Great chapter, Smirkster!
Fury overtook him. To the would-be-mugger and maybe worse, it seemed like the knife in his hand simply disappeared in a gust of wind—and a terrible pain like he had punched a brick wall rang up his arm.
The man howled.
Even the howl was cut short, though. Before the woman had a chance to think of reacting, there was a second gust of wind and the grizzled man collapsed at her feet unexplainably, unconscious.
I suppose I should care that he actually hurt the guy, but I can't really seem to. The guy's only human, after all. Sort of.
He smiled.
“Help! Superman!”
Clark didn’t hesitate this time. He was ready.
With a burst of speed that put even his previous sprint to shame, Clark disappeared into the night, a light in his eyes that hadn’t been seen there for many days past.
A picture of a scene from Dante’s Inferno brought Lois up short. It was a gruesome scene, depicting certain levels of the descent into Hell—from men standing in boiling blood or lying on burning sand to those sinners lying disemboweled or infirm, yet eternally alive in their anguish.
Lois’s eyes drifted down the terrible scene, until her gaze stilled upon the furious apparition of the three-headed devil, the red flames of eternity reflecting off his bare and hairless heads as he stood, tall, terrible, and triumphant amidst his horrible kingdom.
Lex Luthor was created in Hell, and is commonly known among his peers as the oldest son of Satan, also known as Lucifer…
She had thought it jokingly, some time ago. But it didn’t seem so funny, right now.
This one will go up on my personal list of best bits of writing by a fanfiction author I have ever read. Alfred Hitchcock would love you!
“Of course,” Lois said, her voice still strangely detached, and she meant it. She didn’t mean to drag Luthor’s name through the gossip columns. No. The created character of Lex Luthor was going to die an infamous death, and the devil that hid behind his façade was going to rot in jail, no matter how sick he was.
Serves him right, her inner voice snarled. She found she didn’t want to quiet it, this time.
Curse him. Curse him to death. May he die in jail, defamed and fallen, never to rise again. Lois swore it would be so.
It was far too good of a fate for him. Let him be locked up in a white room. Let him rot away in lonely white terror and black dreams.
He had hurt Superman. He had filled his eyes with shadows, and Lois’s dreams with nightmares. He had watched it all, caused it all, and now he was hiding and waiting behind a smile…Waiting to strike again…Daring to call himself good, as beneath his white face he hid darkness, and blood, and screams.
Let him rot with the devils that call him kin.
Wow! I feel it!
Please, please, update as soon as humanly possible! And we shalt build monuments in thy honour and hail you as Good and Greate, and Queen of all she surveys!
