20 advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
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Inside the limo, the hum of the engine was the only thing keeping the silence from snapping. Across from Mark, Lex Luthor reclined with an infuriating calmness, his hands folded, his sharp green eyes studying him like a rare specimen.
"You're a fascinating young man," Luthor said at last, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of calculation. "I've met countless super-powered individuals… but none quite like you." His lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. "Why not join me? You—and your father—could benefit greatly. Not to mention, you destroyed my project. Think of this as… an opportunity to balance the scales."
The offer dripped with false generosity, but Mark heard the underlying threat. Luthor's smirk said it plainly: Even if you refuse, I have your father.
Mark's eyes narrowed, his fingers curling into fists. That smug expression… he wanted to rip it off his face.
A familiar ping chimed in his mind.
[Gilgamesh: Slice him up, mongrel. You'll let him mock you like that?]
[Iskandar: For once, I agree with the King of Uruk. Cut that stone-faced ape down—make him think twice about crossing you.]
[Ozymandias: Insolence like this should be answered with immediate retribution.]
[Gilgamesh: Why are you hesitating? No one insults a king without consequence.]
[Artoria: Mark, think first. Measure him—don't strike blindly.]
[Solomon: I see both paths… but patience often sharpens the blade. Make him believe he's winning.]
Mark exhaled slowly. As much as he wanted to silence Luthor with one decisive strike, Artoria and Solomon had a point. This wasn't just a fight—it was a chess match. His father's life was the piece Luthor held hostage.
He was about to answer when the limo lurched—then began to rise. Not forward, but upward.
"What the hell—?" Mark braced against the seat as the city skyline tilted below them.
"Mercy!" Luthor barked.
Mercy checked the cameras, her eyes narrowing. "Sir… it's Supergirl."
Through the tinted glass, a flash of red and blue soared against the wind. Golden hair whipped in the updraft as Kara's cape snapped behind her.
Mercy's hands danced over controls, bringing the limo's combat mode online. Metal plates shifted with a mechanical snarl, revealing hidden gun ports—loaded with Kryptonite rounds.
Luthor had clearly prepared for the day a Kryptonian might come calling.
But instead of giving the order to fire, he lifted a hand. "Hold. Let's see what she wants. No need to provoke a midair execution."
The weapons retracted, though the tension in the air stayed razor-sharp.
Through the limo's comms, Luthor's voice cut in, polite yet dripping with condescension. "Supergirl… to what do we owe the pleasure?"
Her reply was cold steel. "You've got a friend of mine. I'm here to take him back."
The limo was lowered gently onto the rooftop of a nearby skyscraper. The door opened, letting the cool wind rush in. Luthor stepped out, his gaze rising to where Kara hovered like a living blade in the sky. He hated looking up at anyone—but for now, he endured.
"And this friend—" his lip curled, "—would be the boy?"
Kara's eyes darted to Mark as he stepped out behind Luthor. For a moment, her face softened—relief—but it was gone in an instant as she turned back to Luthor.
"Stay away from him. Or—" She caught herself, knowing how close she was to issuing a threat she couldn't take back.
"Oh, please finish," Luthor said, the satisfaction in his tone like oil on fire. "Don't tell me your cousin keeps you muzzled."
Kara's jaw tightened. The insult hit, but she didn't bite.
"Such a good little soldier," Luthor added, letting the words twist the knife.
Mark tensed—he could feel Kara's restraint fraying. Mercy's fingers hovered near the trigger for a Kryptonite round, ready to end the confrontation in a flash of green.
But Kara only turned to him and said, "Mark. Let's go."
Before she could move, Luthor spoke again, voice laced with poisonous amusement. "I think you misunderstand, Supergirl. Mark came with me willingly. Isn't that right?"
Mark met his eyes. That grin wasn't just arrogance—it was a loaded gun aimed at his father's life.
"Yes," Mark said evenly. "I went on my own."
Kara's expression flickered with disappointment, but she didn't argue. She gave him one last searching look, then rose into the air and was gone.
As her silhouette vanished into the clouds, Luthor's quiet chuckle filled the rooftop. He thought he'd won—thought Mark was now his pawn.
But Mark's thoughts were steady and cold. " You'll learn soon enough, Luthor… I don't play by your rules."
_______________
After the encounter with we headed to Luthor's place.His mansion wasn't just a home—it was a monument to ego. A towering spire of glass and steel clawing at the clouds, crowned with a massive chrome emblem: a stylized Lex, the L encircled halfway like a brand burned into the city's skyline.
The ground-level security was a fortress unto itself. Armed guards patrolled with mechanical precision, their rifles cradled in trained, steady hands. Cameras swept every angle, their lenses unblinking. Even the air seemed wired, watched, measured.
Mark's gaze lingered on the defenses.
"Impressed?" Luthor's voice was smug as they passed through the courtyard. "They're all ex-commandos—best money can buy."
Mark didn't miss a beat.
"Impressive… but useless against someone like the Man of Steel. Looks like you've made enough enemies to justify a private army."
Luthor's smile tightened to a thin line. Without another word, he gestured toward the elevator.
The interior was pure precision engineering—chrome walls, ambient lighting, a panel that responded instantly to Luthor's touch. Every system in the building, Mark realized, was under the command of an advanced AI—Luthor's voice its only key.
Mercy trailed them like a shadow, her presence silent but suffocating. She didn't just guard him—she clung to him. It was less protection and more… possession.
The elevator opened to the top floor—Luthor's domain. An Italian maple desk stood like a throne in the center, framed by a panoramic view of Metropolis. From this height, the city looked small enough to fit in his palm.
Without preamble, Luthor activated a hidden console built into his desk.
A series of numbers lit under his fingers, and a concealed door hissed open in the wall.
"Wait here," he told Mercy.
She hesitated, eyes flicking to Mark with suspicion. Luthor smirked knowingly. "The boy isn't foolish. He knows what happens if I'm harmed."
Mark caught the warning—sharp and deliberate—and forced himself not to react.
The inner chamber was colder, quieter. Five darkened screens loomed against one wall, while the far side was dominated by a massive workstation. On it, the glowing schematics of a dismantled Father Box rotated in slow, deliberate detail.
Mark's stomach turned.
Biomechatronic limb replacements. Neural control systems. The merging of human bodies with alien tech. The project.
Memories of the victims—innocent lives torn apart—flashed in his mind. His hands itched to call forth Excalibur, to end this monster now. But his father's life kept his fury chained.
"I know you're still upset about what happened at Cadmus," Luthor began, his tone feigning civility.
"But you forced my hand. My territory was invaded. I had to escalate." He sighed with mock regret. "No one lost more than I did. Months of research—gone."
Mark heard the lie in every syllable. He didn't mourn the dead.
He mourned his broken toys.
A familiar voice echoed in his mind.
[Artoria: You tolerate him far too much. Strike with precision—let him feel it.]
[Mark: My time will come.]
The five screens flickered to life. Figures emerged—draped in white, faces obscured. Only their voices gave them shape.
"Luthor," the central figure said, the disappointment clear. "You'd better have good news."
"The project was destroyed," Luthor replied evenly. "The children interfered. Everything… reduced to ashes."
"Preposterous. You fail yet again," a woman's voice snapped.
Luthor raised a hand, as though calming a room only he could see. "Patience. I anticipated this. A secondary facility is already operational. The work continues as we speak."
Mark's gut tightened. If that was true, then his father—still the lead scientist—was in the middle of it.
But why admit this in front of him? To taunt him? To test his reaction?
"And," Luthor added, "I have found a new ally." He gestured for Mark to step forward.
"He will lead a new team of enhanced youths to deal with the Teen Titans."
Mark's jaw tightened. He'd never agreed to this. But Luthor's plan was transparent—use his father as leverage, turn him into a weapon, and aim him at his own allies.
"How do we know he won't betray us?" one of the figures asked.
"Because," Luthor said with oily confidence, "I hold something dear to him. Something… irreplaceable."
Mark's patience thinned to a blade's edge. If he stayed silent, Luthor would think he had him. So he stepped forward, his voice steady.
"I won't fight the Titans."
The room stilled. Even the faceless figures seemed to pause. Luthor's expression faltered—momentarily confused.
Mark let the silence stretch before he added, "Instead… I have something better to offer."