Chapter Text
Lex moved through the narrow corridor of the plane with short, controlled strides, the soles of his shoes clicking evenly against the polished flooring. Each sound echoed back at him in a rhythm that was almost irritating in its precision, a hollow metronome marking every second wasted with lesser minds. The sterile air tasted thin on his tongue, filtered until it was stripped of anything resembling life, and it pressed into his lungs with the false purity of something manufactured in a lab. Everything around him was lifeless and manufactured, and it should have brought him comfort. Instead, some primal, deeply buried part of him, that stubborn omega instinct he hated so fiercely, recoiled at the sharp smell of metal, bleach, and expensive machinery. His body did not understand power the way his mind did. It misread cleanliness for sterility, control for emptiness.
The Pentagon meeting replayed in his skull like an irritating recording. Their demand for evidence scraped across his thoughts, each memory of their smug expressions grinding like a dull blade across glass. They wanted proof. Fine. He would give them proof so absolute, so grotesquely irrefutable, that they would have no choice but to see the alien for what he truly was. Even the most cautious of their circle would have to fold, and then Superman’s pedestal would finally begin to crack.
The ramp lowered, and the outside air hit like a physical blow. Cold, sharp, and merciless, it sliced through layers of clothing as if they were meaningless. It smelled raw and sterile, something between crushed minerals and ozone, a scent stripped bare of humanity. Lex drew his coat tighter across his shoulders and kept moving, each step deliberate. The snow under his boots compressed with a sound like wet paper, muffled and thin. The clone walked beside him, silent and blank, as impervious to the storm as stone.
They stopped at an expanse of untouched snow. There was no sign of life here, nothing but the endless white stretching in every direction. Lex turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Ultraman. The clone took a step forward, obedient as ever, and the ground beneath them began to shudder.
The tremor was followed by a shift in the landscape so smooth and unnatural it was almost offensive. Ice rose and curled upward in geometric precision, towers forming as if summoned by the will of a god. A heartbeat ago, there had been nothing but frozen wilderness. Now the fortress made of ice stood revealed, crystalline spires cutting into the sky with merciless elegance. A section of the structure peeled open, unfolding with perfect symmetry to form a corridor of light and ice.
Lex felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He wanted to smile, to revel in the victory of his foresight, but he didn’t. Not yet.
They stepped inside. The temperature dropped further, a deep and biting cold that crept under his clothes and settled in his bones. The air inside was unnervingly still, almost soundless, with only a faint hum of hidden energy vibrating through the floor. The walls were smooth crystal, polished so perfectly they seemed to shimmer, reflecting light that had no clear source. It felt less like a structure and more like a monument to an alien ego. There was something smug in the way every surface gleamed, as though the place was watching and silently mocking him.
The robots began to greet them before realizing they were intruders. Their metal bodies clanged against the crystal floor as they charged towards them. Lex had anticipated them. He stayed where he was, hands behind his back, watching as the Engineer moved. Her body shifted and splintered into a storm of metallic tendrils, each strike so fast it was almost a blur. She shredded the first wave of sentries before they had a chance to aim. Pieces of twisted alloy crashed to the floor, scattering sparks across the ice.
Ultraman moved next, his silence making him all the more brutal. He caught a robot by the neck and crushed it with effortless strength, its frame groaning before it shattered. Another unit swung toward him, and he tore its limbs off one by one, using the broken parts as weapons until the corridor was littered with fragments.
Lex watched them work. There was no need for interference. It was efficient, precise, and strangely satisfying to see Superman’s defenses dismantled so easily. The fortress was supposed to be impregnable, but even here, the alien’s arrogance had made him predictable.
Then came the dog.
It bounded into the hallway with unnatural speed, its claws striking crystal and sending sharp clicks reverberating through the air. Its eyes glowed with a pale, furious light. The growl that ripped from its throat was deep and violent, carrying a weight that did not belong to any normal animal. The Engineer intercepted the creature mid-leap, her tendrils snapping around its face. It thrashed, snarling and clawing at the metallic muzzle that now encased its whole head as it laid there helpless.
Lex tilted his head, observing it with a cool detachment. A Kryptonian canine. He had not expected that. The creature’s presence was interesting, a complication he had not considered but one that could be useful later. He imagined what kind of secrets might be buried in its DNA, what kind of weapon it could become with the right training. For now, it was a threat neutralized and another asset removed from Superman’s arsenal.
He turned his attention forward. There were bigger secrets hidden in this place, and he intended to strip every one of them bare.
Lex stepped toward the central console, his fingers brushing over the smooth crystalline surface. The texture was slick, unnervingly warm beneath the gloves he wore, as if the material were alive and pulsing with memory. The Engineer was already moving, thin filaments extending from her arm and threading into the panel like veins reaching for a heart. The machinery responded instantly, a low hum vibrating up through the floor and into his boots. A screen bloomed into existence above the console, light spilling across his face in fractured patterns of white and blue.
And then came the voice.
"We love you more than heaven, our son. We love you more than land..."
Lex froze, the muscles along his jaw tightening. The voice was warm. Tender. Human. It did not sound like the language of a superior race or an advanced species bent on shaping the universe with their brilliance. It sounded domestic, sentimental, weak. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing at the glowing figures on the projection, the faintest twitch of revulsion passing across his features. What kind of all powerful beings began their speeches with love?
"...Our beloved home is soon to be gone forever. But hope vitalizes our hearts, and that hope is you, Kal-El..."
Their faces were calm and glowing with grief. He could see the remnants of Krypton behind them, a world collapsing under its own grandeur. Lex watched in silence, not out of respect, but out of sheer calculation. Every word, every tone, every glance mattered. This was not a family message. This was propaganda disguised as affection, a manifesto whispered in lullabies. Even here, he could see how easily the alien would be shaped by their expectations. It was all coded into him: the savior complex, the blind confidence, the conviction that he existed to be the solution to someone else’s failure.
The message flickered, and the voices cut out. The projection stuttered once, twice, before vanishing into static. Lex’s lip curled in irritation.
The Engineer’s metallic threads writhed against the console, sparks of light running along their edges. She glanced back, her voice smooth and even as she explained that the file was damaged, fragmented by time or design, though she could recover it. Lex gave a short nod. Of course she could. She was his creation, his perfect machine, and perfection did not fail him.
The image flickered back to life, the sound hissing before the voices returned, steady and clear.
"The people there are simple and profoundly confused. Weak of mind and spirit and body..."
Lex’s jaw tightened. He could almost feel the words slice through the room. This was no tender lullaby now. This was the truth he had been waiting for, the rot beneath the alien’s shining mask. The people of Earth were weak. That was no revelation. What mattered was that even the alien’s creators saw them as tools. Inferior. Disposable. It confirmed everything Lex had always known and everything the world refused to believe.
"...Lord over the planet as the Last Son of Krypton. Dispatch of anyone unable or unwilling to serve you..."
Yes. Yes. That was the truth beneath the smile. That was the core of Superman’s so called morality, buried deep but still there, waiting to surface. It was never about saving humanity. It was about ruling it, shaping it, bending it to his will under the guise of protection. Lex felt a thrill, sharp and cold, coil up his spine. He had waited so long to hear someone else say it, someone who could not be accused of bias or paranoia. The alien’s own bloodline had damned him.
"...Take as many wives as you can so your genes and Krypton’s might and legacy will live on in this new frontier..."
Lex’s breath caught for the briefest second. A slow, deliberate smile began to curve across his lips. It was not triumphant, not yet. It was something colder, something sharper, like the thin edge of a blade. This was not simply confirmation of a theory. This was an instruction. A directive of imperial design. They wanted their son to spread his genes like a conqueror, to seed his power across an entire world.
The projection continued to glow in front of him, the alien parents’ faces serene and unyielding. Lex tilted his head slightly, studying them as if they were test subjects in one of his labs. This was more than he had hoped for. It was raw, unedited, and completely damning. There was no room for interpretation, no possibility of twisting the narrative into something it was not. The alien’s own parents had spoken a command to rule, a mission to dominate, and it had been hidden here, behind walls of ice and crystal like a sacred relic.
This was it. This was the proof. A manifesto of conquest written in the alien’s own bloodline and delivered by the very people who had sent him here. The military could not ignore this. Not even the most deluded senator could deny it now. They would have to act. They would have to give Lex what he wanted. The public would follow soon enough. The illusion of Superman’s morality would crack, and Lex would be the one holding the hammer.
He could already see it in his mind. Superman, brought low, the shining boy of the world rendered a threat by his own legacy. Chains would not be enough to hold him, but the truth could shatter him. Truth and fear were stronger than any weapon. Lex would wield both.
Lex stepped back from the console, his fingers curling into tight fists until his knuckles whitened beneath the leather of his gloves. The light from the projection cast long, fractured patterns across his face, but he did not blink. For several seconds he stood there, rooted in place, while the room hummed faintly with the afterimage of alien voices. The air was still cold, sharp enough to sting his lungs, but he no longer felt it. He was already somewhere else. His mind was calculating, shuffling every piece of the puzzle into a sharper, more efficient configuration. The plan had shifted. No, it had evolved.
The footage had given him more than evidence. Evidence was crude, a tool for convincing lesser minds. This was clarity. This was purpose. The alien’s creators had spoken without hesitation, defining their son’s reason for existing with absolute certainty. He was not meant to be a savior. He was not meant to blend quietly into humanity’s fragile narrative. He was meant to rule, to expand, to conquer. And to do that, he was meant to build a legacy. His creators had demanded it of him. Heirs to carry Krypton’s strength, heirs to cement its supremacy long after the last trace of the planet was dust. Strong heirs. Loyal heirs. Kryptonian heirs.
Lex’s teeth ground together at the thought. It was as grotesque as it was useful. For years he had been trying to find something that could be used to control the alien. Mind control experiments had failed, every brilliant attempt shredded. The courts were useless, blind with hero worship. The people adored him, worshipped him like a messiah carved from steel and sunfire. He had no lovers to exploit, no ties to sever. Kryptonite may weaken his body but not his will. In every way that truly mattered Superman was untouchable.
Until now.
This was new. This was better than a weakness. This was a blueprint.
He didn’t need to find the alien’s family. He didn’t need to waste time digging through the filth of Kansas or Metropolis, hoping for scraps of humanity he could twist. All he needed was an heir. If Superman did not have one, then someone else could create one for him. And if Lex were the architect of that legacy, the only connection between the alien and his bloodline, then he would hold the kind of power no weapon could match.
Lex’s thoughts coiled like wire, sharp and unrelenting. Even someone like Superman would not ignore his own blood. Even he could not walk away from something that belonged to him. A being built to protect the weak would crumble under the thought of his heir, his own flesh and blood, vulnerable and beyond his reach. If Lex held that child, if he controlled the conditions of its existence, Superman would have no choice. He would bend. He would obey. He would kneel, because even gods bowed to their own creations.
Lex’s mind was already threading through the possibilities, filing away fragments of plans like knives waiting for sharpening. What mattered now was the idea itself. The clarity of it. The strategy had moved beyond prisons and kryptonite, beyond propaganda. This was power in its most intimate form.
Superman’s legacy would not save him. It would become Lex’s weapon.
He turned sharply from the console, the sound of his boots snapping through the silence of the chamber. The projection behind him flickered, the smiling ghosts of Krypton’s last hope watching him as if in judgment. He did not look back. Their message had already given him everything he needed.
The doors of the fortress peeled open with a sound like ice splitting under pressure. Cold air swept in, sharp enough to sting the inside of Lex’s nose as he stepped into it. He did not flinch, his breath condensing in pale ribbons that vanished as quickly as they formed. The Engineer followed with mechanical precision, her metal limbs glinting as they folded back into their streamlined form. Ultraman came behind her, dragging the subdued Kryptonian dog as instructed. Its growls were muffled under the restraints, a low rumble of defiance breaking through the frozen stillness. Lex spared it no more than a passing glance. The creature would have its time for his attention when they were back in the lab, where every reaction could be cataloged and dissected to reveal the alien’s secrets.
Eve lingered behind the clone, pale and stiff, her lips pressed into a bloodless line. Her gaze flicked nervously between the writhing animal and Lex’s perfectly calm expression. She looked nauseated, one hand curling around her coat as though the cold or the sight of alien canine was somehow too much for her. Her horror amused him. It was the same tedious sentimentality that plagued most humans; the inability to separate what was useful from what was irrelevant. She had no stomach for progress, and therefore no place in its design. Lex did not spare her a word.
The air outside knifed through his coat with an unrelenting edge, the wind clawing at him. The snowfield stretched endlessly, a wasteland of white that burned the eyes if one stared too long. The sun hung dull and distant, as though even the sky resented this barren place. As they crossed the frozen expanse, Lex allowed himself a single backward glance. The fortress was already sinking beneath the snow, retreating into silence as though its alien sanctity had never been breached. Let it. He now held the truth, and truth was a sharper weapon than any blade forged by man.
By the time they reached the steps of the plane, his thoughts were already far from the fortress. He climbed with deliberate precision, each step leaving thin trails of melted snow across the metal. The cabin’s warmth consumed him instantly, heavy and artificial, filling his lungs with the sterile tang of recycled air. The scent of leather upholstery and machine oil clung faintly to the space, a reminder of engineered comfort. Lex slid into his seat without a word, peeling off his gloves one finger at a time as his mind began its work.
Eve slipped inside moments later, scurrying past him to take the farthest seat. She folded herself into the corner of the cabin, as if distance alone might shield her from his attention. That suited him perfectly. Her wide-eyed stares and constant chatter were obstacles to thought. He had no patience for her questions, each one more insipid than the last. She would never understand the architecture of his plans, never grasp the magnitude of what was unfolding. Few minds ever could.
The Engineer moved with soundless precision to the cockpit, sliding into the controls as though she were part of the plane itself. Ultraman vanished into the rear of the craft, the weight of the Kryptonian dog scraping and skittering against the floor as it was dragged into confinement. Lex listened, head slightly tilted, until he heard the final, hollow click of the locks sealing the holding cell. The sound was clean, efficient, and absolute.
The engines roared to life, a low vibration running up through the floor and into his boots. The plane surged forward, its movements powerful yet smooth as it broke away from the frozen field. Gravity pressed into him as they climbed, the pressure firm and almost grounding. Through the narrow window, the landscape below began to dissolve into white blur, swallowed by clouds and distance. Metropolis waited somewhere beyond the horizon, but his mind had already moved beyond it.
He leaned back in the seat, hands folded with surgical precision on his lap, and let his thoughts spiral with the mechanical elegance of clockwork. The footage had given him a key, one of unparalleled power, but keys meant nothing without locks to fit them. A child would be that lock. A living, breathing lever, forged not from metal or law but from blood. It would tether Superman in a way no weapon, no court, no smear campaign could ever achieve.
The challenge was acquisition.
Lex rifled through possibilities in his mind, each option analyzed, weighed, and discarded in a matter of seconds. He still possessed the alien’s DNA, the same samples that had birthed Ultraman. He could easily craft another clone, one in the shape of an infant. The thought, however, was revolting. A clone was not an heir. It was an imitation, a cheap reflection of true legacy. Superman would never bend to his control for a counterfeit child. There was no fear, no leverage, in something hollow.
He considered the concept of a surrogate. A carefully controlled test tube process, a child gestated in some omega vessel, spliced from collected Kryptonian DNA and human biology. It was possible, yes. He had the means. Yet it would still lack something crucial. It would not be his. It would be a manufactured result, too many variables left to chance. Too many factors outside of his control. The thought of an unpredictable outsider interfering with something so monumental disgusted him. It was a weakness he would not allow. That was unacceptable.
No. The answer was purer, sharper, as all superior solutions are. The heir had to be Superman’s true child, conceived in a manner that allowed Lex absolute oversight. There could be no intermediary. He would orchestrate every aspect of its creation, every stage of its existence. Control was the essence of power, and power was the essence of Lex Luthor. He would not surrender a single ounce of it to anyone else.
There was only one way to guarantee that level of control. He would carry the child himself.
He had always resented his omega status, seeing it as a brand of inferiority, an excuse for the small-minded to underestimate him. Now it would serve its first real purpose. His body was a tool, like any other asset he had ever used to achieve victory, as capable of executing a plan as any machine he had ever designed. All he required was the alien’s semen, which would not be difficult to obtain. With that, conception would be inevitable, and every aspect of the pregnancy could be meticulously managed under his scrutiny.
He briefly considered laboratory gestation. Extract an egg, inseminate it, let the fetus develop in one of his specialized chambers. The method had scientific appeal, but it was flawed. Machinery could fail. Systems could falter. A single malfunction could undo months of progress. A controlled body, his body, was far more reliable. It was the simplest and most efficient solution. Artificial insemination would be trivial compared to the accomplishments already under his belt.
There were other ways, of course. The fetus could be conceived naturally. He had never struggled to lure an alpha into his bed. Why should this alien be different? Perhaps it would be advantageous for Superman to play an active role in the conception. Perhaps feeling that first flicker of ownership would hardwire him to protect the child. The thought amused him. If seduction could serve the plan, he would use it as he used every other weapon in his arsenal.
The plane cut cleanly through the sky as a storm raged in Lex’s mind. Strategies overlapped and locked together, a relentless chain of cause and effect, as precise and satisfying as the snap of tumblers falling into place inside a well oiled lock. Seduction. The word itself carried an unpleasant sweetness, like sugar burned into bitter ash. People had accused him more than once of using his “omega wiles” to manipulate arrogant alphas during boardroom confrontations. Such accusations had always been laughable. Lex Luthor did not seduce. He conquered. He had never needed to lower himself to something as crude as desire to secure what he wanted. Nevertheless, power demanded adaptability, and if desire needed to be weaponized, then he would wield it as easily as any other tool.
Superman’s so called virtues were nothing but polished weaknesses. That endless morality, the infuriating self sacrifice, the compulsion to protect anything that appeared fragile were not strengths. They were cracks in the foundation. Lex had spent years studying the alien like a predator learning the rhythms of its prey. He knew the exact moments when Superman would step forward, when he would place himself between the danger and the weak. It was not heroism. It was compulsion, raw and unrefined, waiting for someone intelligent enough to exploit it.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, the quiet sound measuring time with the gears of his mind. The first encounter would have to be deliberate, orchestrated with the ruthless calculation of a military strike. One move, flawlessly timed, would be enough to shatter that polished façade of morality and expose the creature beneath. Lex could already feel the sharp thrill of anticipation building inside him, the sense of sliding an unseen piece across the board while Superman remained blissfully unaware of the snare tightening around his throat.
There was one weapon no alpha could resist. Not even a self righteous, superpowered alien. An omega in heat.
Lex had not allowed his body to betray him like that in years. His suppressants were taken with the same precision he applied to every aspect of his life. No dose had ever been missed. No cracks were left for biology to creep through. His doctors had been concerned by it, warning him of the risks, but their concern was as irrelevant as their opinions. He did not have time for biological inconveniences. Now, that weakness could be turned into a blade sharper than steel. If he skipped a single pill, his body would fall into heat with terrifying speed after so many years of restraint. The thought did not fill him with fear. It filled him with purpose. Timing would be everything.
Superman would know about the fortress intrusion. He would come to confront Lex. Perhaps by the end of the day. Waiting until tomorrow might be more convenient, since the suppressant had already settled into his system, but that was manageable. He would have a heat inducer prepared. One dose, and his body would yield in minutes. It would be swift, brutal, and entirely under his command. His body would be a weapon, nothing more.
The idea of physicality, of crossing that particular line, stirred something in him that he refused to call desire. Lex Luthor did not desire Superman. He despised him. He knew his own biology, knew the primitive urges that tangled themselves with attraction, and he could bend those urges into something useful. The very thought of feeling even the faintest flicker of heat toward that overgrown, sanctimonious alien made his skin crawl, but he could already see the precision of how it would work. The disgust only sharpened the satisfaction of the plan. His body would obey him, even if it meant bending for the Kryptonian, because victory demanded it.
He closed his eyes, not to rest, but to calculate. The Kryptonian message replayed in his mind, every word seared there with absolute clarity. Mates. Heirs. Legacy. Superman’s parents had written the blueprint for their sons downfall, and Lex would be the architect who brought it to life. He would give the alien exactly what his creators intended for him, but on Lex’s terms. A child, a future, a leash. Soon enough superman would be his to command.