Chapter 33: Stormfront appears early, does even an old antique dare to come out and bark?
Crack.
A thick purple thunderstorm tore through the night sky.
The lightning did not strike the lightning rod.
Instead, it smashed straight onto the roof of an old apartment building in Queens.
The wooden water tower on the roof exploded on the spot.
Tons of domestic water poured down, and before it hit the ground, it was evaporated into a cloud of scorching white mist by the high temperature of the residual plasma.
Bricks and charred wooden planks flew everywhere.
They smashed through the windshields of several used cars parked downstairs.
Flames spread rapidly along the aging wires.
The insulation layer on the outside of the wall caught fire.
The pungent smell of burning plastic mixed with the scent of sulfur instantly filled the entire street.
Screams rose one after another.
The security door on the first floor was knocked open.
Over a dozen civilians in pajamas scrambled out of the sea of fire.
A woman ran too hurriedly, and one of her slippers flew off.
Her bare foot stepped on the asphalt road covered in glass shards, leaving bloody imprints.
She couldn't feel the pain at all, clutching her crying child in her arms tightly, and dived into an alleyway without fire.
Someone tripped in a muddy puddle and struggled to crawl up.
Stormfront hovered in mid-air.
Purple electric arcs slithered back and forth across the surface of her black combat suit.
Making crackling sounds.
She looked down at the crowd below, scurrying around like ants.
She took a deep breath of the choking smoke.
A wave of satisfaction filled her lungs.
She hadn't experienced this thrill of dominating life and death for decades.
Hiding in that dark, sunless bunker, watching Vought Corporation elevate a bunch of actors to the altar.
She had long had enough of it.
Now, she could smell the scent of fear again.
This was the treatment a pure-blooded god deserved.
The dozens of superhuman extremists behind her were excitedly smashing the shop windows along the street.
Throwing the cash registers and clothing inside onto the street.
Manhattan.
The office hall of the Daily Planet.
There were few people in the newspaper office late at night.
Only a few cold white fluorescent lights were still on.
The central air conditioning made a monotonous whirring sound.
Clark sat at his workstation in the corner.
He stared at the computer screen, fingers tapping on the keyboard.
The keys felt a bit stiff.
He had just typed the words "Antitrust Hearing," and his fingers suddenly stopped in mid-air.
A high-frequency electrical sound drilled into his ears.
This sound was still piercing even across tens of kilometers of night sky.
Immediately after, there was the muffled sound of brick walls collapsing.
And the distorted screams of women and children.
Clark looked at the half-finished news draft on the screen.
The cursor blinked after the last line of text.
He sighed.
"It just needs an ending."
He muttered softly.
His right hand gripped the mouse and moved to the top left corner of the screen.
He clicked save.
The document was saved to the background.
Clark raised his hand and pinched the edge of the black-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose.
He took off his glasses.
Two shallow red marks had been pressed into both sides of the bridge of his nose by the hard plastic nose pads, and he reached out to rub them.
Subsequently, he grabbed the collar of his red and white plaid shirt.
He pulled hard on both sides.
Snap.
Several cheap plastic buttons were torn off.
They flew off, smashed against the iron filing cabinet nearby, and bounced into the seams of the carpet.
Underneath the shirt.
The red and blue combat suit was revealed.
The huge S logo on the chest shimmered under the fluorescent light.
Clark stood up.
He strode to the window next to his workstation.
He pushed open the glass window, and the night wind poured in, ruffling his hair.
He stepped onto the windowsill with one foot.
His legs bent slightly, and his thigh muscles instantly tightened.
Boom.
A muffled sonic boom echoed in the newspaper office hall.
Waste paper on several desks was blown into the air by the airflow.
Clark's figure had already disappeared outside the window.
The night sky over Queens was illuminated red by the fire.
Stormfront raised her right hand.
The purple electricity at her fingertips gathered again.
She aimed at an old man at the street corner who was trying to start his car to escape.
Just one second before the lightning was about to strike.
A piercing screech smashed down from above.
The sound was louder than a thunderclap.
The powerful air pressure pushed the air away.
A visible white wave of air slammed fiercely onto the street.
The strong wind instantly extinguished the fire on the outer wall of the apartment building.
Broken glass and stones were blown against the base of the wall by the wind.
The lightning in Stormfront's hand was blown off course by the airflow.
It struck a fire hydrant nearby.
A thick column of water gushed out, pouring onto the scorching road surface, and a large cloud of white mist rose.
The white mist dissipated.
Clark hovered in mid-air less than a dozen meters away from Stormfront.
The Red Cape behind him fluttered slowly in the night wind.
The expression on his face was calm.
He just frowned slightly while looking at the ruins and the injured civilians below.
Stormfront stopped her movements.
She looked the man in front of her up and down.
Blue eyes, Red Cape.
"You are that mongrel hiding behind the newspaper."
Stormfront grinned, revealing a sneer of contempt.
Her teeth appeared somewhat ghastly white under the firelight.
She didn't take that wave of air just now seriously at all.
Decades of confinement left her perception of the outside world stuck in the era when Vought Corporation was first founded.
She felt there were only two types of people in this world.
The true gods who injected the first-generation compound v, and the remaining inferior trash.
Clark looked at her.
This woman radiated a musty smell of a basement that hadn't seen sunlight for years.
Mixed with the burnt smell on her clothes, it was very unpleasant.
"Setting fires on someone else's roof in the middle of the night, do you think this is impressive?"
Clark's voice was not loud, but it was very penetrating.
"Shut up!"
The flesh on Stormfront's face twitched.
She hated it most when others spoke to her in such a flat tone.
It made her feel like she wasn't getting the awe she deserved.
"What do you know, you base, inferior creature."
Stormfront put her hands on her waist, purple electric arcs circling her arms.
Spitting out vicious words.
"We are the pinnacle of evolution! We are gods with pure bloodlines!"
"Those mortals are just consumables used to provide us with resources."
She pointed to the street below.
"Those inferior genes with colors should have been cleaned out in the first place."
The more she spoke, the more excited she became, and her voice started to turn shrill.
"And you. A parasite that rolled out from some alien corner."
She flew forward two meters.
"Do you think you can be king on this planet just because you beat that defective product, Homelander?"
"He is just a mass-produced product with diluted blood."
"And I am the most perfect masterpiece of the first generation."
Clark listened to this rhetoric.
Finding it somewhat ridiculous.
A human from Earth who mutated due to a potion, talking about genes and bloodlines in front of him, a true Kryptonian.
Such blind arrogance was simply laughable.
"You are an old antique."
Clark interrupted her.
He couldn't even be bothered to refute those Nazi remarks.
"The outside world has long changed. A failed experimental product like you should honestly stay in the grave."
This sentence precisely stepped on Stormfront's sore spot.
She hated it most when people called her an old antique.
And she hated it most when people denied her bloodline.
The sneer on her face disappeared completely.
Her features scrunched together in anger, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened.
"I will peel your skin off!"
Stormfront let out a roar.
Her vocal cords rubbed together, creating an unpleasant wheezing sound.
She raised her hands abruptly.
Her ten fingers clasped together above her head.
The purple thunderclouds in the sky began to churn and roll back crazily.
The superhuman extremists in the surrounding blocks felt this magnetic field.
They all released their own weak superpowers.
Purple electric light poured toward the top of Stormfront's head like all rivers flowing to the sea.
The smell of ozone in the air was thick.
Making one want to vomit after one sniff.
The violent plasma rapidly compressed and collapsed between her hands.
Within seconds.
A huge purple plasma ball of light took shape.
It elongated continuously, turning into a terrifying lightning pillar with a diameter of two meters.
Liquid plasma flowed on the surface of the lightning pillar.
The high temperature scorched the surrounding air, distorting and deforming it.
This energy was enough to instantly vaporize a heavy main battle tank into molten iron.
Stormfront's face was dyed somewhat purple by the purple light.
She looked at Clark opposite her.
A vicious thought suddenly flashed through her mind.
She knew this guy liked to play the savior.
Liked to protect those trash civilians.
A trace of cruelty flashed in Stormfront's eyes.
She didn't push this world-destroying lightning pillar toward Clark.
Instead, she twisted her wrists abruptly.
She pressed her hands fiercely toward a dead-end alley directly below.
There, dozens of civilians who hadn't managed to escape were huddled.
The woman holding her child was looking at the sky in despair, slumped in the muddy water.
"Go save them! Alien mongrel!"
Stormfront laughed out loud.
The violent purple plasma lightning pillar.
Carrying high temperatures that melted everything.
Smashed straight toward the innocent civilians fleeing below.
Chapter 34: Nazi Rhetoric? The protagonist shatters Stormfront's lightning with one punch.
A purple pillar of lightning roared as it slammed into the ground.
The air was scorched white by temperatures of tens of thousands of degrees.
In the dead-end alley.
The woman clutched the six-year-old boy in her arms with all her might.
The surrounding red brick walls began to crack and flake away under the intense heat.
An old newspaper pasted in the corner instantly curled up and spontaneously combusted into a pile of black ash.
The little boy wailed, his tears evaporating the moment they left his eyes due to the incoming heatwave.
The woman closed her eyes in despair, her back pressed tightly against the scorching bricks.
Waiting for her body to be instantly vaporized.
High above.
Clark's toes violently shattered a piece of invisible air.
A muffled sonic boom exploded overhead.
He vanished.
His speed reached the limit allowed by the laws of physics.
He had to get in front of the civilians before that violent, high-temperature plasma struck.
Swoosh.
The airflow was violently torn apart.
Clark's red and blue suit appeared out of thin air above the dead-end alley.
Because he stopped too abruptly, the violent wind pressure generated beneath his feet slammed directly downward.
Two green trash cans filled with swill in the corner of the alley were overturned by the wind.
The foul-smelling leftover vegetable leaves and slop spilled all over the ground.
Splashing onto the soles of the woman's shoes below.
Clark frowned slightly.
A little awkward.
He hadn't controlled the force of his teleportation well and had dirtied her shoes.
But there was no time to look down and apologize now.
The purple lightning pillar above crashed down.
The violent plasma, two meters in diameter, bit fiercely into Clark's chest like a crazed giant python.
BOOM!
The tremendous thunderclap nearly pierced the eardrums of half the residents of New York.
The blinding light illuminated the entire night sky, turning the darkness into an eerie purple day.
The lightning struck solidly right in the center of the'S' emblem.
If an ordinary super-powered human were to take this hit.
Even if they were just grazed, they would be burned to a crisp within a fraction of a second.
But Clark just hovered there in mid-air.
His arms hanging naturally at his sides.
The tens of thousands of degrees of high-temperature plasma collided with the Bio-field on the surface of his body, instantly losing its original violent form.
It was like a bucket of cheap paint splashed onto a piece of bulletproof glass.
The purple lightning was forcibly diverted, overflowing wildly along his shoulders, back, and the sides of his thighs.
The aftermath of the lightning struck the old buildings on both sides.
The cement exterior walls flaked off in large chunks, and the steel bars of the security windows were melted into glowing red molten iron, dripping down.
Clark looked down at his chest.
The plaid shirt he hadn't had time to take off at the newspaper office was left with not even a thread remaining under the scouring of the plasma.
It had completely turned into a few pieces of black ash, which scattered with the wind.
He reached out and patted his chest twice.
Brushing off the remaining ash.
He felt the power of this lightning pillar.
It was just like taking off a turtleneck sweater in winter.
The static electricity hitting his skin felt slightly tingling.
That was all he felt.
It hadn't even managed to pierce through his outermost epidermal cells.
Stormfront, in mid-air, was laughing wantonly.
Her arms raised above her head, fingers spread, she was maintaining the maximum output of lightning.
She was certain that the alien bastard had already been burned to ashes.
Along with those lowly civilians below, all turned into thin air.
The smoke and blinding purple light slowly dissipated.
Stormfront's laughter caught in her throat.
Her Adam's apple bobbed, making a strange sound like a leaking broken bellows.
Above the dead-end alley.
The man in the red and blue suit stood there unharmed.
His Red Cape fluttered casually in the turbulence of the electromagnetic field.
There wasn't even a hint of singed curling at the edges.
The faint blue stubble on his chin was still clearly visible.
"Impossible..."
Stormfront's eyes widened, the corners of her eyes splitting into a fine bloody gash from overexertion.
"This is tens of thousands of degrees of high temperature! What kind of monster are you?!"
She panicked.
Her teeth bit her lips, drawing blood.
She pressed down violently with both hands, frantically squeezing the last bit of compound v power within her body.
The plasma pillar connecting to the thunderclouds above became even thicker.
The color changed from purple to a blackened dark purple.
The dozens of super-powered minions around them collapsed into the ruins one after another.
Their abilities had been forcibly drained by Stormfront.
Each one of them was pale, like a dried corpse drained of blood, lying on the ground panting heavily.
The oppressive force of the lightning pillar increased exponentially.
Yet Clark didn't even bother to strike a defensive pose.
He lifted his red boots.
His soles stepping on the void of air, as if walking on flat ground.
Braving this dark purple lightning storm capable of vaporizing an armored vehicle, he walked upward step by step.
The violent plasma striking him head-on was brutally knocked aside by his body.
The electric arcs crackled, scurrying around him like a group of startled snakes.
He walked very slowly.
Just like taking a walk to digest dinner on a farm ridge in Kansas.
He didn't even quicken his pace at all.
But this leisurely attitude dealt a devastating psychological blow to Stormfront.
She watched helplessly as that red and blue figure moved upstream against her ultimate finishing move.
Getting closer and closer to her.
Ten meters.
Five meters.
Stormfront's arms began to shake violently.
A creaking sound of being unable to bear the load came from her bones.
Her breathing became rapid, her face covered in cold sweat of fear.
Three meters.
Clark arrived in front of her.
The two stared at each other across the thick pillar of lightning.
Stormfront's face was completely twisted and distorted from fear and overexertion.
Like a crazed vengeful spirit, gnashing her teeth.
Clark looked at her.
His right hand clenched into a fist.
His entire right arm pulled back in a simple arc.
There was no flashy ability glow.
No roar of exertion.
Just pure, brute physical strength.
He aimed at the very core energy vortex of the lightning pillar.
And threw a punch.
The fist carried thousands of tons of terrifying kinetic energy.
It smashed directly into the void of the electromagnetic field.
Physical force and energy collided in the most brutal way at this moment.
Time seemed to pause for half a second.
Immediately after.
A sound comparable to a tactical nuclear explosion erupted over New York.
A burst of intense white light exploded in the sky.
The two-meter-diameter dark purple lightning pillar had its energy structure forcibly broken by this punch.
Starting from the point where the fist struck, it crumbled inch by inch.
Turning into countless purple sparks the size of fingernails, dissipating and extinguishing in the night sky.
The thick thunderclouds filling the sky were directly blown away by the gale force wind generated by this punch.
Revealing the pitch-black night sky behind and a few dim stars.
A violent shockwave spread outward in a ring.
Stormfront bore the brunt of it.
She had no time to make any defensive moves at all.
Her whole body was like a sparrow hit by a speeding high-speed train.
She was sent flying by the airwave.
Tumbled over a dozen times in the air, tracing a wretched parabola.
BANG!
She slammed heavily into the side wall of an abandoned old red-brick building thirty meters away.
The immense impact smashed a human-shaped hole into the thick load-bearing wall.
Red bricks and cement chunks tumbled down.
Landing in the foul-smelling trash heap below the building.
Stormfront's body was stuck halfway in the hole of the dilapidated brick wall.
Her left arm was bent at a bizarre, reverse acute angle.
The stark white bone fragments pierced through her black suit, hanging with shreds of flesh exposed to the outside.
Seven or eight ribs in her chest were broken, the entire chest cavity caving inward.
Her head was splitting with pain.
She opened her mouth, and a mouthful of thick, black blood vomited out.
Blood clots fell onto her chin and neck, emitting a foul, fishy stench.
Her vision was severely blurred, and her ears were filled with high-frequency buzzing.
On the street below.
The civilians who hadn't run far looked at this scene in the sky, all completely stunned.
Forgetting even to scream.
The woman in the dead-end alley held her child, looking up with her whole body trembling.
Clark retracted his fist.
Flicking off the nonexistent moisture on his knuckles.
Hovering in mid-air, he watched the dying woman in the wall hole quietly.
Stormfront was stuck in the broken bricks.
Each breath brought piercing pain, the broken ribs rubbing fiercely against her lung lobes.
But she didn't cry or beg for mercy like Homelander.
She was a fanatical product of the last century, her mind filled with pathological superiority.
She bit down with her blood-stained teeth.
Extending her intact right hand, she dug deeply into the brick crevices beside her.
The veins on her neck bulged, and she forcibly pulled her body, buried in the ruins, out by an inch.
The bones inside her body emitted a teeth-grinding creaking friction sound.
That was the broken bones forcibly resetting themselves.
Muscle tissue squirmed and grew frantically under her abnormal metabolism.
She forced herself to lift her head.
On her blood-covered face, she squeezed out a cruel, ferocious grin.
"Lowly creature."
Stormfront spat out the blood foam in her mouth, her voice sounding like sandpaper grinding against rust.
Carrying undisguised mockery.
"What I injected is the first-generation pure-blood compound v."
"My healing factor is immortal and indestructible!"
Chapter 35: Stormfront's self-healing ability, which she took such pride in, was burned straight through by Heat Vision.
Crack, crack.
The crisp sound of bones grinding against each other was incredibly clear under the night sky.
Stormfront was wedged inside the broken brick wall.
A faint wisp of white smoke rose from her left arm, which was bent backwards.
The jagged, pale bone fragments looked like living creatures with their own consciousness.
They sought each other out and reconnected beneath the flesh, forcibly snapping the broken joint back into place.
The excruciating pain covered her forehead in cold sweat, but she didn't even let out a grunt.
Red muscle fibers emerged from deep within the wound, like hundreds of tiny nematodes, frantically twisting and weaving together.
In just a few seconds.
The damaged flesh fused back together, leaving not even a scar behind, save for large patches of dried black blood.
This was the domineering power of the original compound v.
The defective products that Vought Corporation mass-produced later couldn't even come close to this level of limb regeneration.
Stormfront took a deep breath.
The broken ribs on her lungs had already reconnected, and her breathing became smooth once again.
She spat a mouthful of broken teeth into the rubble at her feet.
Her blood-streaked saliva stretched out into a long thread.
She looked up at Clark, who was hovering in the distance.
That alien piece of trash certainly had a lot of strength in that punch just now.
But so what?
She didn't believe that the opponent could keep using physical attacks of this level without paying a price.
As long as she could wear him down.
As long as she could drag the battle into a war of attrition, her immortal body would absolutely be able to drag him to his death.
In the end, the one standing would definitely be the pure-blood.
Stormfront kicked off with her legs, pulling her body out of the hole in the wall.
Broken bricks clattered and fell.
She flew back into mid-air.
She clenched her newly regenerated left fist, feeling the surging power of the serum in her veins.
She prepared for close-quarters combat.
She would tear that eyesore of a suit into shreds at close range.
She would dig that damn'S' emblem right out of his chest.
Clark watched her.
Watching this woman who was so smugly immersed in her inferior genetic mutation.
He didn't even bother to take a defensive stance; he simply felt a bit annoyed.
Dealing with a bug like this that kept crawling back up no matter how many times it was killed was a bit of a waste of time.
The civilians below were still trembling in the ruins.
Better to finish this quickly and go back to sleep.
Clark sighed.
"Is that so?"
His tone was very flat, and not a single ripple of emotion could be heard in his voice.
"Then let me see just how fast your cells can reproduce."
As soon as he finished speaking.
Clark didn't tense his eye muscles.
Nor did he let out a roar to bolster his own courage like Homelander would.
He simply gazed quietly at Stormfront.
His eyes instantly lit up with a pure red glow.
The light was too bright.
So bright that the night sky over the entire Queens area lost its original color.
It was as if a miniature star had suddenly ignited above New York.
The woman in the alley below covered her child's eyes tightly.
She herself couldn't stand the intense light either, closing her eyes and turning her head away.
The asphalt road began to soften and turn sticky under the radiation.
A plastic trash can by the side of the road developed blisters on its surface, and its edges began to melt.
And this was only the result of Clark trying his best to control the range of his output.
Two blinding beams of red light shot out.
There was no sound at all.
Because the speed of light was so fast that even the friction of tearing through the air was left behind.
The beams of light pierced through Stormfront's body without any resistance.
Striking her in the chest and lower abdomen.
The high heat penetrated her black fireproof suit in a fraction of a second.
Reaching the pure-blood flesh she was so proud of.
The original compound v inside Stormfront began to operate frantically.
Urging her cells to divide at tens of thousands of times their normal speed in an attempt to repair the incinerated tissue structure.
The newly formed granulation tissue had just poked its head out from the edge of the wound.
Not even having time to form a complete cell membrane, it was instantly vaporized by the tens of thousands of degrees of heat.
Turning into a wisp of foul-smelling white smoke.
The blood in her veins boiled instantly, turning into high-pressure steam that burst through her capillaries.
Countless tiny blood holes exploded across the surface of her skin.
The burning fat emitted a pungent smell of charred meat.
Her bones turned black and carbonized under the high temperature, becoming brittle and cracking.
Compared to the speed of destruction, her regeneration speed was as slow as a ridiculous slow-motion playback.
Stormfront opened her mouth.
She wanted to curse, she wanted to scream for help, but her vocal cords had been instantly cooked by the scorching air sucked into her lungs.
She could only emit a hoarse, miserable scream that sounded worse than sandpaper grinding against raw iron.
The sound was filled with a despair that was more painful than death itself.
Every nerve ending in her body was enduring an overloaded, excruciating pain.
She twitched frantically in mid-air like a ragdoll being electrocuted.
So much for the original bloodline.
So much for the pinnacle of genetics.
In the face of the absolute heat of a star, carbon-based life forms on Earth were nothing but a handful of ash.
Clark felt that was enough.
He closed his eyes and cut off the output of his Heat Vision.
The night sky was filled with darkness once again.
A swirling cold wind whipped up around them due to the rapid drop in temperature.
Stormfront plummeted from mid-air.
Ninety percent of her body was severely burned.
A shell of charred black crust had formed on her skin, and black smoke was still rising from it.
That retro suit had long since been burned away.
Leaving only a mass of charred, useless flesh.
Even her original features were indistinguishable.
Thud.
She slammed heavily into a puddle outside the alley.
Muddy water splashed onto her scorching body, making a sizzling quenching sound and rising into a cloud of white mist.
She wasn't dead yet.
But the genetic chains within her had completely disintegrated.
Her superpowers were gone.
She had become a useless person who could only lie in the muddy water, gasping for breath.
Hundreds of kilometers away.
In the center of Metropolis.
At the top of a skyscraper with a minimalist design.
This was the headquarters of LexCorp.
The office was astonishingly large, occupying almost the entire floor.
The air conditioning was set very low, making one's back feel cold.
A bald man wearing a custom-tailored suit sat in front of a holographic projection screen.
The screen was playing everything that had just happened in New York.
Lex Luthor.
He held a crystal wine glass in his hand.
It was filled with top-tier red wine from Burgundy, France.
The thermal imaging data transmitted back by the satellite showed that the temperature in the target area at that moment had gone straight off the charts.
The sensor had almost burned out due to the thermal radiation overload.
Luthor didn't wet his pants in fear like the Vought executives.
He gently swirled his wine glass.
The dark red liquid left a ring of wine stains on the walls of the glass.
He looked at the hovering figure of the Red Cape on the screen.
Those idiots at Vought Corporation.
To actually think they could control the world using defective products created with potions.
It was truly pitifully stupid.
Luthor took a sip of wine.
The ice-cold liquid slid down his throat.
He looked at the screen and let out a short laugh.
Chapter 36: Lex Luthor Crosses Over, and a Smart Villain Sets His Sights on the Prize
The remote control button made a faint sound of plastic friction.
The image on the holographic projection screen froze instantly.
Lex Luthor leaned back into the black leather sofa.
The light from the screen shone onto his bald head.
The image paused at the second Clark's eyes erupted with star-level Heat Vision.
The red light pierced the night sky, and also burned a gaping hole through Stormfront's body.
Luthor didn't scream in shock like ordinary netizens.
He swirled the crystal wine glass in his hand.
The dark red wine left an even trail on the glass wall.
He tilted his head back.
He downed the remaining high-end red wine in the glass in one gulp.
The wine was a bit cold.
It slid down his throat into his stomach, bringing with it a hint of sour astringency.
Luthor placed the empty glass casually on the glass coffee table.
The bottom of the glass hit the tabletop, making a dull thud.
He stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling panoramic window.
The bustling night view of Metropolis spread out beneath his feet.
But his mind was filled with the figure in the red and blue suit on the screen.
As the CEO of LexCorp, possessing what was acknowledged as the smartest brain on Earth, Luthor had always despised Vought Corporation from the bottom of his heart.
In his view, Stan Edgar was just a drug-peddling middleman.
What was compound v?
It was nothing more than purified, inferior stimulants.
Injected into the veins of those low-IQ humans, it spawned a group of beasts with muscles and grotesque organs.
Look at the kind of goods Vought produced.
Homelander was a giant baby who lacked love, was neurotic, and only thought with his lower body.
Stormfront was an old lunatic whose brain was still stuck in the last century, spouting racist remarks.
The Deep was worse than a dog.
Packaging these defective products that could lose control at any moment as gods, and even making movies to sell merchandise—it simply lowered the intelligence floor of the entire capitalist class.
But this Red Cape on the screen was different.
Luthor turned around, squinting his eyes as he looked at the holographic projection.
The other party didn't have that post-drug excitement, nor the deformities brought about by genetic mutation.
The way he walked amidst the lightning was too composed.
It was a kind of absolute restraint.
It was the calm that only came from having 100% control over one's own power.
Not greedy for money, not lusting for power, not killing civilians indiscriminately.
This was a perfect god in the true sense of the word.
Luthor felt a fine layer of goosebumps rise on his back.
It wasn't excitement, but deep fear and disgust.
He could not tolerate the existence of such a thing in this world.
Human civilization should be led by the smartest brains, not ridden by an alien lump of flesh possessing absolute power.
If such a perfect god could not be controlled, then it must be destroyed.
The communicator on the desk flashed a green light.
"Boss."
The voice of his female assistant, Jasmine, came through.
It was a bit tight, carrying the fatigue of working late at night.
"Come in." Luthor pressed the talk button.
The wooden office door was pushed open.
Jasmine walked in, holding a large stack of blue folders.
Because she was walking in a hurry, her right high heel accidentally tripped on the edge of the carpet.
She stumbled forward, almost dropping all the files in her hands onto the floor.
"I—I'm sorry, sir."
Jasmine quickly steadied herself, her face turning pale, a fine layer of sweat breaking out on the tip of her nose.
"How is the liquidation progress over at Vought?"
Luthor didn't care about her small mistake and threw the question out directly.
He walked behind his desk and sat down.
"The FBI has sealed off Vought Tower."
Jasmine placed the files on the desk and opened the first page.
"The Department of Justice is freezing all their assets. Stan Edgar is being held in a federal maximum-security prison and is denied bail."
"The consortia on Wall Street are all waiting and watching; Vought's stock has been suspended."
Luthor sneered.
His slender fingers tapped twice on the mahogany desktop.
"Waiting and watching? Those pigs on Wall Street only see the deficits on the balance sheet."
Luthor stood up and picked up his custom-made suit jacket from the coat rack.
"They have no idea what Vought's truly valuable things are."
The formula for compound v had long been exposed by Lamplighter, turning it into worthless scrap paper.
But those dozens of biochemical laboratories underneath Vought—those research legacies preserving decades of superhuman genetic maps and mutation data—were the real gold mine.
As long as he took over these legacies, LexCorp could save decades of exploration time in the field of bioengineering.
To be used against that Red Cape.
"Notify the Legal Department."
Luthor slid his arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket and straightened his tie.
"Activate those shell biotech companies registered in the Cayman Islands."
"Bring the checkbook. We're going to New York to pick up trash."
Jasmine was stunned and opened her mouth.
"Now? But New York is in chaos right now, and the protesters are still smashing Vought's storefronts..."
"Right now."
Luthor grabbed the encrypted mobile phone on the desk.
"While those politicians in Congress are still bickering over how to divide the cake."
"Before dawn, I want to obtain absolute controlling interest in all scientific research laboratories below the twelfth floor of Vought."
"Arrange the plane."
An hour later.
A streamlined silver private business jet landed at JFK Airport.
It was still raining.
The motorcade sped through the dark night, water splashing onto the bulletproof glass.
It drove straight into downtown Manhattan.
Hundreds of protesting civilians were still surrounding the base of Vought Tower.
They held signs in the rain, throwing rotten eggs and rotten tomatoes at the outer walls of the tower.
The air was filled with a foul, sour stench.
Luthor's black sedan stopped directly in front of the building.
A dozen bodyguards in black suits pushed open the car doors, forcibly clearing a path through the crowd.
An umbrella was held over Luthor's head.
He walked onto the steps of Vought Tower, expressionlessly stepping on the rotten vegetable leaves scattered on the ground.
Yellow FBI caution tape was stuck on the main door.
Two armed federal agents blocked the entrance and reached out to stop him.
"This place has been sealed by the federal government; bystanders, move back." The agent warned loudly.
Luthor didn't stop walking.
The chief lawyer behind him stepped forward.
He directly slapped several urgent documents stamped with court seals and special congressional approval orders onto the agent's chest.
"The scientific research property rights for the underground portion of this building have belonged to Crossbones Medical Enterprise as of ten minutes ago."
The lawyer pushed up his glasses, his tone forceful.
"My employer has the right to take over his private property. If you have any objections, please call your director."
The agent looked at the signature on the document and swallowed hard.
He silently stepped back half a step.
The bodyguard tore off the seal on the door.
Luthor stepped over the broken glass scattered on the ground and walked into this power center that once belonged to that commercial empire.
The elevator went straight to the 80th floor.
The top-floor CEO office.
The soundproofing here was very good.
The sound of rain hitting the glass outside became very muffled.
The room was a mess.
The desk was split by a large crack, the leather sofa was overturned on the floor, and there were dried coffee stains and bloodstains of unknown origin on the carpet.
Luthor walked behind the desk that belonged to Stan Edgar.
He pulled out the large black leather swivel chair.
Disdainfully, he wiped the dust off it with a handkerchief and then sat down.
The sponge inside the chair was a bit hard.
It was far less comfortable than the one in his Metropolisoffice.
But that didn't matter.
What mattered was that, from today on, the rules of the game for dealing with superhumans would be set by him.
Jasmine followed into the office, panting, clutching a tablet computer.
Her high heels made no sound on the carpet.
She placed the tablet on the cracked desktop.
"Boss, the inventory of the underground laboratories is complete."
She was breathing a bit rapidly, "Dr. Vought-Baum has fled, but all the genetic sequence databases are intact. Hundreds of frozen culture dishes are undamaged."
Luthor leaned back in the chair.
He listened to the report with his eyes closed, his fingers crossed over his abdomen.
"Useless residue."
Luthor opened his eyes, his tone filled with boredom.
"Those studies are all based on compound v. To deal with that Red Cape, compound v isn't even fit to scratch his itch."
He stood up.
He walked to a whiteboard on the office wall.
He picked up a marker.
He drew an inverted triangle on the whiteboard.
That was the symbol on Superman's chest.
"His cells can withstand heat at a nuclear explosion level, and his skin can't even be pierced by armor-piercing bullets."
Luthor held the pen and wrote a few words next to the triangle.
"He doesn't need to breathe and can survive in outer space."
"He hasn't shown any human physiological defects."
Jasmine stood to the side, not daring to breathe.
It was the first time she had seen her boss give such an unsolvable evaluation of a biological entity.
"But this is impossible."
The marker in Luthor's hand tapped heavily on the whiteboard.
The tip of the pen made a harsh friction sound on the inferior whiteboard.
"As long as it is a living thing, as long as it is composed of cells and proteins, it must obey the conservation of energy."
A fanatical light ignited in the depths of Luthor's eyes.
"His power comes from the outside. Since the physical laws on Earth cannot kill him."
"That means the substance that can restrain his genes is simply not on Earth."
He threw the marker onto the table.
He turned and looked at the rain curtain outside the floor-to-ceiling window.
"Contact the LexCorp Aerospace Department."
Luthor gave the order coldly.
"Activate all deep-space probes. Expand the search range to the asteroid belts outside the solar system."
"Find me a stone that glows green."
Chapter 37: Lex Luthor attempts to acquire Vought Corporation, but he discovers that Superman is the biggest obstacle.
Assistant Molly strode out of the office in her high heels.
The heavy solid wood door clicked shut.
Lex Luthor stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
His hand was still pressed against the cold glass.
A faint chill seeped into his fingertips.
The night rain outside had stopped, and the neon lights at the border of Metropolis and New York shimmered in the puddles.
The streets had regained a rare tranquility.
The Vought Corporation logo had been torn to pieces, and most of the protesting crowd had dispersed.
Looking at this peace, a fanatical gleam of calculation flashed in Lex Luthor's eyes.
Finding that green rock would take time.
But he hated nothing more than waiting idly.
Since the physical weapon was not yet in his hands, he would use what he excelled at—business and capital—to devour everything surrounding this Superman.
Three days later.
A dilapidated pool hall in Brooklyn.
The air was filled with the smell of moldy carpet and the sour stench of cheap beer.
The exhaust fan spun slowly, emitting a creaking noise.
Butcher was hunched over.
Holding a slightly warped pool cue, he was rubbing blue chalk onto the tip.
The powder flaked off, falling onto his dirty leather shoes.
Lex Luthor, wearing a bespoke suit without a single wrinkle, stood beside the pool table.
His attire was completely out of place in this fly-ridden basement.
"The position of head of the security department at LexCorp."
Lex Luthor looked at Butcher, who was aiming, his voice carrying a tone of condescension.
"An annual salary of ten million. I can even provide each member of The Boys with a villa in Beverly Hills."
"As long as you work for me."
Butcher did not look up.
He squinted one eye and exerted force with his right arm.
Bang.
The cue ball struck the red ball with a crisp crack.
The red ball dropped into the pocket.
Butcher straightened his back and slammed the pool cue onto the ground.
He reached out and picked the tobacco shreds from between his teeth.
"Who the hell are you?"
Butcher turned his head, looking Lex Luthor up and down, focusing on his bald head.
His eyes were filled with undisguised contempt.
"Do you think... do you think just because you have a bit of filthy money, you can treat us like dogs on a leash?"
Lex Luthor frowned.
He really disliked people mentioning his hair.
"Vought Corporation is finished. You need a backer now."
Lex Luthor suppressed his temper, trying to reason with him.
"Screw your backer."
Butcher spat a glob of blood-tinged saliva onto the floor.
"Those bastards at Vought Corporation thought the same thing back then, thinking they could walk all over everyone because they had money and the serum."
He pointed to the ceiling.
"And then what? That freak with the Red Cape slapped them into the sewer."
Butcher threw the pool cue onto the table.
"Take your filthy money and get back to Metropolis. I don't want to kill super-powered people anymore, and I certainly don't want to be a hired gun for another perverted capitalist."
He turned around, not even leaving Lex Luthor a glimpse of his back.
Lex Luthor gritted his back teeth.
The muscles on his face were taut.
He didn't say a word, turned around, and walked out of the stinking pool hall.
The failed recruitment attempt did not stop Lex Luthor.
He decided to switch to a more brutal way to take over the city.
He wanted to prove to the entire nation that LexCorp's high technology was more useful than those unstable Mutants.
The next day at noon.
Fifth Avenue, New York.
Although Vought Corporation had fallen, thousands of protesters demanding a thorough investigation into the remnants of Vought Corporation were still gathered on the street.
It was noisy, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and asphalt heated by the sun.
Suddenly, a dense roar of motors came from the sky.
The sound was so loud it drowned out the protests on the street.
Hundreds of matte black LexCorp combat drones rose from the rooftops in the distance.
Like a dark cloud, they bore down on Fifth Avenue.
Mounted under their bellies were riot control tear gas launchers and non-lethal directional sonic weapons.
Red targeting lasers swept wildly through the crowd.
The crowd began to panic; people retreated, stepping on each other's feet.
In a surveillance room several kilometers away.
Lex Luthor watched the drone footage on the big screen.
He was prepared to forcibly suppress this mob and establish LexCorp's absolute security dominance in the city.
"Prepare to release tear gas."
Lex Luthor issued the command into the microphone.
Before the operator could press the enter key.
A blurry afterimage of red and blue suddenly flashed across the surveillance screen.
It was so fast that even the high-speed cameras at 200 frames per second could not capture the full picture.
A sonic boom that shattered glass echoed in the high altitude.
Above the streets of Manhattan.
Clark was delivering a document for the newspaper and happened to be passing by.
He felt that these buzzing machines were just too noisy.
He didn't even slow down.
He flew straight into the dense drone formation.
No Heat Vision, no freeze breath.
Just pure physical collision.
The hard Bio-field, reinforced by supersonic speed, turned into an indestructible meat grinder.
Bang! Crack!
The piercing sound of metal breaking echoed continuously in the air.
The high-strength aerospace aluminum alloy wings were shattered by Clark's shoulder.
The expensive carbon fiber shells were torn apart like paper.
Clark's hands waved casually through the drone swarm.
With a single slap.
Seven or eight drones were smashed into flat scrap metal instantly.
The high-energy lithium batteries inside couldn't withstand the pressure and exploded on the spot.
Balls of orange-red fire burst out in the sky.
Sparks splattered everywhere.
The smell of burnt wires and the stench of burning plastic drifted with the wind.
Three seconds.
Less than three seconds had passed.
In the surveillance room.
On the huge tactical screen in front of Lex Luthor.
Hundreds of green dots representing the status of the drones all turned into a deathly red in an instant.
The screen was filled with "Signal Lost" warning pop-ups.
The passersby on Fifth Avenue hadn't even realized what had happened.
They just heard a dense series of explosions overhead.
Immediately after.
The clattering mechanical wreckage fell down like hail.
Hundreds of expensive drones.
Turned into scrap metal parts, twisted propellers, and smoking battery panels all over the ground.
Piled up on the street, like a small mountain of trash.
Clark hovered in mid-air.
He shook off a bit of engine oil that had stained the sleeve of his suit.
He looked down at the stunned crowd below, confirming that no parts had hit anyone.
Then he turned and flew away like a meteor.
He didn't even look at the LexCorp logos on those drones.
It was just like swatting a bunch of annoying mosquitoes while walking.
On the leather chair in the surveillance room.
Lex Luthor's expression was so gloomy it was as if it could drip water.
He felt bile rising in his stomach.
The plan to establish authority through force had become a complete joke.
But that wasn't the most devastating part for him.
In the following week.
Lex Luthor mobilized the supercomputer mainframe at LexCorp, which occupied several hundred square meters.
He input all the video data and movement trajectories regarding Superman into it.
Attempting to build a massive sociological data model.
He wanted to find this man's weakness.
According to his past experience in dealing with politicians and capital rivals, as long as someone is human, they must have a flaw.
He tried to simulate using money to bribe him.
The result showed a zero percent success rate. That man didn't even glance at the vault at Vought Corporationheadquarters.
He tried to simulate using power to seduce him.
The model crashed directly. That guy would leave as soon as he saved someone, not even attending a thank-you ceremony.
Lex Luthor was not reconciled.
He frantically input various PR traps and smear campaigns.
Attempting to use moral kidnapping and faked civilian casualties to smear Superman.
But after tens of thousands of algorithmic simulations.
The conclusion given by the supercomputer was just a row of cold red exclamation marks.
Useless.
All useless.
Clark did not accept any exclusive interviews from any media.
He worked as a low-paid reporter at a newspaper, writing boring follow-up reports every day.
And would worry about a stuck keyboard key.
Whenever disaster struck.
He would put on his cape, descend from the sky, and crush the crisis with absolute power.
After saving people, he would even casually help a roadside vendor straighten up a toppled hot dog stand.
Then disappear into the sky.
He didn't speak out, didn't defend himself, didn't demand anything.
This left the tens of thousands of smear articles Lex Luthorhad prepared with nowhere to land.
This person was so perfect that he had no sociological loopholes.
Like a smooth mirror, all conspiracies and schemes would be reflected back intact.
The president's office in Vought Tower.
Now it bore the LexCorp sign.
Lex Luthor sat in that black leather swivel chair.
On the computer screen in front of him, the screen was full of code for failed simulations.
The cup of black coffee on the table had long since gone cold.
Lex Luthor's breathing became somewhat heavy.
This was the first time in his life.
That he felt a deep sense of powerlessness and frustration regarding his pride-and-joy intelligence and calculations.
He felt his super brain being ruthlessly trampled and rubbed under the foot of this slab of muscle.
He stood up.
Walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at the street below.
Several large garbage trucks were parked downstairs.
Workers were shoveling the twisted drone wreckage into the trucks, one scoop at a time.
The sound of metal clashing could be vaguely heard through the glass.
An uncontrollable rage surged from the bottom of Lex Luthor's heart straight to his head.
He turned around.
Walked quickly to the desk.
Swung his right fist and slammed it hard onto the tempered glass tabletop.
Bang!
A muffled sound.
The glass surface instantly shattered with dozens of cracks.
Broken glass shards cut the skin on the back of Lex Luthor's hand.
Blood seeped out, dripping through his fingers onto the black keyboard.
He didn't even frown.
His chest heaved violently, staring fixedly at the cracks on the table.
Just at this moment.
The red confidential phone at the corner of the desk, which connected directly to the LexCorp aerospace department, suddenly rang.
The piercing ringtone was exceptionally abrupt in the quiet office.
Lex Luthor took a deep breath.
Suppressing his surging anger, he picked up the receiver with his bleeding right hand.
Placed it to his ear.
"Boss."
On the other end of the phone, the voice of the supervisor of the Deep Space Exploration Laboratory was very excited.
With obvious panting.
"We salvaged a set of special deep space fragments in the asteroid belt at the edge of the solar system."
The supervisor swallowed, speaking very quickly.
"They have been transported back to the underground containment facility. It is a completely unknown mineral structure."
Lex Luthor's fingers tightened around the receiver instantly.
Blood smeared onto the plastic casing.
"Characteristics." He said only two words, his voice hoarse.
"It does not belong to any periodic table of elements on Earth."
The supervisor's voice trembled with excitement.
"And... it is emitting a strong green radiation light."
Chapter 38: Lex Luthor's Kryptonite Theory? Sorry, This World Doesn't Have Kryptonite At All!
The heavy breathing on the other end of the phone continued.
The rage on Lex Luthor's face seemed to be swept away by a gale.
In an instant, it transformed into an irrepressible ecstasy.
His fingers gripping the receiver tightened sharply.
The wound on the back of his hand, just cut by glass, split open again.
Crimson blood flowed out, dripping down his fingers onto the black telephone cord.
He couldn't feel any pain at all, only the sensation of his blood boiling in his veins.
"Block all news."
Lex Luthor's throat was dry; he swallowed hard.
"Transport the item directly to the bottom-level containment room. If anyone dares to leak even a whisper of this, I will skin them alive."
Click.
The receiver was slammed back onto the landline.
He tore off the silk tie choking his neck and tossed it onto the carpet covered in broken glass.
He turned, snatched a lab coat from the nearby solid wood coat rack, and put it on as he walked.
His leather shoes clicked against the marble floor of the corridor, his pace fast enough that he was almost running.
The sixtieth underground floor.
The special biological containment laboratory.
The heavy radiation-proof airtight door slid open slowly, emitting a dull hydraulic exhaust sound.
It was as cold as a giant freezer inside.
The air was filled with a strange mixture of high-concentration disinfectant and liquid nitrogen.
Inside the bulletproof glass cover at the center of the laboratory bench.
A fist-sized meteorite fragment lay quietly.
Its surface was pitted and scarred with ablation marks from space friction.
It was emitting a faint, eerie green light.
The high-precision Geiger counter nearby beeped rapidly, its red light flashing frantically.
Lex Luthor rested his hands on the metal lab bench.
His face was almost pressed against the surface of the glass cover.
The green light reflected onto his bald head, making his features look somewhat eerie.
"This is it... This is the law of the universe."
He muttered to himself, his fingernails digging into the metal surface, making an unpleasant scratching sound.
For the next three full weeks.
Lex Luthor was like a man possessed, not leaving this underground laboratory for a single step.
Billions of dollars in invoices were signed off like waste paper.
Shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands were purchasing the most sophisticated refining equipment from all over the world.
The laboratory was littered with empty cans of energy drinks.
Lex Luthor had dark circles under his eyes, and his chin was covered in prickly, dark stubble.
His lab coat was stained with chemical reagents, emitting a pungent, sour odor.
The massive particle centrifuge emitted a deafening roar.
The gears spun frantically, crushing and refining the raw green ore over and over again.
This stone was incredibly hard.
It destroyed seventeen multi-million dollar laser cutters before they could barely peel away the impurities on the surface.
Finally.
After burning through half of LexCorp's cash flow.
A green crystal, about ten centimeters long and ninety-nine percent pure, was extracted.
It was loaded into a specially made lead-core emitter.
The green radiation light was a hundred times more blinding than before.
Just one more glance made one feel nauseous, causing a stinging pain in the retinas.
"This is the Spear of God-Slaying."
Lex Luthor, through thick radiation-proof gloves, gently stroked the metal casing of the emitter.
The muscles on his face twitched twice from excitement.
Now, the weapon was ready.
All that was needed was a lure to trick that Red Cape into the cage.
Friday, 10:00 AM.
The busiest underground subway station in downtown New York.
The air was thick with the smell of cheap perfume, body odor, and greasy baked goods.
Three men in gray work uniforms carried heavy toolboxes.
They blended into the crowded waiting passengers.
They were desperate criminals Lex Luthor had hired for ten million dollars.
The man in the lead had a scar on his face.
He looked around vigilantly and pried open the iron door of a maintenance tunnel in a secluded corner.
Ten minutes later.
A hissing sound of leakage came from deep within the tunnel.
A thick, yellowish-green gas flooded into the waiting hall, rushing through the ventilation ducts.
This was a nerve gas modified by LexCorp's laboratory.
It took effect very quickly.
The yellowish-green smoke hit the air and spread instantly.
A man in the front row waiting for the train, carrying a briefcase, inhaled just a small breath.
He immediately clutched his throat, his legs went weak, and he knelt on the concrete floor.
He coughed violently, his saliva flecked with blood, his face covered in tears and snot.
Large red rashes broke out on his exposed skin, burning with pain.
"Gas! There's gas!"
The shrill screams tore through the subway station.
Thousands of passengers scrambled outward like madmen.
Someone was pushed onto the stairs and was instantly trampled by countless feet.
The screams and the dull thuds of breaking bones mingled together.
The thick smoke quickly filled the entire second underground level, and the gas continued to spread upward along the tunnels.
Several kilometers away.
Beside a fast-food cart opposite the Daily Planet building.
Clark was holding a dry hot dog and took a big bite.
He had squeezed on too much yellow mustard.
It stung his nose, making him sniffle quickly.
He was also holding an iced cola, the condensation on the cup making his palm sticky.
Suddenly, his chewing froze.
His Super Hearing bypassed the traffic noise of several streets.
He caught the chaos deep underground.
The sounds of trampling, bones breaking, and civilians gasping for air due to suffocation.
And the high-frequency hissing of the gas canisters spraying.
He sighed.
He stuffed the half-eaten hot dog back into the paper bag.
He placed the cola cup on the metal counter of the fast-food cart with a light click.
He turned and walked into an alleyway with no security cameras.
He tore open his plaid shirt and discarded his black-rimmed glasses.
He bent his legs slightly.
His entire figure turned into a red and blue blur.
With a low sonic boom, he vanished from the spot.
At the end of the tunnel on the third underground level of the subway station.
This was where the gas was thickest.
There was an abandoned equipment maintenance room.
The gas canister was placed right in the center of the maintenance room.
The valve was wide open, and the yellowish-green smoke was spraying out frantically.
The smell of rust mixed with chemical acid, stinging the eyes.
Clark, pushing through the thick smoke, smashed directly through the heavy iron gate.
He rushed into the maintenance room.
The high-concentration gas hit his face without even leaving a red mark.
He even thought the smell was a bit like the fermented fertilizer back at the farm, just more pungent.
He reached out to twist shut the rusty gas valve.
The very moment his boots stepped into the center of the maintenance room.
Boom!
A dull mechanical clanking sound came from above.
Gears were spinning and grinding at high speed in hidden compartments.
Four walls of pure lead alloy, each half a meter thick.
Smashed down from hidden slots in the ceiling without warning.
They moved very fast, carrying hundreds of tons of dead weight.
Cutting off all entrances and exits to the maintenance room.
The heavy bottom edges shattered the floor tiles, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Clark's hand stopped.
He didn't dodge.
He let the final lead ceiling panel lock tight with a deafening metallic clang.
The entire room instantly became a completely sealed iron box.
Not even a breath of wind could get in.
Lead.
This was the absolute blind spot for his X-ray vision.
The gray walls blocked all sight.
Clark straightened up.
Looking at the four bare lead walls surrounding him.
He reached out and knocked twice on the wall in front of him, producing a dull thud.
These lead plates were indeed quite solid.
On the lead wall directly opposite him.
A narrow slit suddenly slid open to both sides.
Revealing a solid piece of special explosion-proof glass one meter thick.
Behind the glass.
Stood Lex Luthor.
He was still wearing that lab coat that reeked of body odor.
The bloodshot veins in Lex Luthor's eyes were terrifyingly red.
His eyes were filled with the fanaticism and excitement of revenge finally fulfilled.
"Finally caught you."
Lex Luthor pressed his hands heavily onto the control console, his knuckles turning white from excessive force.
He was panting, his chest heaving violently.
Through the explosion-proof glass, his voice was transmitted into the secret room via a loudspeaker, carrying a distinct tremor.
Clark stood where he was.
Looking somewhat speechless at the sweating bald man outside.
He really didn't understand why these villains always liked to create these flashy secret rooms.
This box looked sturdy, but if he wanted to, he could punch a hole through it with one blow.
"Laugh all you want. This is the last chance you'll have to speak."
The flesh on Lex Luthor's face twitched as he pulled into a cruel smile.
He suddenly raised his right hand.
Without any hesitation, he slammed his hand onto the red start button in the center of the console.
Snap.
In the corners of the secret room's ceiling, several mechanical probes popped out.
Inside them was the refined green crystal.
High-voltage current surged into the emitters instantly.
Hum—
A piercing energy hum echoed in the secret room.
An intense, eerie green radiation light burst forth instantly.
The light was too strong.
The entire secret room was illuminated in a sickly green.
The air seemed to be dyed a miserable green, carrying a nauseating halo.
Outside the explosion-proof glass.
Lex Luthor stared fixedly at Clark inside.
He didn't even dare to blink, fearing he might miss any detail.
He was waiting.
Expecting this high-and-mighty god to fall to the ground in pain under this radiation that suppressed his genes.
Expecting to see that suit rolling on the ground.
Expecting to hear the screams of the other party vomiting blood and begging for mercy in tears.
Just like he would crush a helpless bug.
One second.
Two seconds.
Five seconds passed.
The green light in the secret room was still blinding.
But the scene did not play out according to the script in Lex Luthor's mind.
Clark stood quietly in the center of the green light.
He did not scream, nor did he vomit blood.
He didn't even bend his knees.
He raised his hands, flipped his palms over, and looked at them.
His skin looked slightly greenish under the illumination of the green light.
Other than that, there was nothing unusual.
No burning sensation, no feeling of weakness.
He touched the S emblem on his chest; the fabric was intact.
He didn't even feel any static electricity reaction.
This green light shining on him, other than being a bit bright for the eyes.
It wasn't even as bad as the waste gas in the gas canister nearby.
At least that smell was quite pungent.
Clark was indeed stunned for a moment.
He thought this bald man had gone to such great lengths, creating hundreds of tons of lead plates, surely there must be some trump card.
The result was just turning on a green searchlight?
He lowered his hands.
He turned his head with some confusion.
His gaze pierced through that layer of thick explosion-proof glass.
Calmly looking at Lex Luthor outside, who was sweating profusely and whose expression had completely frozen.
"You went to such great lengths to lock me in here..."
Clark pointed at the emitters flashing with green light overhead, "Just to have me bask in this green sunlamp to tan my skin?"
Chapter 39: The God Without Weaknesses! Lex Luthor's Super Brain Crashes Directly
The voice from the loudspeaker was very flat, carrying a hint of sleepy nasality, echoing back and forth in the sealed monitoring room.
The manic laughter on Lex Luthor's face froze. The smug lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes stuck in his skin, looking utterly ridiculous. His mouth was wide open, the second mocking laugh he was about to let out choked back in his throat, making his face turn purple.
His hands were still gripping the metal console tightly, his fingernails scraping against the edge with a harsh, grating sound. His eyes were wide, almost bulging out of their sockets.
Inside the sealed chamber on the other side of the blast-proof glass, the green light was blinding. The tall man stood at the very center of the high-radiation source, not a single hair out of place. The Red Cape behind him hung by his legs, not even swaying in the slightest.
"This... this is impossible. You're faking it, you must be holding on!"
Lex Luthor's lips trembled, his spittle spraying onto the glass in front of him, leaving a few blurry white spots. His breathing instantly became heavy, like a wild boar cornered in a dead end.
He pounded on the console in front of him like a madman. Pa, pa, pa. The plastic buttons rattled loudly under his hands. His fingers fumbled wildly over the levers, pushing the radiation output slider directly to the maximum setting.
"Die! Get down! You monster!"
He screamed, his voice cracking as it traveled through the microphone into the sealed chamber, accompanied by a piercing electrical screech. The cameras on the ceiling of the chamber emitted an overwhelmed hum.
The green light surged again, reaching a blinding intensity. High-voltage current flooded into the equipment, and the surface of several thick black cables began to heat up and melt. The rubber casing emitted foul-smelling black smoke. Sparks burst from the edges of the cameras, falling with a crackling sound.
Clark narrowed his eyes slightly. The light was indeed too bright; it was making him dizzy. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.
In this universe, there was no Krypton, let alone any Kryptonite capable of stripping him of his powers. This green stone that Lex Luthor treated as an ultimate weapon was, at best, a fragment of a meteorite that had drifted in space for a long time and picked up some trace of ordinary radiation.
For a Silver Age body that absorbed stellar energy, this level of radiation didn't even compare to the ultraviolet rays on a beach in Hawaii. Besides making him feel a bit toasted, it didn't even qualify as a calcium supplement.
Clark sighed, lowered his hand, and felt that this farce should come to an end. He turned around, facing the thick lead wall embedded with blast-proof glass. His soles pressed against the concrete floor of the chamber, and he took a step forward.
In the monitoring room, Lex Luthor held his breath sharply. He watched the man walk over. His gait was steady, without any painful swaying or stumbling from a loss of power.
Clark walked up to the half-meter-thick blast-proof glass. This glass had cost millions to build, with energy-absorbing gel injected into the interlayer capable of withstanding a direct missile hit.
Clark didn't clench his fist, nor did he assume any stance to exert force. He simply raised his right hand and extended an index finger, his fingertip resting gently against the surface of the glass, moving as slowly as if he were pressing an elevator button.
Click. With a faint, crisp sound, Lex Luthor felt his heart skip a beat. He stared fixedly at the point where Clark's finger had landed. A white crack appeared inside the thick glass. Immediately after, Clark's finger pushed forward an inch.
Boom! The half-meter-thick custom blast-proof glass was as fragile as a piece of water-soaked toilet paper before that single finger. The immense physical momentum instantly tore apart the molecular structure. Spiderweb-like cracks spread wildly, and the entire pane shattered on the spot.
Thousands of transparent shards flew into the monitoring room like bullets. Lex Luthor instinctively raised his arms to shield his face. A few pieces of broken glass slashed through his lab coat, cutting long, bloody gashes into his arms. Blood welled up instantly, staining the white fabric red. The glass shards struck the wall behind him with a dense sound like rain hitting a beach.
A large hole had been broken in the blast-proof wall, and the yellow-green toxic gas from the chamber poured out through the opening. Clark stepped through the hole in the glass, his boots crunching loudly on the broken glass covering the floor.
He smelled the pungent odor of burnt wires in the air. The radiation generator, which had cost tens of billions to build, was connected right next to the monitoring console, occupying half the room and still emitting an annoying hum.
Clark walked over and grabbed a load-bearing steel pipe as thick as a water pipe on the generator's casing with one hand. As he applied a slight amount of force, the steel let out a painful groan. He tore open the metal casing of the generator as if it were cardboard, casually throwing the several-ton piece of sheet metal aside. It smashed the floor tiles and kicked up a cloud of dust.
The dense array of precision coils and cooling pipes inside was exposed. Clark plunged his hands in and pulled them apart. Hundreds of high-voltage cables were ripped apart on the spot, sending sparks flying everywhere. Coolant gushed from the broken pipe ends, pouring onto the scorching coils and sending up a large cloud of white, pungent steam.
In just a few seconds, this instrument, which represented the pinnacle of Earth's technology, had been reduced to a pile of smoking scrap metal. Deprived of its power supply, the green stone flickered twice before going completely dark, turning into an ordinary, lifeless rock.
After finishing all this, Clark clapped his hands, dusting off the oil and grime from between his fingers, and turned to look at Lex Luthor, who was cowering in the corner.
Lex Luthor was kneeling on the ground, his knees pressing into the shards of broken glass. The sharp glass pierced his dress pants and dug into his flesh, blood streaming down his lower legs and pooling into a dark red stain on the floor. But he couldn't feel the pain in his legs. His brain had stopped thinking, his eyes staring blankly at the pile of machinery that had turned into scrap.
He possessed the smartest mind on this planet. He had deduced countless possibilities and calculated all the chemical reactions and physical constants. He thought he had found the key to restraining a god, but the reality before him rubbed his pride into the broken glass covering the floor.
In the face of absolute power, all schemes and scientific calculations were a joke. Ten times zero was still zero. This massive cognitive collapse shattered his psychological defenses completely. His super brain, which he took such pride in, had crashed directly. His lips trembled slightly, unable to make a sound, and he didn't even have the courage to look up at Clark.
Dense sirens sounded from outside. The red and blue lights of police cars filtered down through the subway station's ventilation shafts. Harsh braking sounds rang out continuously on the surface. A large number of heavily armed riot police rushed into the underground passage. The sound of boots on the stairs grew closer, accompanied by the chaotic calls over their radios.
Clark walked over, grabbed the back of Lex Luthor's lab coat with one hand, and lifted the terrified bald man up. He walked to the door of the maintenance room and tossed him out casually.
Lex Luthor fell onto the concrete floor of the hallway like a rag doll, rolled twice, and hit the base of the wall. The few police officers who had just rushed down were startled, raising their riot guns as red laser sights danced erratically in the hallway. When they realized the person on the ground was the president of LexCorp, the sergeant leading the team was stunned.
Clark didn't linger in front of the police; he hated those flashing lights and endless interrogations. He bent his legs slightly. Bang. The shockwave caused the dust on the ceiling of the hallway to shake down in torrents. A red and blue afterimage smashed directly through the subway station's ventilation louvers and shot up into the dark night sky of New York.
The matter had settled. The wind high in the air was cold, blowing away the stench of toxic gas clinging to his suit. Clark identified his direction and flew toward the old apartment building where he rented a place.
The apartment building was the same as ever. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway were broken, leaving it pitch black. Clark landed in the hallway, his footprints clearly visible on the dusty floor. He walked to his door and reached into his jacket pocket for his keys.
As his fingers touched the cold edge of the key, he was still thinking about the ridiculousness of the green stone from earlier, and he didn't control the strength in his hand well enough. Snap. The brass key broke into two pieces between his fingers. One half fell to the floor with a crisp sound, while the other remained in his hand.
Clark sighed helplessly. Looking at the broken key, he felt a bit annoyed. He had no choice but to reach out and grab the doorknob, pressing his thumb against the internal mechanism of the lock cylinder. With a little finesse, the latch was forced open, and the old wooden door let out an unpleasant creak as it opened.
The lights were off inside, but it wasn't dark. The streetlights outside shone in, casting a long strip of light across the floor. Clark walked inside and closed the door behind him.
He smelled a strong, sour odor of fermented cheap beer, mixed with the stench of sweat from someone who hadn't bathed in days. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the dim living room. Sitting on the worn-out fabric sofa was a person. The person sat motionless, holding something in their hand, waiting for him quietly in the darkness.
Chapter 40: Butcher finally let go of his hatred; it turns out justice doesn't require extreme violence.
Clark reached out and grasped the slightly rusty doorknob.
His thumb pressed against the internal mechanism of the lock cylinder.
With a slight, skillful flick.
The latch was forced open with a vibration.
The old wooden door let out an unpleasant creak.
The door opened.
There were no lights on in the room.
But it wasn't dark.
The light from the streetlamp outside filtered in, casting a long strip of light across the floor.
Clark walked in and closed the door behind him.
He smelled a strong, sour odor of fermented cheap beer.
Mixed with the stench of sweat from someone who hadn't bathed in days.
He looked up.
His gaze swept across the dim living room.
There was a person sitting on the worn fabric sofa.
It was Butcher.
He was leaning against the back of the sofa, motionless.
He wasn't wearing his signature black trench coat, only a pilling gray sweater.
The exaggerated, large-caliber sniper rifle that he usually kept by his side, smelling of gun oil, was gone.
His hands were resting on his knees.
At his feet sat a bulging white plastic bag.
Inside were several cans of cheap beer bought from a roadside convenience store.
The plastic bag made a slight rustling sound due to gravity.
Butcher looked several years older.
The stubble on his chin hadn't been shaved in days, messy and mixed with quite a bit of gray hair.
His eye sockets were deeply sunken, and his dark circles were as heavy as if he'd been punched.
But the aura of a wild beast, always ready to tear someone's throat out, had vanished from him.
His whole person exuded a sense of broken, exhausted fatigue.
Like a steel wire that had been taut for decades, it had finally snapped.
"Is the lock broken?"
Hearing the commotion, Butcher turned his head to look at Clark.
His voice was dry and hoarse, carrying a thick Londonstreet accent.
He didn't stand up, just shifted his sitting posture casually.
The springs under the sofa cushion gave a dull protest.
"The key broke inside."
Clark tossed the broken half of the brass key into the trash bin by the door.
It made a crisp clanking sound.
He walked over and bypassed the coffee table that was burned on one side.
He sat down on the other end of the sofa.
The soft cushion sank down.
Butcher bent over.
His rough fingers fumbled around in the plastic bag.
The plastic bag made a harsh friction sound.
He pulled out two cans of beer with condensation still on the surface.
He tossed one over casually.
Clark reached out and caught it.
The aluminum can was very cold, and the water droplets stuck to his palm, bringing a hint of chill.
He hooked the tab with one hand and pulled it up.
"Psssh."
White bubbles surged out, carrying a slightly bitter scent of malt fermentation.
Butcher opened his can as well.
He raised the can and gestured towards Clark.
Clark clinked his beer can against it.
"Clink."
The two cans of cheap beer collided, making a slight metallic sound.
There were no unnecessary pleasantries.
The two of them were like old friends who had known each other for years.
They tilted their heads back and took a big gulp each.
A few drops of the cheap beer leaked from the corner of Butcher's mouth.
It ran into his dirty stubble and wetted his collar.
He wiped his face casually with the back of his rough hand.
He let out a heavy breath of beer fumes.
"It's over."
Butcher let out a loud, drunken belch.
He kept his head down, staring fixedly at the can in his hand.
"It's all fucking over."
His tone was very calm, as if he were talking about someone else's business.
"Homelander has been locked up. The Pentagon built a radiation-proof prison under the Nevada desert overnight."
"It's surrounded by one-meter-thick lead plates."
"There's an armored battalion with heavy machine guns surrounding it."
"He'll never see the sun again in his life."
Butcher squeezed the beer can.
"His superpowers, which he was so proud of, have been stripped away. Every day he can only squat in an iron cage like a dog."
"That's harder to bear than killing him."
Clark drank his beer and listened quietly.
He didn't interrupt, knowing that this man in front of him needed to vent.
"Vought Corporation officially entered bankruptcy liquidation this afternoon."
Butcher sniffed.
Because he hadn't rested for a long time, his voice sounded a bit weak.
"Those high-ranking executives who used to be high and mighty are all lining up at the station to give statements."
"That bald guy Luthor who came from Metropolis is also in there."
Butcher raised his head and glanced at Clark.
"Those green rocks he made in the lab were used as evidence of illegal radioactive weapons."
"Your footage, plus the list Annie stole."
"It stripped these bastards down to nothing, not even their underwear left."
The night wind blew in from the window.
It blew an old newspaper on the table, flipping it over.
The front page of the newspaper had a big headline about the collapse of the Vought Empire.
Butcher paused for a while.
His fingers tapped unconsciously on the surface of the aluminum can.
Making a faint tap, tap sound.
"That kid Hughie... heh."
Butcher suddenly laughed.
The laughter carried a bit of relieved exhaustion, and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled together.
"He called me just now."
"This coward actually picked out a small second-hand house with a yard in the suburbs with Annie."
"Getting ready to hold the wedding next month."
"He even wanted me to be the best man. A guy like me, covered in the smell of blood, going to be his best man?"
Butcher shook his head.
He took another big gulp of beer.
"Frenchie, that guy, took all his junk and bought a one-way ticket back to his old home in France."
"He said he's going back to grow grapes."
"Mother's Milk also went home. His wife forgave him."
"He can finally stop sleeping with a gun under his pillow every night. Tomorrow is the weekend, and he has to take his daughter to the amusement park to line up for ice cream."
Butcher said a lot of names in one breath.
But he didn't mention himself.
Clark looked at him.
Looking at this man who had once fallen into madness for the sake of revenge.
"And you?"
Clark asked softly.
Butcher's hand holding the beer can stopped in mid-air.
He lowered his head.
Looking at the big black hole on the carpet that had been burned by C4 explosives last time.
He was silent for a long time.
In the living room, only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.
"I always thought before..."
Butcher's voice dropped, carrying a trace of imperceptible trembling.
His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.
"Thought that facing those monsters in the sky, we mortals in the gutter had no other retreat."
"We had to become more ruthless and have no bottom line than them."
"We had to become demons to kill demons."
He raised his head and looked straight into Clark's eyes.
The whites of his eyes were covered with tired bloodshot veins.
"To get revenge, I used every low-down trick in the book."
"I kidnapped, killed, and used explosives to fill people's guts."
"I dragged Hughie and the others into the water, forcing them to become lunatics who could die at any moment."
Butcher took a deep breath.
There was a slight rattling sound in his lungs.
"I thought this was the only way. I thought only blood could wash away the lies in this world."
He gave a bitter smile.
He shook his head self-deprecatingly.
"Until you, this freak, appeared."
"You don't kill. You don't engage in those disgusting schemes."
"You don't even care when people splash mud on you."
Butcher was a bit incoherent, his fingers squeezing until they turned white.
"Even when that crazy woman who plays with lightning hit you with plasma lightning, you just walked over and punched her."
"You proved that my madness over these past few years... was all a self-righteous joke."
Butcher panted heavily.
It seemed that saying these words had exhausted most of his strength.
"It turns out justice doesn't require that kind of extreme violence."
"Absolute light can really dispel all the darkness in this pile of mud."
He looked at Clark.
This was the first time he had so honestly admitted his mistakes.
He had taken off his armor full of sharp spikes.
He raised the can in his hand.
He tilted his neck back.
Gulp, gulp, he poured the remaining half can of beer down his throat.
After finishing the last drop.
He lowered his hand, and his rough thumb and index finger squeezed hard.
"Crack."
The empty aluminum can was crushed into a shriveled piece of iron under his great strength.
A few drops of leftover beer were squeezed out and dripped onto the carpet.
Butcher stood up.
His legs were a little numb, he stumbled slightly, but quickly steadied himself.
He threw the flattened piece of iron into the trash can by the door.
It made a clatter sound.
He walked to the coat rack.
He pulled down the old black trench coat that smelled a bit sour and was stained with dried mud.
He shook the dust off it.
He threw it over his broad shoulders.
He pulled the collar of the pilling gray sweater up to cover the back of his neck.
"Thanks, freak."
Butcher stood at the door.
His right hand was on the paint-chipped brass doorknob.
He didn't look back.
Just with his back to Clark, he said softly.
After saying that.
He pushed open the door.
There was still no sensor light in the hallway, it was pitch black.
He took a step.
His leather shoes made a dull echo on the wooden floor.
Step by step, he walked into the night outside.
To live his own peaceful life.
The door wasn't closed tightly.
It was left with a narrow crack.
The cool night wind drifted in through the crack.
Clark sat on the sofa.
He still held the half-finished beer in his hand.
He stood up.
He bypassed the burned coffee table.
He walked to the apartment's open balcony.
The iron railing of the balcony felt a bit cold to the touch.
The paint was mottled.
He leaned against the railing.
He looked down at the huge and prosperous city below.
The night view of New York was still brilliant.
The flow of traffic was like glowing red and white ribbons, weaving endlessly on the streets.
The skyscrapers in the distance were lit with colorful neon lights.
But some things had changed completely.
Those Vought superhero posters that hung on the building facades, several stories high.
They were all gone.
The blank walls left behind after being torn down looked exceptionally clean.
The big screen in Times Square that played brainwashing lies twenty-four hours a day.
Was now honestly broadcasting tomorrow morning's weather forecast.
There were no more high-and-mighty hypocritical idols.
There was no more violent terror created by compound v.
Pedestrians on the street walked at a leisurely pace, no longer worrying that half a building would fall from the sky.
The convenience store sign on the street corner glowed with warm light, and people buying hot dogs lined up in long queues.
Peace.
Tranquility.
Clark took a sip of the beer in his hand.
The beer was no longer cold, it felt a bit lukewarm when swallowed.
He felt the evening breeze blowing on his face.
It dispelled the lingering smell of tobacco and alcohol in the apartment.
His originally tense shoulders slowly relaxed.
He looked at this night sky that no longer had Vought lies.
His deep features relaxed.
The sharpness at the corners of his eyes faded, revealing a completely relieved smile.
The wind blew the Red Cape behind him.
The cape traced a soft arc in the night sky.
An era had ended, and a new chapter belonging to the true god had just begun.
More available on WTR-lab