Smallville – New Luther Manor
Lex Luthor leaned over the billiard table, sinking the final ball into the corner pocket with a sharp click. Straightening up, he set the cue aside, wiped his palms with a towel, and picked up the day's Daily Planet.
Across the front page was a single headline dominating the layout — The Dark Knight Rises in Gotham.
"Batman?" Lex murmured, his brow tightening as he scanned the article's description of Gotham's newest vigilante.
"Darling, you don't look pleased," came a teasing voice. Victoria Hardwick entered, holding a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Lex didn't glance up. "I'm fine. Especially after watching Sir Harry Hardwick make his play for my father's company."
Victoria smiled, setting the champagne on the edge of the billiard table. "Wasn't that what we agreed on? It's the first step in taking control of LuthorCorp."
Lex's tone was flat. "I don't consider corporate warfare with my father something worth celebrating."
"You've been brooding too much lately," she said softly, looping her arms around his neck. Her perfume drifted between them, but Lex remained detached.
"Brooding comes from incompetence," he said coolly. "Worry, from unfulfilled desire. I suffer from neither. What I feel is something rarer — fear of the unknown."
"Unknown?" Victoria's eyes followed his gaze to the newspaper headline. "You mean the Dark Knight? Batman? Are these urban myths what trouble you?"
Lex shook his head slightly. "I know Gotham. It's not Metropolis. The city feeds on corruption, and its people live in resentment and madness. A man in a mask won't change that. The evil there doesn't vanish because someone declares himself righteous. It only mutates."
He looked down at the newspaper again, expression unreadable. "When everyone adds their own brushstroke to a painting, the image becomes chaos. Forcing one's version of justice on the world is just another kind of tyranny."
Victoria tilted her head. "You really don't think much of him, do you?"
"Let's just call it a difference in philosophy," Lex said. Then his tone sharpened. "Any progress on the Court of Owls investigation Sir Harry mentioned?"
"None," Victoria sighed. "My father said he's never heard of any such group."
Lex's expression darkened. "You should go back to Metropolis for now. It's safer there than here."
"You think those assassins who attacked you might return?"
"Can't rule it out." He nodded once.
After she left, Lex dropped onto the sofa, staring into the dimly lit room. His reflection in the glass windows looked pale, tense. The assassin's body from the earlier attack still haunted him — its strange burn marks, unnatural and clean, like it had been seared by something beyond fire.
Had Clark done it? Or Adrian — the one who always lingered in mystery, powerful and unpredictable?
Or was it something else entirely?
What Lex feared most was not an enemy he could see, but the unseen forces beyond his control. If it were a direct rival, he could confront it head-on. But the unknown? That gnawed at him.
---
Kent Farm – Night
The cozy farmhouse glowed under the soft yellow light from the kitchen. The smell of bread and ham filled the air.
Adrian sat at the table, devouring his meal like a starved wolf. Supersonic flight drained him more than he'd expected — every muscle hummed with hunger.
Across from him, Clark stared in disbelief. "You… you can fly?"
Jonathan Kent set down his knife, smiling with a hint of awe. "It surprised us too, son. We don't even know how to explain it. Is it lift from some kind of airflow? Or something else entirely? Whatever the case, it seems to be something unique to Adrian."
Clark's appetite vanished. The pizza slice in his hand suddenly tasted like cardboard. Jealousy crept in before he could stop it — a bitter mix of admiration and frustration.
Martha noticed immediately and gently rested her hand on his. "Clark, do you remember when you were younger? You used to float while sleeping. Once, you even broke the bed frame, remember?"
Clark forced a smile. "Yeah, I remember. But that only happened a few times. Then it stopped."
Jonathan leaned forward. "That means the ability's there, Clark. Maybe it just hasn't awakened yet."
"Maybe," Clark muttered, setting his food aside. He longed to soar like his brother — to break free of gravity's pull and touch the clouds himself.
Then, unbidden, a vision flashed in his mind — Adrian descending from the sky, radiant and confident, while he followed behind wearing a cape of his own. The image filled him with hope for a heartbeat.
But the warmth quickly cooled. That future didn't feel like his. It felt like Adrian's shadow.
Across the table, Adrian wiped his mouth and spoke suddenly, his tone calm but edged with dark humor. "I was thinking about something, Clark. If someone fell from a great height — say they hit terminal velocity at about 120 kilometers per hour — and I caught them mid-air…" He leaned back, smirking. "What do you think would happen?"
Clark frowned, thrown off by the question. "I… guess you'd save them?"
Adrian chuckled lowly. "No. Scientifically, the moment they hit my arms at that speed, their body would split apart. Physics doesn't care about heroics."
Clark looked disturbed, but Adrian only grinned faintly, the gleam of amusement in his eyes unmistakable. There was something both terrifying and charismatic in his confidence — Homelander's certainty wrapped in Kent restraint.
"Maybe you'll find a better way," Clark said quietly, unwilling to argue.
Jonathan and Martha exchanged concerned glances. They both sensed it — that strange moral gravity their youngest son carried, powerful and unpredictable.
Jonathan reached for his coffee mug, his voice steady but thoughtful. "We'll talk more about that later, Adrian. Maybe tomorrow, you and I can test your limits properly — under supervision this time."
Adrian simply smiled, his piercing blue eyes reflecting the kitchen's warm light. "Sure, Dad. But I don't think there's much in this world that can limit me anymore."
His tone wasn't arrogant — just frighteningly certain.
Outside, the night stretched endlessly across the Kansas fields. The windmill that once stood tall was gone, replaced by an empty patch of dirt and memory. The moonlight gleamed faintly on the wreckage — a silent witness to the boy who could now touch the stars.
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