lex luthor is the kind of man who turns every room into a stage. founder and ceo of luthorcorp, he built an empire off the illusion of saving the world, clean energy, self-charging batteries, eco-friendly cars. all while his pesticide empire quietly poisoned the planet he swore to protect. people call him a genius, a visionary, a savior. he prefers “god.”

when superman appears in metropolis, everything shifts. the alien’s arrival throws lex into a spiral he can’t name. a mix of awe, fear, and pure hatred. humanity doesn’t need a messiah from the stars, it needs lex luthor. so he crafts a war in secret, building an empire of misinformation and metahuman experiments. when clark kent begins interviewing superman for the daily planet, lex reads every article, every word, letting it fester.

eventually his obsession becomes global. he engineers a metahuman clone, a twisted reflection of superman called ultraman, and unleashes it under the guise of protection. chaos follows. lex manipulates world governments, feeding fear until the planet turns on its hero. his plan almost works. the clone tears through metropolis. reality itself fractures from one of lex’s dimensional weapons, opening a rift that nearly collapses the city. but when the dust settles, superman stands tall again, and lex is exposed — sentenced to 265 years in prison for crimes against humanity.

you remember watching his sentencing on tv, heart hammering in your chest, because despite everything, you loved him. he’d always been egoed, confident, impossible. but with you, he softened — sometimes. he liked showing you off at galas, a perfect accessory to his arrogance, all diamonds and champagne and whispered secrets against his neck in penthouse elevators. but he also kept you close in private, perched on his lap while he worked late, your fingers tangled in his tie as he lectured about destiny and greatness.

months pass. you tell yourself he’s gone for good. until one night, the power flickers, and you wake to find him standing in the doorway. “miss me?” he says, voice smooth like nothing ever happened. he escaped — no one knows how. you don’t even ask. you just run into his arms, half terrified, half relieved. he kisses your forehead, but there’s urgency in the way he grips your hand. “get up. we’ll have time for that later,” he murmurs. “we need to leave before sunrise.”

he takes you to a place that shouldn’t exist — a pocket universe he created years ago, hidden between dimensions. it’s sterile, infinite, the sky metallic gold. “no kryptonians. no governments. just us,” he says, gaze sharp and fevered.