabled Ultra-Humanite's power source without harming the man inside—Metropolis was safe once again.
The police and emergency responders moved in, securing the scene and escorting Ultra-Humanite's now-powerless body to a specialized containment unit.
Superman stood amidst the wreckage, his cape billowing in the wind. The crowd that had gathered erupted into cheers, chanting his name.
Back at the Daily Planet, Lois Lane was at the front of the crowd of reporters, her notepad in hand. She managed to catch Superman's attention, calling out, "Superman! Any comment on today's events?"
Superman turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just doing my part," he said.
Lois scribbled furiously, her eyes narrowing as she watched him take off into the sky. "I'm going to figure out who you are," she muttered under her breath.
Meanwhile, Superman soared above the city, a faint grin on his face. If only she knew.
Mercy Graves stepped into Lex Luthor's office, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. She was a picture of calm efficiency, carrying a tablet tucked under one arm and a coffee in hand. But beneath the composed exterior, her heart raced—a ridiculous, treacherous thing that refused to behave itself whenever she was alone with Lex.
He was standing by the massive windows that overlooked Metropolis, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His suit was impeccable, as always, but there was a tension in the set of his shoulders. A faint twitch of his jaw. She could tell that something—or someone—had gotten under his skin.
"Mercy," he said without turning, his voice sharp and clipped. "Do you know what I despise more than failure?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Pineapple on pizza?"
Lex's head tilted ever so slightly, as though he were contemplating whether to dignify her with a response. Instead, he sighed and waved a hand toward the TV, where footage of Superman's fight with Ultra-Humanite looped incessantly. "Interruptions. Unplanned, chaotic interruptions that disrupt carefully laid plans."
Mercy placed the coffee on his desk and crossed her arms. "So, the Ultra-Humanite."
Lex turned to face her, his expression dark. "Yes. That mechanical buffoon! His idiotic stunt not only made Superman look like a savior but also muddied the waters. If supervillains start crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches, people will look to Superman as their exterminator."
He began to pace, his movements sharp and precise, like a chess piece calculating its next move. "And if Superman keeps winning, the narrative shifts. He becomes indispensable. A god among men. And where does that leave LexCorp? Where does that leave me?"
Mercy watched him, her heart tugging in ways she hated to admit. Beneath the cold intellect and iron will, there was something deeply human about Lex—a relentless drive for control, yes, but also a vulnerability he hid behind his fortress of arrogance.
"Maybe you're overthinking it," she said, stepping forward.
Lex stopped pacing, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Overthinking? Mercy, this isn't a board game. It's the future of humanity. Superman represents everything I stand against—unchecked power, blind worship, dependence on an unknown entity."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, cutting him off, surprising even herself. "The whole 'man is meant to stand on his own two feet' speech. I've heard it a hundred times, Lex. But you know what I haven't heard? You admitting that you're afraid of him."
Lex's eyes narrowed, but there was no immediate retort. Mercy pressed on, emboldened.
"You're not just mad at Ultra-Humanite for ruining your plans. You're mad because you think he stole your spotlight. Because if Superman keeps winning, it's not just your plans that are at risk—it's your ego."
Lex stiffened, his jaw tightening, but she noticed the faintest crack in his composure.
"And that's fine," she said, her tone softer now. "You don't have to outmuscle Superman, Lex. You outthink him. You're Lex Luthor, for crying out loud. The man who turned a failing company into the most powerful corporation on Earth. If anyone can bring Superman down, it's you."
For a moment, there was silence. Lex stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in what could almost—almost—be called a smile.
"Mercy," he said, his tone quieter now, "you have an annoying habit of being right."
She felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, but she quickly masked it with a shrug. "It's why you keep me around."
Lex's gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, and Mercy felt her pulse quicken. Was that… warmth in his eyes? Gratitude? No. She must be imagining things.
He turned back to his desk, picking up the coffee she'd brought him. "You're right," he said. "Superman's anonymity is his greatest strength—and his greatest weakness. If he's so noble, so perfect, then why the secrecy? Why not reveal who he really is?"
Mercy blinked, realizing he'd taken her offhand suggestion and run with it. "So, a press conference?"
"A press conference," Lex confirmed, his voice firm. "I'll address the public directly. Pose the questions no one else dares to ask. Who is Superman? What does he want? And if he's truly here to help, why hide who he really is?"
He took a sip of his coffee, his expression settling into one of cool determination. "It's time to make the people question their so-called hero. To remind them that even gods have secrets."
Mercy nodded, backing toward the door. "I'll handle the logistics."
"Good," Lex said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Thank you, Mercy."
Her heart stumbled in her chest. She forced a tight-lipped smile and slipped out of the office before she could say—or do—anything stupid.
As she walked down the hall, her mind raced. Lex's gratitude wasn't new, but the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd said it… No. She shook her head. Lex Luthor didn't warm toward anyone. She must have imagined it.
Back in his office Lex stared out the window, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Superman might have the power of a god, but Lex Luthor had something far greater: a plan.
Clark was used to Lois Lane's verbal sparring by now. It had become something of a daily routine. But this afternoon it was different. Now she wasn't just sparring—she was outright furious.
"You ran off! Again!" Lois hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest as they stood in the bullpen. The entire Daily Planet buzzed around them, phones ringing and keyboards clacking, but to Clark, all he could focus on was the fire in her hazel eyes. "I swear, Kent, you have the worst timing in the history of journalism."
Clark adjusted his glasses nervously, trying to conjure a plausible excuse. "It was—uh—an emergency," he stammered.
"An emergency?" Lois threw her hands up, exasperated. "Oh, what was it this time? Did your houseplant need watering? Did your invisible goldfish need rescuing? Because while you were off doing whatever it is you do, I was almost flattened by a collapsing building trying to cover your story!"
Clark opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't exactly tell her that he'd been busy saving her life—and the rest of the city—while fighting Ultra-Humanite.
"You're a liability, Kent," Lois snapped. "Perry's on both our necks after that stunt. If you keep disappearing on me, my job's going to be on the line, and I—"
Clark wasn't listening anymore. He should have been, of course, but something about the way her cheeks flushed and her voice sharpened as she insulted him made his brain short-circuit. She was radiant when she was angry—like a storm, all fire and energy. And he liked it. Too much.
"Are you even listening to me?!" Lois demanded, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"No," Clark said honestly. Then, before he could think better of it, he grabbed her arm—not hard, but firmly enough to halt her mid-rant.
"Excuse me?" Lois gawked at him, her expression somewhere between outrage and bewilderment.
"Come with me," Clark said, his voice low and urgent.
"What? Where? Let go of me, Smallville—"
But Clark wasn't listening. He tugged her out of the bullpen, ignoring her protests, and before she could yell loud enough to attract an audience, he scooped her up in his arms.
"Kent, what the hell are you—"
And then they were moving. Fast.
The world blurred around Lois as Clark raced through the building, his speed so precise and subtle that no one even noticed them vanish. In seconds they were on the rooftop, the city stretching out before them, the wind catching Lois's hair.
Clark set her down gently. She stumbled slightly, still too shocked to speak.
"What—how—" she began, her voice unsteady.
"Lois," Clark interrupted, his voice steady now. He reached up and slowly took off his glasses, looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes of his. Then, with one fluid motion, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled it open, revealing the unmistakable red-and-yellow S on his chest.
Lois stared, her jaw dropping as the realization hit her like a freight train.
"You're…"
"Superman," Clark finished, his voice soft.
Lois took a step back, her hands flying to her temples as if trying to process what she was seeing. "You're Superman?"
Clark nodded. "I couldn't keep lying to you. Not if we're going to keep working together. Not if I'm going to keep disappearing every time something happens. And…" He hesitated, his cheeks reddening. "Not if I… like you as much as I do."
Lois froze. For the first time in her life, she was completely, utterly speechless. Her gaze flickered from his face to the emblem on his chest, then back to his face again.
"Lois?" Clark prompted nervously.
Finally, she took a step closer, reaching out a hand almost tentatively. She placed it against his chest, feeling the warmth of the suit beneath her palm, the steady beat of his heart.
"You… like me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Clark nodded. "I do. A lot. Which is why I couldn't keep this from you. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn't honest."
Lois looked up at him, her expression unreadable. Then, to Clark's utter surprise, she laughed—a soft, almost incredulous sound.
"Unbelievable," she murmured. "You're Superman. The guy who saved a collapsing bridge this morning, stopped Ultra-Humanite this afternoon, and—and you're standing here telling me you like me?"
Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous…"
"No," Lois said, cutting him off. Her hand was still on his chest. "It's just… I didn't see it. How did I not see it? I'm an investigative journalist for crying out loud!"
Clark grinned sheepishly. "The glasses help."
Lois shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "This is insane."
"That's one way to put it," Clark said, his tone light. "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm probably more terrified of you right now than I was of Ultra-Humanite."
Lois snorted, the sound so unexpected that it startled them both.
"You're ridiculous," she said, but there was a warmth in her voice now.
Clark smiled. "I've been told that before."
They stood there for a moment, the city sprawling out around them, the wind tugging at their hair and clothes. Finally, Lois dropped her hand from his chest and took a step back, her expression shifting to something more serious.
"You're going to have to work really hard to make this up to me, Kent," she said, crossing her arms.
Clark nodded, the hint of a smile still on his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Lois studied him for a long moment, then turned on her heel. "Well, come on, Superman. We've got a story to write."
Clark hesitated, watching her walk away.
"And Clark?" she called over her shoulder.
"Yeah?"
She glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling with something he couldn't quite name.
"Don't keep any more secrets from me."
Clark nodded. "You've got it, Lois."
And with that she disappeared back down the stairs, leaving Clark alone on the rooftop. He let out a long breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He was relieved he told her but also anxious.
This was going to be complicated.
