Devil's Deal, "Trespass", life
Feb. 9th, 2007 10:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bagheera_sanThe Zoology exam went absolutely horrible - I had learned a lot, but the exam had stuff that I didn't expect and it was pretty damn hard, too. I really, really hope I passed. *nervous*
I watched "Trespass" and even though it was an episode about Lana, I was quite entertained. Well, it only took 5 seasons to make the character interesting... I missed Ollie, Lois and Lionel. I hate it when SV becomes so absorbed with its relationships, ignoring everything else.
And - the next chapter of Devil's Deal! We're on the home stretch now, with only one chapter to go. It might be a very long chapter, but I want it to be five chapters.
Title: Devil's Deal, Part Four - Company in Hell
Rating: PG-13, religious/mythological themes
Length: 7604 words
Continuity: SV - JLU - DC/Vertigo , futurefic
Summary: Dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
talitha87. To bring his son back from the dead, Lex sells his soul to the devil.
Betaed by the awesome and swiftaveraird!
Clark isn't good at casting his feelings aside in favour of a mission. Right now he wants to stomp his feet and cry at the overcast night sky in rage.
Instead he merely sets down on the ground and takes a deep breath. He's somewhere on the coast outside Salem, Massachusetts. The sea is murmuring to his right. Here and there a wave palely reflects the moonlight. He hasn't flown straight here from Metropolis, but after a few times blindly circling the Earth, he has ended up here.
After the shattering confession, Lex closed his eyes and turned around, curling with his back to Clark and falling instantly asleep. The words themselves felt like a bucket of ice chips dumped over Clark's heart, but as soon as they settled in, he couldn't bear to be so close to this soulless husk that was all that was left of Lex any longer.
God, Clark should have seen this. Reconciling with Lex blinded him with joy, and he didn't question all the convenient changes, the mellowing, the meekness that is so unlike Lex. But then, Lex has a way of blinding him, with love, with admiration, with fear, with rage. Clark hates to admit it, but he is no more able to think straight and objectively when it comes to Lex than when it comes to himself.
He just ignored the issue of Lex's soul, because he didn't really understand it anyway. Clark still has only the vaguest idea what a soul even does, or what it is, or how it can be sold. He thought the concept was just an old-fashioned way to explain the human mind, a metaphor, not something real and tangible. His parents very rarely took him to church, so how is he supposed to know?
All he knew was that Lex had done something terrible and selfless out of love. And that was enough – that was exactly the kind of thing for which Clark had been waiting for years. Not that he really admitted it to himself, but… ever since Lex died saving the Earth from Darkseid and then came back and then Clark died, and came back… it opened Clark's eyes to something he can no longer ignore: he and Lex are going to be around for a very long time.
That Lex was a hero back then wasn't actually much of a surprise or an eye-opener to Clark. Deep down what bothers him most about Lex is how very great Lex could be, despite how compromised he was from the very start. Lex is tainted, yes, but so are others Clark had learned to live and work with. And Clark has learned to tolerate a lot more shades of grey. Ollie's radical methods and Bruce's constant paranoia and distrust are some of them, but even more effective were looks at himself in other, parallel worlds: he isn't a hero in most of them.
And he isn't always a hero in this one, either. And Lex isn't always a villain. They made it far too easy for themselves by dividing the world this way – or maybe they made it far too hard. Seeing things in blacks and whites is great for quick decisions in the heat of a battle, but in the long run Clark isn't living the kind of life that allows him easy outs. Unlike his Dad, he has to work with people all the time. He can't just reject them at every turn for not living the way he wants them to.
Of course Clark can't just tolerate Lex doing evil stuff. But morally, Lex is a problem child. If he does good things, it's probably a good idea to encourage them. Kon, for example. Apart from his creation, there's nothing villainous about the way Lex has treated his son – well, except maybe the constant surveillance, but Clark is so used to that these days from people like Batman and the Oracle that it hardly even bothers him anymore. Lex also was a pretty good President. Clark was furious throughout Lex's campaign, unwilling to accept it but with his hands tied against the will of the American people. Superman kept quiet, even as Clark Kent wrote fervent warnings against Lex in the Daily Planet. But once Lex was inaugurated and sat down to work… it wasn't so bad. Lex doesn't like doing a bad job, so he did it well. Clark recognized the young man he'd talked to years and years ago, in every reform, in every new law, in press statements and proposed contracts. It was good to have a daring President in times like these, one who knew well how to deal with everything from the economy to threats from outer space to metahuman politics. Lex even managed to forge relations with Atlantis, despite all the bad blood between him and Aquaman.
It may have taken Clark a good two decades, but he has finally realised that maybe all Lex needs is some incentive to be good. He shouldn't need incentive, but that's how it is. Bruce has Gotham and his mission. Clark hates to think of the man Bruce might be if he didn't have those. Clark has had a wonderful family and a sheltered childhood. Diana has the firm morals and traditions of her people to rely on. Every good person Clark knows has some foundation, some base to build their character on. But Lex has none of this. All Lex has is a brilliant mind, a lot of ambition and a plethora of traumata.
Maybe having a son has made it better. Lex always craved family like nothing else.
Maybe being sort of at peace with Clark has made it better. Even though they never officially stopped being enemies, they have been civil – for their standards – for some time. And everything is out in the open now, nothing hidden between them. They know each other for what they are.
Except that Clark apparently doesn't. How did he not notice the change in Lex? How could he have missed it?
Doesn't matter. There's a problem, and Clark is going to solve it.
This is why Clark is here, looking for the one man who can explain this to him. Instead of diving head-first into his fling with Lex, Clark should have done this before, but he isn't used to having to prepare his battles. He's a man of action, as others have so often remarked, some admiring, some critical.
Fate's tower isn't visible. It has to be here somewhere, Clark can almost feel the magic, as if the night air is somehow thicker and sweeter, like a scent of lilacs mixed with the salt of the sea, luring him in. Clark doesn't like magic, its subtle and invisible workings that he can't control.
"Fate!" he yells, sick of standing around stupidly. "I need to talk to you!"
Nothing. Clark balls his hands to fists.
"Fate!"
The air ripples and like a pillar of smoke, the tower forms before him. Clark squares his jaw and walks towards it. In the door stands a silent woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, who steps aside to let him in. Clark has to stoop a little as he enters and follows her up the narrow and badly-lit stone staircase.
In the upper level, the dusty wooden planks of the floor are covered with oriental rugs. In some places, the wood is charred, as if a candle was left to burn for too long and in others, there's spilled wax. Fate sits cross-legged and meditating in the centre, the golden helmet cradled in his lap. Clark hesitates, suddenly awkward. Fate is part of the League, but his relations with the League have never been easy, he's a mercurial man, and he is hostile as often as he is helpful.
"Twice we've talked and you have not asked the right questions," Fate says with his eyes still closed. "What did he say to send you here again?"
This is why Clark hates magic. It makes people pompous and arrogant. Probably real wizards only talk like that because they've seen wizards in the movies do it. He wonders where Fate has hidden his TV. "I need to know –”
"What did he say, Superman?"
Clark looks down at himself and realises for the first time that he is not wearing the suit and cape, just his pants and shoes and the shirt he wore this evening. His hair is damp from the clouds he flew through. Fate still has his eyes closed, so maybe he didn't notice.
The words he needs to say won't come out. "He… Lex doesn't feel… he isn't the same person."
"What did he say?"
"He…" Clark's voice becomes ever quieter, a mumble that has nothing to do with Superman. He clears his throat. "He doesn't love me anymore." He hopes Fate is happy now, knowing what no one else knows.
"And you're here to make him love you again? I don't sell that kind of spell." Fate doesn't sell anything, so he is most likely mocking Clark.
Clark grinds his teeth. "You know Lex. He wouldn't even have admitted this when he still had his soul. But now he just doesn't care. I need to help him. I need to get his soul back."
Fate spreads his fingers over the gleaming helmet and tilts his head. "Why you?"
"Because I love him." Clark blinks. Sure, he loves Lex, he would never have let him get so close again otherwise, but he didn't think he could say it so loudly and clearly.
Of course, he has lived knowing that he loves Lex for a long time. He is used to admitting this to himself. He has tried to deny it since Lex was dying of cancer, and grudgingly accepted it when he realised how glad he was when Lex recovered, and felt it strongly and clearly when Lex died and came back.
Fate smiles and puts on the helmet. He rises, motioning Clark to sit on a high-backed wooden chair that is cushioned with purple velvet. On the stone windowsill next to Clark sits a chessboard, the pieces spread all over the board, frozen in the middle of a game.
"He isn't an easy man to love, is he?" Fate says thoughtfully, walking around the room seemingly aimlessly. "Or an easy man to be friends with. Brilliant but self-absorbed, overreaching himself all the time. Never willing to compromise. It's all or nothing for him."
Clark's stomach clenches at the memory of the Lex that used to be. But he isn't here to reminisce. "How can I get his soul back?"
Fate stops. "You could trade your soul for his."
Trade his soul for Lex's. Everyone Clark knows would be shocked that he's even contemplating this. Lex, if he were in his right mind, would probably be furious. A soulless Superman… would Clark wind-up like Lex? Or would he turn into that which everyone fears, a Superman who doesn't care, a Superman without lines in the sand?
"There is another option," Fate says. "One that is more dangerous to you, but safer for the rest of us." So Fate has the same fears about Superman as everyone else, but he doesn't say it. Clark grits his teeth and listens.
"Is there some way you may lay claim to Luthor's soul? Has he ever made a promise to you that may be interpreted that way?"
A promise? Lex doesn't promise anyone anything. He demands. He makes deals, at best. But… "When we were young he often promised me… he said that everything that was his was also mine."
Fate makes a thoughtful noise. "That's good, but vague. They know how to twist words. Have you ever saved his life from certain death?"
"Yes," Clark says without hesitation. Many times.
"Has he saved yours?"
"A few times…"
"Often enough to consider the debt paid back?"
"I've saved his more often, but it's not like I'm counting." Clark shakes his head. Saving each other… doesn't work that way. Maybe it's about debts for Lex, but not for Clark. "Why is that so important?"
"If you find a way to get to the beings that now own Lex's soul, and if you stand before them, they will want reasons for why you lay claim to this soul. You can't force them, but they are defined by rules. Rules, whether the rules make sense or not, is what these beings are all about. Rules and faith."
"What beings?"
"All deities. You have met some of them. The gods of New Genesis. Darkseid. The Endless. Demons and devils, like Trigon and Lucifer. Gods are like stories. They need rules, natural laws for the little universes that they represent, and they need us to believe in them in order to work. If they make deals, they must keep them. They have a hard time lying, but they can be very unreliable narrators. Codes of honour have more meaning to them than gravity or the speed of light, because they're made real by the laws inside our heads, and not the laws that govern matter and energy."
Clark frowns. "So you're saying that by saving Lex's life, I somehow own his soul? And that makes his deal invalid? Would Kon lose his soul if Lex got his back?"
"That depends on the deal. But I trust Lex to have negotiated a permanent solution with whatever devil he has dealt with. He is… well-versed in the kind of rules these beings adhere to. I think he believes in stories almost as much as they do."
"So there's no risk for Kon?" Clark insists.
"You must make sure of this yourself when you negotiate with them."
"So how do I do that? Can you… conjure them up, or something?"
Fate laughs. "You put a lot of trust into my magic, Superman. No, the best I can do is call up one of your dead."
"My dead?" Clark feels a chill run down his spine. "You mean people I –"
"Lost. People who were in some way related to you, whether by blood or other ties. It could be a dead ancestor, or a friend or lover. You can ask for their help and guidance and if they are sympathetic to your plight, they will answer. They can lead you to the underworld, where you will have to search for the particular entity that now owns Lex's soul. This is a very dangerous journey, Superman. Many heroes in many ages have attempted it and few have come back, and fewer even have found what they were looking for and managed to hold on to it. You will not have your powers in this strange and confusing place."
Clark isn't all that impressed. Fate might not leave his tower much, but Clark got around. "I've been to strange places."
"This one is different."
"I've been dead."
"And where have you been?"
"I… don't remember anything," Clark admits. The year he was dead after Doomsday killed him is a void to him, like a leaf cut out of a calendar.
Fate nods, satisfied to have won the argument. "Most of all, you must keep in mind that these beings will try to make it as hard for you as possible. Your chances are slim, to be truthful."
"But you want me to do it?"
"I'm just here to give guidance."
Right. Clark stares down at the chessboard. He isn't a good player. He can't even tell which side is winning in this game. A daring opening, a few cautious moves, checking the other out, a few quick strategic blows, never quite loosing the balance. Losses, but just a few pawns and a rook here and a bishop there. And at some point one of the players became distracted, and the game was broken off to be resumed another day.
But Lex won't return to their game. He's put himself into checkmate. Clark is going to win their game and rule the board from now on and –
"When can we do it?"
"I need some preparation. I'm sure you do as well. Come back tonight at sundown," Fate replies.
Clark doesn't linger, he leaves quickly, flying off just as the sun rises over the sea.
*
He never says his goodbyes when he goes on dangerous missions. His Mom knows that he might not come back one day, and she has buried him twice already, but she says she doesn't want it. What is there to say? Clark loves her and she knows it. She loves him and he knows it. It would just be painful.
But there are other people who need to be assured.
The League is first. Diana is the one he talks to, glad that she's there and not Bruce. He explains to her and she doesn't even look at him oddly, as if descending to the underworld and bringing back a lost soul is an everyday occurrence. She only wishes him good luck and blesses him in the names of her gods.
Then there's Kon. Clark finds him in downtown Metropolis, patrolling the city. They fly side by side, Clark in his primary colours and his son in a simple black T-shirt. Kon tried to replace Superman, back when he had just fled from Lex's lab and Clark was dead. He used to wear the Superman suit and Clark took it back when he returned, never offering to him to continue to wear it. Back then it seemed the right thing to do, but now it bothers Clark to see Kon wearing the Superman crest on a T-shirt, as if it doesn't really belong to him, as if it's just a joke, a costume… instead of something more.
He explains as much as he can without telling Kon that this is about Lex's soul. He doesn't want Kon to feel in any way responsible if Clark doesn't come back.
"Take care of Mom while I'm gone," Clark says.
Superboy nods mutely. He looks shocked.
"And there's another thing… could you have an eye on Lex Luthor?"
"Sure," Kon says. "I'll keep him in line."
"Keep him alive."
Kon stares at him. "What?"
"Superman protects everyone, regardless of who they are," Clark reminds him sternly.
They float upright now, and Clark can watch Kon look down and away. He used to be such a bold, confident boy, but the older he gets, the more often he becomes awkward and self-conscious. "I'm not Superman."
"You can wear the cape while I'm gone," Clark offers. He doesn't want him to, because Superman's job is too dangerous for a child, and when Clark was this age, he didn't even know he was an alien yet, but then, Kon has already died once to save the world. There's not a lot Clark can protect him from anymore. "And if I don't come back, you'd be the one I'd want to keep wearing it. If you still want it, that is."
Kon's face wavers between joy and shock. "I – I'm – I'll do it. I mean, it'd totally be an honour! Except that I won't, because you'll come back. This is temporary. No one in this family ever stays dead, right?"
Clark hopes he is. And he puts a hand on Kon's shoulder in a distanced, fatherly gesture, but then hugs him in flight. It's a short, tight hug, and it feels a lot like hugging Lex did, the surprise, the stiffness, the awkwardness, as if this isn't what's supposed to happen, and then in the last second, a sigh of relief as the tension fades out of Kon's body.
Clark is an idiot. He should do this all the time. Why did he forget how important touch is for a child? How much he needed the reassurance when he was young and felt like a freak, like a monster, like he was utterly alone in the world? He's going to hug Kon all the time when he comes back, and Lex, too, if Lex lets him.
He wants the Lex back who needs Clark to hug him, but might not let him.
*
At sundown, Clark returns to Fate's tower. Fate awaits him outside, standing by what looks like a cheery campfire at the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. Clark has come in civilian clothes since this isn't a Superman mission. Fate says he will have no powers in the underworld, so Clark is going as a man, not a hero.
Fate beckons him closer. The gleaming golden helmet reflects the fire and the sunset, making it look as if his head is ablaze. He doesn't speak to Clark, just murmurs in a low chant. As he rounds the fire, strange symbols start to glow where his feet fall on the ground. Finally, when the sun is but a flat crimson sliver on the horizon, fate raises a silver chalice over the fire and pours its contents into the flames.
The flames crackle and hiss, and the smoke smells acrid, like burnt flesh and incense. Clark's eyes start to run, and he blinks, but the blurry shadows that are drawing closer around them don't recede. Fate steps away but never turns his back to Clark, watching intently. Some of the shadows almost take form, but like wisps of fog they lose it again. A few are almost solid, and Clark turns to them, opens his mouth to speak, but there's one that pushes the others away, grows darker and firmer until it is almost a human figure. A strong wind picks up from the sea, pressing the flickering flames to the ground. Clark looks over his shoulder at Fate, who beckons him to speak.
"I need a guide – to bring me to the underworld," Clark explains haltingly.
The shadowy shape has no face, no mouth, barely even a head. And still it speaks, with the voice of the wind whispering in the dead of the night. "Why do you want to go there?"
"I need bring back someone's soul!" Clark feels stupid yelling at a bunch of smoke, but the voice sounds so far away, so thin.
"Whose soul?"
Clark wishes he knew who he's talking to. This has to be someone dead. It could be an ancestor from Krypton, or his Dad, or Lana, or someone who died in Smallville, like Ryan or Alicia, or someone who worked with Superman. Do they know Lex? And if they know him, will they understand?
"Lex Luthor's."
There is a long silence. The ghostly figure grows dimmer against the darkening night sky. Clark almost fears that his request has repelled whoever it was, but then the voice comes again.
"I will take you there."
The shadow moves and it looks like it's extending a hand towards Clark. Clark steps forward and reaches out, and when the smoky hand passes through his, it solidifies, cold and firm as frozen earth, and darkness spreads like ink stains over Clark's vision, obscuring the world from his view. The last thing he sees, are the stars, tiny specks of light above him, zooming closer like in a telescope and then they, too, are gone.
*
Clark feels very solid when he wakes with his face burrowed into a pile of cold, wet, smelly pebbles. After some disorientation he understands that he's lying spread-eagled and face-down on these pebbles, he can feel them with his fingers and gritty sand and slick mud, too. This place smells rotten.
He sits up and shakes himself like a dog, only to discover that he's wearing the cape. But the cape is burned and frayed, like he has worn it a hundred years, like it has been in each and every one of his battles. He's kneeling on a shore, not unlike the one beneath the cliff at Fate's tower. The sky is dark, or rather there is no sky, just fog receding into darkness. The waves that lap tiredly at the shore have the colour of quicksilver and despair.
"A very traditional idea of the entry to the underworld," someone says.
Clark jumps to his feet and turns around to find himself face to face with another very solid figure. It's shrouded from head to toe in grey rags, and the face that is barely visible beneath the hood of its cloak is concealed by a white, featureless mask. Clark takes a step back, ready to fight.
"Who are you?"
"Your guide," the figure says, sounding a bit annoyed at Clark's question. The voice is louder here, but still muffled and thin. It's impossible to tell whether it's an old or a young voice, a male or a female one, a low or a deep one. Still, Clark imagines that it sounds familiar.
"I'm sorry," Clark says, still tense, "I don't recognize you."
"You're not supposed to," the guide replies, sounding a little sad to Clark's ears. "The ones who sent me made it a condition for your entry to this realm."
"But we know each other?"
"I'm not allowed to play twenty-questions either."
A human, Clark guesses. Someone from Krypton wouldn't talk like that. At least Jor-El and Lara didn't. He doesn't like this arrangement, not knowing who he is talking to when he is supposed to rely on this person. The guide turns around, gazing up and down the shore. "We're waiting for the ferryman, aren't we?"
"Are we?"
"It's a hell of your own making. If you expect a river and a ferryman, that's what you'll find. I've been here for a while and that's how I think it works. The only real things in this place are the dead."
"Where are the dead?" Clark asks.
"Across the river, if you continue with the Greek theme."
The guide is right. There's a slap of wood on water, and a boat melts out of the fog, a long black bark with a tall figure standing in it. It hits the shore, but the ferryman remains standing silently until Clark approaches, wading into the water. It's ice-cold and soaking his boots, and since Clark can feel the cold without his powers, it doesn't feel imaginary at all.
"We need to get on the other side of the river," Clark explains to the ferryman.
The ferryman remains mute, so Clark takes a chance and climbs into the boat. He feels heavy and clumsy. The guide follows with smooth and silent moves, more like a shadow than a human being. "He should be asking for a coin," the guide says in a hushed voice. "I guess you didn't pay attention to your mythology."
Clark remembers, suddenly, where he first heard about this. The ferryman's name is Charon and the river is called Acheron. Lex once showed him a coin of the kind the Greeks and Romans put into the mouths of their dead so they could pay the fee to get over the river and into Hades.
"I always thought it was unfair to the poor," Clark replies, same as he did then.
Lex said that it was just a story, a superstition of a dead culture. The guide and the ferryman, though, don't answer, taking Clark's objection as it stands.
For a while they're all silent as they glide through the endless fog. It's chilly and the guide, who sits next to Clark like a statue, doesn't give off any warmth, so Clark is thankful for the cape. It provides solace and colour in a place where there's none of it.
"Nothing is ever fair," the guide suddenly says. "You aren't, either. Trying to bring back one soul, and ignoring the endless number of others you could be looking for."
Clark looks at the guide's featureless mask. "There are always others I could be saving," he answers. It's a hard-learned lesson, but one that he has learned to accept. "As long as you're saving someone, it's the best you can do."
"Why Lex Luthor?" the guide asks. It doesn't sound like 'Why not me?' so at least Clark won't have to deal with accusations.
"He sold his soul. It's – " Clark's voice fails him. God, he can't explain this to someone who could be his Dad, or Lana –
"You didn't think he could get any worse, did you? How bad is it?" That pitch of voice sounds a bit like Lana when she was pissed-off. Still, it seems to lack somewhat in sincerity, as if the guide is mocking him, but maybe that's just because the voice is so strangely distorted.
And if it's Lana, she might help him save Lex. Their marriage wasn't a happy one, but Clark doesn't think she died hating Lex. He hated Lex back then, blamed him for Lana's death, but he hopes for her sake that the last months of her life weren't quite that horrible.
"No, it's not like that." Clark wishes the journey was over already. "I thought it was okay, at first. He told me what he had done for Kon – " Clark hesitates. "You probably don't even know what's happened since you died, don't you?"
"I'm not allowed to tell you when that was, though," the guide points out. "Just assume I'm ignorant."
"Why don't they want me to know who you are?" Clark demands. He's sick of this.
"They like games," the guide says disinterestedly. "And they've figured out that you have trust issues."
Trust issues. Right. Clark gets it, he's supposed to fill the guide in, but not knowing who the guide is, it's impossible to tell which secrets Clark needs to guard. Does the guide know he has powers? Does the guide know he's Superman? Does the guide know he's Clark?
Fate warned him that they were going to make it hard for him.
"Okay… Lex sold his soul in exchange for his son's soul. Kon, um, he died saving the world, long story, but people managed to bring his body back to life and Lex made sure that he got his soul back."
"What does it have to do with you?" the guide asks. "Trying to save his own son doesn't make Lex a good man all of a sudden. Any half-way human person would try to save their own child, wouldn't they? And he might have done it for selfish reasons." Clark gets the feeling that whoever this is knows Lex and doesn't like him very much.
"He didn't. And Kon is my son, too."
A tilt of the guide's head under the hood. He doesn't say anything for a moment. Clark feels himself flush. "Clone," he adds on. Please, don't let it be his Dad. "He's a good boy."
"So you're doing this because you can't let it sit on you that Lex saved your son while you did nothing. I'm beginning to understand."
Clark opens his mouth to object, but then closes it again. If the guide accepts that as the truth and it saves him further explanation, then so be it. Even if it isn't the truth.
The fog and the dark water continue endlessly. This place is as formless and silent as sleep. Clark tries to be patient, but the longer he does nothing, the more he starts to doubt everything. Can he even trust this guide? Or he is being led in circles over this river for what seems like hours now? Fate said the beings that have Lex's soul can't lie – what if that's the reason why the guide may not talk about himself?
"Can't this go any faster?" Clark demands.
"It's up to you. Make it go faster."
"How?"
"You need to have a goal in mind in order to get there," the guide says, staring straight ahead, as if said goal is right there. "Or else you'll just keep on stumbling in the dark. Of course maybe it's better you're not thinking too hard of what lies ahead. If this is how you picture the underworld, I imagine your version of hell is none too pleasant."
"You're supposed to be my guide, aren't you? Just tell me where we're going." Clark is trusting this guide less and less. None of this is helpful. It's more like the guide wants to confuse and discourage Clark.
"Down," the guide says softly.
Clark stares. "What?"
"We're not going to a place," the guide says, once again loud and forceful. "This isn't the reality you're used to. There's no time and space. It's just your mind that's used to four dimensions. We're looking for things. Entities. Think of them instead."
Right. Clark tries hard not to think of a guy with horns and a pitchfork. Lex wouldn't make deals with a guy like that. No, the kind of devil Lex would sell his soul to would be all smooth and civilized. Polite, pragmatic. Clark sighs. He's not thinking of Lex's devil, he's thinking of Lex himself. This is getting him nowhere. Just as he wants to give it up and jump the boat to try his luck swimming, there's a sudden jerk and the boat runs on ground. At first sight the shore looks similar to the one they came from, but the pebbles aren't grey and round here, instead they look chalk-white, like ground bones. Beneath them Clark glimpses steel and glass instead of sand. The fog recedes, and as it does so Clark is seized by sudden vertigo. They're not on a shore. The boat has run onto a building. A tall sky-scraper, out of all proportion, a mile high or longer, and it's lying here in the middle of nothing like a ship on the ground of the ocean, dirty and broken, the fog spilling over it like shrouds and running down the sides, as if what lurks there must be an endless abyss.
Clark swallows. His fear of heights is back with full force now that he can't fly anymore. The guide, however, jumps out of the boat. Clark follows with shaky limbs. He turns around in a circle, and when he looks back to where the boat was, it is gliding away into the fog already. A moment later, they're alone again.
There's a signpost a few metres ahead. An arrow points in each direction. Down, the one that goes to the right says. Down, says the left one. Down, each of them. The last one points up. Away, it says.
Clark is just about to ask what that means when there's a low creak in the distance, then another. The creaking turns into a horrible scratching and screeching, like fingernails on a blackboard. It's coming closer. The guide turns towards the sound, seemingly as surprised as Clark. Something emerges from the fog with huge jumps. It's large. It's walking on four legs. It's a three-headed dog.
A three-headed robot dog. It looks like one of Lex's more eccentric creations. The dog's eyes are glowing green, all six of them, but the pointy teeth are red as rage and passion. The tongues, square and immobile between the robot jaws, are silver, like splinters of fear.
"Someone must have really impressed you with all these Greek stories," the guide comments and takes a controlled step back. The robot dog advances and makes a sound. It's the sound the caves used to make to call Clark to them, a frequency only audible to Kryptonians, but the guide seems to hear it as well. Clark gives the monster another look, then comes to a decision. He grabs his guide by one rag-covered arm and runs. His legs feel leaden, impossibly slow, as if chained to the ground, but the arm Clark clings to is tangible under the stiff and sticky rags, the only firm thing right now. Bone pebbles and glass are like marbles to walk on, they slither and stumble more than they run, but somehow they manage to keep their balance and stay upright.
It's like running in a dream. Clark knows that as long as he doesn't fall and as long as he doesn't let go of the guide, the monster won't get them. And then there are steps ahead, just like in a dream, and Clark is out of breath, the cold air burning in his lungs, but finally his feet are on solid ground. The steps are made of stone, old stone, and the higher up they go, the nicer the stones look, turning from concrete to sandstones, to real marble, pink then black then finally white as driven snow.
The last step is wooden and creaky, like the veranda on the farm, trodden with age.
And then Clark skids to a halt in front of a large pair of wooden doors. The guide stops a bit more gracefully. They look up and Clark sucks in a surprised breath.
They're standing in front of building that doesn't even exist anymore. Lex had it razed when he left Smallville for good. But down here in hell, the mansion looks splendid. Richer and more imposing than it ever did in real life. Clark is sure his fantasy has added a few little towers and turrets as well. There's even a banner hanging down from a window on the first floor, purple and green, proudly sporting a crest.
The crest has five corners. It's Superman's shield but in place of the curling S, there's the L of the LexCorp logo.
"Interesting," the guide says.
Clark gives the guide an annoyed glance and knocks on the door as firmly as he can.
For a long time, there's no response, then the doors slowly open. The hallway behind them resembles the interior of the castle, but it is lit by torches and candles and the air that rushes against their faces from the inside is hot and stuffy. The door has been opened by a man in a servant’s uniform, more formal than any of Lex's servants ever looked, more like a butler in a movie. He's holding a three-armed chandelier, and the red wax of the candles has run all over his hand and sleeve like a glove of frozen blood.
The man raises the chandelier, and as the candles illuminate his features, Clark remembers the face with a jolt of memory. The servant is Morgan Edge, his face horribly disfigured by bleeding cuts. He smiles, greedy and salacious.
His human enemies always scared Clark the most.
"Just in time, Kal," Edge says. "Just in time."
"What are you doing here?" Well, maybe that's a stupid question. This is hell, after all, or some place like it. Edge deserves to be here.
"I serve," Edge says, without a trace of resentment.
*
Edge leads them through a long and winding succession of hallways that could never fit into the real mansion, until Clark has completely lost all sense of direction. Then the light grows a few shades brighter and they pass through a doorway into a great hall – it's Lex's study, with the wood-panelled walls and the high ceiling that Clark remembers. Even the stained glass windows are there, but all the glass is red, ruby and crimson and deep burgundy, as if waterfalls of wine are running down the windows. In the centre of the room is a large table, a heavy monster laden with dishes and food and chandeliers. At it head stands a throne, there's no other word for it, and at it's sides, two more, one quite as luxurious, the other smaller and narrower.
Clark recognizes all three occupants instantly.
In the middle resides Lionel Luthor, or some diabolic parody of him, his mane of hair fuller and wilder than in life, his eyes burning with something unearthly, a fire Clark has seen in the mirror a dozen times. In one hand he holds golden chalice, with the other one he is lazily feeding a fruit to the woman to his left: Lana, clothed in gauzy black shrouds, her face paler and softer than in life, her eyes pools of darkness, her hair falling down nearly to her knees. Her lips are glistening red from the juice of pomegranates.
To Lionel's right, though, sits someone who makes Clark forget even Lana. Broad and large, a giant's body, with a face like cracked granite and eyes like dying red suns –
"Darkseid!" Clark exclaims, starting forward. "You're dead!"
Lionel chuckles. His voice isn't quite right, just like his eyes, hoarse and growling, more like a large cat's than a man's. "Quite astute, young man."
"No! Lex destroyed you. The Anti-Life equation – you're gone."
"I will never return to your universe, Kal-El," Darkseid says. He's the same, he's real, Clark knows it with utter certainty. "I will never be the Lord of Apokolips again. But I have always been a welcome guest in hell."
"Most welcome," Lionel agrees amiably.
"You're behind this," Clark accuses. "You stole Lex soul!"
"He sold it, fair and square," counters the Lionel-shaped devil. "A cheap thing to a cheap price."
"I'm not interested in that fool's soul," Darkseid booms. "But I had to get my revenge on him and your puny adopted planet."
"This was all just a trick to lure me here?"
Darkseid stays impassive since his stony face doesn't allow very many expressions. But the devil cocks his head and rubs his beard. It's a perfect expression of Lionel Luthor as Clark remembers him. He wonders why the devil has chosen this form. Is it Clark's own imagination giving it to him? He wasn't that scared of Lionel, nor that impressed by him.
"I must admit we didn't expect you to come here once we had the soul. Our most renowned guest here assured us that Luthor's absence from your equation would plunge your world into imbalance, causing much despair and destruction. As it turns out, we have eliminated not one, but both of you. But you are here. It has been a long time since one of the living has found their way into our realm. Tradition demands that we listen to your request." The devil smiles invitingly. "What may we offer to one such as you? You have power, everlasting life, beauty, fame – is it love? Knowledge? Your people, maybe, Last Son of Krypton? We can raise the dead for you. Give life to the dying. We can bring back what is lost and undo what is done…"
Clark looks from Darkseid to the devil, and to the woman at his side who looks like Lana. There is no recognition on her face, just a numb smile, and he hopes with all his heart that it isn't her, that none of this is what it looks like, that it is all just some very twisted trick of his imagination, some dark corner of his subconscious.
"I'm here to claim Lex Luthor's soul," he says loudly and firmly. It sounds good. Confident.
"Ridiculous," Darkseid thunders.
"How entertaining," drawls the devil. "What makes you think it is yours to claim?"
"I saved his life," Clark replies, remembering what Fate explained to him.
The devil hums appreciatively, examining his finger-nails. They're too long, almost claw-like. "A noble and respected reason. Save a man's life and he becomes yours forever to protect. Have you?"
"What?"
"Protected him? You must take good care of your possessions after all."
Clark has faced many enemies. He knows not to show his self-doubts and uncertainty at times like this. And he remembers all the many times that he has saved Lex and protected him, all the time he has spared his life when, maybe, he shouldn't have.
He hopes that it weighs more than the times when he has failed Lex.
"Yes."
The devil studies him, and although it is clammy and cold in the hall, Clark feels sweat breaking out on his back and his forehead. He knows that this creature is looking right through him and seeing everything. Judging him. This is how it should feel to stand in front of a god, not a devil, but Clark can't think of anything but the lies he has told, the people he has hurt. He is guilty, a coward, a liar, a failure.
"He is yours," the devil replies.
Clark raises his head in disbelief and blinks. This can't be that easy.
"If you can find him," the devil amends. "And take him back to your world."
He laughs, scratchy and hoarse, and Darkseid joins him, laughter like breaking bones. A shiver runs down Clark's spine, and he clenches his hands to fists and takes a deep breath.
"Find him?"
They're not listening. They just go on laughing, louder and louder, until the bowls and cutlery on the table are shaking with it, and the stained glass is rattling in the windows. Clark covers his ears and stumbles backward, bumping into Edge, who is laughing, too, and flees the horrible place.
The guide slips out of the doors and they fall shut, abruptly silencing the infernal laughter. Clark shudders. "That was easier than I thought," he says to calm himself down. He misses the others, Bart, Wally, Arthur, who'd make joke at times like this.
"You haven't found him yet," the guide says, not at all optimistic.
Clark looks around. They're not the in the hall with the torches as Clark expected, but still in the mansion, on top of the staircase. It's quiet here, and outside it isn't dark anymore, but a grey slant of light, like in November, dreary but peaceful. He takes a deep breath, glad to have the scent of pomegranates out of his nose.
"I can find him."
Darkseid: Darkseid is maybe Superman's most powerful enemy, but he is also a God of the DComics universe - an evil one. He is the ruler of the planet Apokolips (not a typo) and in JLU, he clashes with Superman several times, ending with him getting killed. However, Darkseid manipulates (despite being technically gone) Lex into recreating his body. Darkseid heads for Earth to destroy it once he's back, but Lex and his villain team strike an alliance with the Justice League. Lex eventually finds the way to stop him, the so-called Anti-Life equation, which is Darkseid's greatest desire and defeats Darkseid at the cost of his own life.
The devil: No, this is not a Brimstone crossover. I've never seen Brimstone, though I'd love to. Anyways, Lionel isn't the devil. There are several contestants for the title in the DC/Vertigo universe. They have a guy called Lucifer, and they have several "devils" like Trigon. Basically, the devil is whoever any given author needs him to be.
I watched "Trespass" and even though it was an episode about Lana, I was quite entertained. Well, it only took 5 seasons to make the character interesting... I missed Ollie, Lois and Lionel. I hate it when SV becomes so absorbed with its relationships, ignoring everything else.
And - the next chapter of Devil's Deal! We're on the home stretch now, with only one chapter to go. It might be a very long chapter, but I want it to be five chapters.
Title: Devil's Deal, Part Four - Company in Hell
Rating: PG-13, religious/mythological themes
Length: 7604 words
Continuity: SV - JLU - DC/Vertigo , futurefic
Summary: Dedicated to
talitha87. To bring his son back from the dead, Lex sells his soul to the devil. Betaed by the awesome and swift
averaird!Clark isn't good at casting his feelings aside in favour of a mission. Right now he wants to stomp his feet and cry at the overcast night sky in rage.
Instead he merely sets down on the ground and takes a deep breath. He's somewhere on the coast outside Salem, Massachusetts. The sea is murmuring to his right. Here and there a wave palely reflects the moonlight. He hasn't flown straight here from Metropolis, but after a few times blindly circling the Earth, he has ended up here.
After the shattering confession, Lex closed his eyes and turned around, curling with his back to Clark and falling instantly asleep. The words themselves felt like a bucket of ice chips dumped over Clark's heart, but as soon as they settled in, he couldn't bear to be so close to this soulless husk that was all that was left of Lex any longer.
God, Clark should have seen this. Reconciling with Lex blinded him with joy, and he didn't question all the convenient changes, the mellowing, the meekness that is so unlike Lex. But then, Lex has a way of blinding him, with love, with admiration, with fear, with rage. Clark hates to admit it, but he is no more able to think straight and objectively when it comes to Lex than when it comes to himself.
He just ignored the issue of Lex's soul, because he didn't really understand it anyway. Clark still has only the vaguest idea what a soul even does, or what it is, or how it can be sold. He thought the concept was just an old-fashioned way to explain the human mind, a metaphor, not something real and tangible. His parents very rarely took him to church, so how is he supposed to know?
All he knew was that Lex had done something terrible and selfless out of love. And that was enough – that was exactly the kind of thing for which Clark had been waiting for years. Not that he really admitted it to himself, but… ever since Lex died saving the Earth from Darkseid and then came back and then Clark died, and came back… it opened Clark's eyes to something he can no longer ignore: he and Lex are going to be around for a very long time.
That Lex was a hero back then wasn't actually much of a surprise or an eye-opener to Clark. Deep down what bothers him most about Lex is how very great Lex could be, despite how compromised he was from the very start. Lex is tainted, yes, but so are others Clark had learned to live and work with. And Clark has learned to tolerate a lot more shades of grey. Ollie's radical methods and Bruce's constant paranoia and distrust are some of them, but even more effective were looks at himself in other, parallel worlds: he isn't a hero in most of them.
And he isn't always a hero in this one, either. And Lex isn't always a villain. They made it far too easy for themselves by dividing the world this way – or maybe they made it far too hard. Seeing things in blacks and whites is great for quick decisions in the heat of a battle, but in the long run Clark isn't living the kind of life that allows him easy outs. Unlike his Dad, he has to work with people all the time. He can't just reject them at every turn for not living the way he wants them to.
Of course Clark can't just tolerate Lex doing evil stuff. But morally, Lex is a problem child. If he does good things, it's probably a good idea to encourage them. Kon, for example. Apart from his creation, there's nothing villainous about the way Lex has treated his son – well, except maybe the constant surveillance, but Clark is so used to that these days from people like Batman and the Oracle that it hardly even bothers him anymore. Lex also was a pretty good President. Clark was furious throughout Lex's campaign, unwilling to accept it but with his hands tied against the will of the American people. Superman kept quiet, even as Clark Kent wrote fervent warnings against Lex in the Daily Planet. But once Lex was inaugurated and sat down to work… it wasn't so bad. Lex doesn't like doing a bad job, so he did it well. Clark recognized the young man he'd talked to years and years ago, in every reform, in every new law, in press statements and proposed contracts. It was good to have a daring President in times like these, one who knew well how to deal with everything from the economy to threats from outer space to metahuman politics. Lex even managed to forge relations with Atlantis, despite all the bad blood between him and Aquaman.
It may have taken Clark a good two decades, but he has finally realised that maybe all Lex needs is some incentive to be good. He shouldn't need incentive, but that's how it is. Bruce has Gotham and his mission. Clark hates to think of the man Bruce might be if he didn't have those. Clark has had a wonderful family and a sheltered childhood. Diana has the firm morals and traditions of her people to rely on. Every good person Clark knows has some foundation, some base to build their character on. But Lex has none of this. All Lex has is a brilliant mind, a lot of ambition and a plethora of traumata.
Maybe having a son has made it better. Lex always craved family like nothing else.
Maybe being sort of at peace with Clark has made it better. Even though they never officially stopped being enemies, they have been civil – for their standards – for some time. And everything is out in the open now, nothing hidden between them. They know each other for what they are.
Except that Clark apparently doesn't. How did he not notice the change in Lex? How could he have missed it?
Doesn't matter. There's a problem, and Clark is going to solve it.
This is why Clark is here, looking for the one man who can explain this to him. Instead of diving head-first into his fling with Lex, Clark should have done this before, but he isn't used to having to prepare his battles. He's a man of action, as others have so often remarked, some admiring, some critical.
Fate's tower isn't visible. It has to be here somewhere, Clark can almost feel the magic, as if the night air is somehow thicker and sweeter, like a scent of lilacs mixed with the salt of the sea, luring him in. Clark doesn't like magic, its subtle and invisible workings that he can't control.
"Fate!" he yells, sick of standing around stupidly. "I need to talk to you!"
Nothing. Clark balls his hands to fists.
"Fate!"
The air ripples and like a pillar of smoke, the tower forms before him. Clark squares his jaw and walks towards it. In the door stands a silent woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, who steps aside to let him in. Clark has to stoop a little as he enters and follows her up the narrow and badly-lit stone staircase.
In the upper level, the dusty wooden planks of the floor are covered with oriental rugs. In some places, the wood is charred, as if a candle was left to burn for too long and in others, there's spilled wax. Fate sits cross-legged and meditating in the centre, the golden helmet cradled in his lap. Clark hesitates, suddenly awkward. Fate is part of the League, but his relations with the League have never been easy, he's a mercurial man, and he is hostile as often as he is helpful.
"Twice we've talked and you have not asked the right questions," Fate says with his eyes still closed. "What did he say to send you here again?"
This is why Clark hates magic. It makes people pompous and arrogant. Probably real wizards only talk like that because they've seen wizards in the movies do it. He wonders where Fate has hidden his TV. "I need to know –”
"What did he say, Superman?"
Clark looks down at himself and realises for the first time that he is not wearing the suit and cape, just his pants and shoes and the shirt he wore this evening. His hair is damp from the clouds he flew through. Fate still has his eyes closed, so maybe he didn't notice.
The words he needs to say won't come out. "He… Lex doesn't feel… he isn't the same person."
"What did he say?"
"He…" Clark's voice becomes ever quieter, a mumble that has nothing to do with Superman. He clears his throat. "He doesn't love me anymore." He hopes Fate is happy now, knowing what no one else knows.
"And you're here to make him love you again? I don't sell that kind of spell." Fate doesn't sell anything, so he is most likely mocking Clark.
Clark grinds his teeth. "You know Lex. He wouldn't even have admitted this when he still had his soul. But now he just doesn't care. I need to help him. I need to get his soul back."
Fate spreads his fingers over the gleaming helmet and tilts his head. "Why you?"
"Because I love him." Clark blinks. Sure, he loves Lex, he would never have let him get so close again otherwise, but he didn't think he could say it so loudly and clearly.
Of course, he has lived knowing that he loves Lex for a long time. He is used to admitting this to himself. He has tried to deny it since Lex was dying of cancer, and grudgingly accepted it when he realised how glad he was when Lex recovered, and felt it strongly and clearly when Lex died and came back.
Fate smiles and puts on the helmet. He rises, motioning Clark to sit on a high-backed wooden chair that is cushioned with purple velvet. On the stone windowsill next to Clark sits a chessboard, the pieces spread all over the board, frozen in the middle of a game.
"He isn't an easy man to love, is he?" Fate says thoughtfully, walking around the room seemingly aimlessly. "Or an easy man to be friends with. Brilliant but self-absorbed, overreaching himself all the time. Never willing to compromise. It's all or nothing for him."
Clark's stomach clenches at the memory of the Lex that used to be. But he isn't here to reminisce. "How can I get his soul back?"
Fate stops. "You could trade your soul for his."
Trade his soul for Lex's. Everyone Clark knows would be shocked that he's even contemplating this. Lex, if he were in his right mind, would probably be furious. A soulless Superman… would Clark wind-up like Lex? Or would he turn into that which everyone fears, a Superman who doesn't care, a Superman without lines in the sand?
"There is another option," Fate says. "One that is more dangerous to you, but safer for the rest of us." So Fate has the same fears about Superman as everyone else, but he doesn't say it. Clark grits his teeth and listens.
"Is there some way you may lay claim to Luthor's soul? Has he ever made a promise to you that may be interpreted that way?"
A promise? Lex doesn't promise anyone anything. He demands. He makes deals, at best. But… "When we were young he often promised me… he said that everything that was his was also mine."
Fate makes a thoughtful noise. "That's good, but vague. They know how to twist words. Have you ever saved his life from certain death?"
"Yes," Clark says without hesitation. Many times.
"Has he saved yours?"
"A few times…"
"Often enough to consider the debt paid back?"
"I've saved his more often, but it's not like I'm counting." Clark shakes his head. Saving each other… doesn't work that way. Maybe it's about debts for Lex, but not for Clark. "Why is that so important?"
"If you find a way to get to the beings that now own Lex's soul, and if you stand before them, they will want reasons for why you lay claim to this soul. You can't force them, but they are defined by rules. Rules, whether the rules make sense or not, is what these beings are all about. Rules and faith."
"What beings?"
"All deities. You have met some of them. The gods of New Genesis. Darkseid. The Endless. Demons and devils, like Trigon and Lucifer. Gods are like stories. They need rules, natural laws for the little universes that they represent, and they need us to believe in them in order to work. If they make deals, they must keep them. They have a hard time lying, but they can be very unreliable narrators. Codes of honour have more meaning to them than gravity or the speed of light, because they're made real by the laws inside our heads, and not the laws that govern matter and energy."
Clark frowns. "So you're saying that by saving Lex's life, I somehow own his soul? And that makes his deal invalid? Would Kon lose his soul if Lex got his back?"
"That depends on the deal. But I trust Lex to have negotiated a permanent solution with whatever devil he has dealt with. He is… well-versed in the kind of rules these beings adhere to. I think he believes in stories almost as much as they do."
"So there's no risk for Kon?" Clark insists.
"You must make sure of this yourself when you negotiate with them."
"So how do I do that? Can you… conjure them up, or something?"
Fate laughs. "You put a lot of trust into my magic, Superman. No, the best I can do is call up one of your dead."
"My dead?" Clark feels a chill run down his spine. "You mean people I –"
"Lost. People who were in some way related to you, whether by blood or other ties. It could be a dead ancestor, or a friend or lover. You can ask for their help and guidance and if they are sympathetic to your plight, they will answer. They can lead you to the underworld, where you will have to search for the particular entity that now owns Lex's soul. This is a very dangerous journey, Superman. Many heroes in many ages have attempted it and few have come back, and fewer even have found what they were looking for and managed to hold on to it. You will not have your powers in this strange and confusing place."
Clark isn't all that impressed. Fate might not leave his tower much, but Clark got around. "I've been to strange places."
"This one is different."
"I've been dead."
"And where have you been?"
"I… don't remember anything," Clark admits. The year he was dead after Doomsday killed him is a void to him, like a leaf cut out of a calendar.
Fate nods, satisfied to have won the argument. "Most of all, you must keep in mind that these beings will try to make it as hard for you as possible. Your chances are slim, to be truthful."
"But you want me to do it?"
"I'm just here to give guidance."
Right. Clark stares down at the chessboard. He isn't a good player. He can't even tell which side is winning in this game. A daring opening, a few cautious moves, checking the other out, a few quick strategic blows, never quite loosing the balance. Losses, but just a few pawns and a rook here and a bishop there. And at some point one of the players became distracted, and the game was broken off to be resumed another day.
But Lex won't return to their game. He's put himself into checkmate. Clark is going to win their game and rule the board from now on and –
"When can we do it?"
"I need some preparation. I'm sure you do as well. Come back tonight at sundown," Fate replies.
Clark doesn't linger, he leaves quickly, flying off just as the sun rises over the sea.
*
He never says his goodbyes when he goes on dangerous missions. His Mom knows that he might not come back one day, and she has buried him twice already, but she says she doesn't want it. What is there to say? Clark loves her and she knows it. She loves him and he knows it. It would just be painful.
But there are other people who need to be assured.
The League is first. Diana is the one he talks to, glad that she's there and not Bruce. He explains to her and she doesn't even look at him oddly, as if descending to the underworld and bringing back a lost soul is an everyday occurrence. She only wishes him good luck and blesses him in the names of her gods.
Then there's Kon. Clark finds him in downtown Metropolis, patrolling the city. They fly side by side, Clark in his primary colours and his son in a simple black T-shirt. Kon tried to replace Superman, back when he had just fled from Lex's lab and Clark was dead. He used to wear the Superman suit and Clark took it back when he returned, never offering to him to continue to wear it. Back then it seemed the right thing to do, but now it bothers Clark to see Kon wearing the Superman crest on a T-shirt, as if it doesn't really belong to him, as if it's just a joke, a costume… instead of something more.
He explains as much as he can without telling Kon that this is about Lex's soul. He doesn't want Kon to feel in any way responsible if Clark doesn't come back.
"Take care of Mom while I'm gone," Clark says.
Superboy nods mutely. He looks shocked.
"And there's another thing… could you have an eye on Lex Luthor?"
"Sure," Kon says. "I'll keep him in line."
"Keep him alive."
Kon stares at him. "What?"
"Superman protects everyone, regardless of who they are," Clark reminds him sternly.
They float upright now, and Clark can watch Kon look down and away. He used to be such a bold, confident boy, but the older he gets, the more often he becomes awkward and self-conscious. "I'm not Superman."
"You can wear the cape while I'm gone," Clark offers. He doesn't want him to, because Superman's job is too dangerous for a child, and when Clark was this age, he didn't even know he was an alien yet, but then, Kon has already died once to save the world. There's not a lot Clark can protect him from anymore. "And if I don't come back, you'd be the one I'd want to keep wearing it. If you still want it, that is."
Kon's face wavers between joy and shock. "I – I'm – I'll do it. I mean, it'd totally be an honour! Except that I won't, because you'll come back. This is temporary. No one in this family ever stays dead, right?"
Clark hopes he is. And he puts a hand on Kon's shoulder in a distanced, fatherly gesture, but then hugs him in flight. It's a short, tight hug, and it feels a lot like hugging Lex did, the surprise, the stiffness, the awkwardness, as if this isn't what's supposed to happen, and then in the last second, a sigh of relief as the tension fades out of Kon's body.
Clark is an idiot. He should do this all the time. Why did he forget how important touch is for a child? How much he needed the reassurance when he was young and felt like a freak, like a monster, like he was utterly alone in the world? He's going to hug Kon all the time when he comes back, and Lex, too, if Lex lets him.
He wants the Lex back who needs Clark to hug him, but might not let him.
*
At sundown, Clark returns to Fate's tower. Fate awaits him outside, standing by what looks like a cheery campfire at the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. Clark has come in civilian clothes since this isn't a Superman mission. Fate says he will have no powers in the underworld, so Clark is going as a man, not a hero.
Fate beckons him closer. The gleaming golden helmet reflects the fire and the sunset, making it look as if his head is ablaze. He doesn't speak to Clark, just murmurs in a low chant. As he rounds the fire, strange symbols start to glow where his feet fall on the ground. Finally, when the sun is but a flat crimson sliver on the horizon, fate raises a silver chalice over the fire and pours its contents into the flames.
The flames crackle and hiss, and the smoke smells acrid, like burnt flesh and incense. Clark's eyes start to run, and he blinks, but the blurry shadows that are drawing closer around them don't recede. Fate steps away but never turns his back to Clark, watching intently. Some of the shadows almost take form, but like wisps of fog they lose it again. A few are almost solid, and Clark turns to them, opens his mouth to speak, but there's one that pushes the others away, grows darker and firmer until it is almost a human figure. A strong wind picks up from the sea, pressing the flickering flames to the ground. Clark looks over his shoulder at Fate, who beckons him to speak.
"I need a guide – to bring me to the underworld," Clark explains haltingly.
The shadowy shape has no face, no mouth, barely even a head. And still it speaks, with the voice of the wind whispering in the dead of the night. "Why do you want to go there?"
"I need bring back someone's soul!" Clark feels stupid yelling at a bunch of smoke, but the voice sounds so far away, so thin.
"Whose soul?"
Clark wishes he knew who he's talking to. This has to be someone dead. It could be an ancestor from Krypton, or his Dad, or Lana, or someone who died in Smallville, like Ryan or Alicia, or someone who worked with Superman. Do they know Lex? And if they know him, will they understand?
"Lex Luthor's."
There is a long silence. The ghostly figure grows dimmer against the darkening night sky. Clark almost fears that his request has repelled whoever it was, but then the voice comes again.
"I will take you there."
The shadow moves and it looks like it's extending a hand towards Clark. Clark steps forward and reaches out, and when the smoky hand passes through his, it solidifies, cold and firm as frozen earth, and darkness spreads like ink stains over Clark's vision, obscuring the world from his view. The last thing he sees, are the stars, tiny specks of light above him, zooming closer like in a telescope and then they, too, are gone.
*
Clark feels very solid when he wakes with his face burrowed into a pile of cold, wet, smelly pebbles. After some disorientation he understands that he's lying spread-eagled and face-down on these pebbles, he can feel them with his fingers and gritty sand and slick mud, too. This place smells rotten.
He sits up and shakes himself like a dog, only to discover that he's wearing the cape. But the cape is burned and frayed, like he has worn it a hundred years, like it has been in each and every one of his battles. He's kneeling on a shore, not unlike the one beneath the cliff at Fate's tower. The sky is dark, or rather there is no sky, just fog receding into darkness. The waves that lap tiredly at the shore have the colour of quicksilver and despair.
"A very traditional idea of the entry to the underworld," someone says.
Clark jumps to his feet and turns around to find himself face to face with another very solid figure. It's shrouded from head to toe in grey rags, and the face that is barely visible beneath the hood of its cloak is concealed by a white, featureless mask. Clark takes a step back, ready to fight.
"Who are you?"
"Your guide," the figure says, sounding a bit annoyed at Clark's question. The voice is louder here, but still muffled and thin. It's impossible to tell whether it's an old or a young voice, a male or a female one, a low or a deep one. Still, Clark imagines that it sounds familiar.
"I'm sorry," Clark says, still tense, "I don't recognize you."
"You're not supposed to," the guide replies, sounding a little sad to Clark's ears. "The ones who sent me made it a condition for your entry to this realm."
"But we know each other?"
"I'm not allowed to play twenty-questions either."
A human, Clark guesses. Someone from Krypton wouldn't talk like that. At least Jor-El and Lara didn't. He doesn't like this arrangement, not knowing who he is talking to when he is supposed to rely on this person. The guide turns around, gazing up and down the shore. "We're waiting for the ferryman, aren't we?"
"Are we?"
"It's a hell of your own making. If you expect a river and a ferryman, that's what you'll find. I've been here for a while and that's how I think it works. The only real things in this place are the dead."
"Where are the dead?" Clark asks.
"Across the river, if you continue with the Greek theme."
The guide is right. There's a slap of wood on water, and a boat melts out of the fog, a long black bark with a tall figure standing in it. It hits the shore, but the ferryman remains standing silently until Clark approaches, wading into the water. It's ice-cold and soaking his boots, and since Clark can feel the cold without his powers, it doesn't feel imaginary at all.
"We need to get on the other side of the river," Clark explains to the ferryman.
The ferryman remains mute, so Clark takes a chance and climbs into the boat. He feels heavy and clumsy. The guide follows with smooth and silent moves, more like a shadow than a human being. "He should be asking for a coin," the guide says in a hushed voice. "I guess you didn't pay attention to your mythology."
Clark remembers, suddenly, where he first heard about this. The ferryman's name is Charon and the river is called Acheron. Lex once showed him a coin of the kind the Greeks and Romans put into the mouths of their dead so they could pay the fee to get over the river and into Hades.
"I always thought it was unfair to the poor," Clark replies, same as he did then.
Lex said that it was just a story, a superstition of a dead culture. The guide and the ferryman, though, don't answer, taking Clark's objection as it stands.
For a while they're all silent as they glide through the endless fog. It's chilly and the guide, who sits next to Clark like a statue, doesn't give off any warmth, so Clark is thankful for the cape. It provides solace and colour in a place where there's none of it.
"Nothing is ever fair," the guide suddenly says. "You aren't, either. Trying to bring back one soul, and ignoring the endless number of others you could be looking for."
Clark looks at the guide's featureless mask. "There are always others I could be saving," he answers. It's a hard-learned lesson, but one that he has learned to accept. "As long as you're saving someone, it's the best you can do."
"Why Lex Luthor?" the guide asks. It doesn't sound like 'Why not me?' so at least Clark won't have to deal with accusations.
"He sold his soul. It's – " Clark's voice fails him. God, he can't explain this to someone who could be his Dad, or Lana –
"You didn't think he could get any worse, did you? How bad is it?" That pitch of voice sounds a bit like Lana when she was pissed-off. Still, it seems to lack somewhat in sincerity, as if the guide is mocking him, but maybe that's just because the voice is so strangely distorted.
And if it's Lana, she might help him save Lex. Their marriage wasn't a happy one, but Clark doesn't think she died hating Lex. He hated Lex back then, blamed him for Lana's death, but he hopes for her sake that the last months of her life weren't quite that horrible.
"No, it's not like that." Clark wishes the journey was over already. "I thought it was okay, at first. He told me what he had done for Kon – " Clark hesitates. "You probably don't even know what's happened since you died, don't you?"
"I'm not allowed to tell you when that was, though," the guide points out. "Just assume I'm ignorant."
"Why don't they want me to know who you are?" Clark demands. He's sick of this.
"They like games," the guide says disinterestedly. "And they've figured out that you have trust issues."
Trust issues. Right. Clark gets it, he's supposed to fill the guide in, but not knowing who the guide is, it's impossible to tell which secrets Clark needs to guard. Does the guide know he has powers? Does the guide know he's Superman? Does the guide know he's Clark?
Fate warned him that they were going to make it hard for him.
"Okay… Lex sold his soul in exchange for his son's soul. Kon, um, he died saving the world, long story, but people managed to bring his body back to life and Lex made sure that he got his soul back."
"What does it have to do with you?" the guide asks. "Trying to save his own son doesn't make Lex a good man all of a sudden. Any half-way human person would try to save their own child, wouldn't they? And he might have done it for selfish reasons." Clark gets the feeling that whoever this is knows Lex and doesn't like him very much.
"He didn't. And Kon is my son, too."
A tilt of the guide's head under the hood. He doesn't say anything for a moment. Clark feels himself flush. "Clone," he adds on. Please, don't let it be his Dad. "He's a good boy."
"So you're doing this because you can't let it sit on you that Lex saved your son while you did nothing. I'm beginning to understand."
Clark opens his mouth to object, but then closes it again. If the guide accepts that as the truth and it saves him further explanation, then so be it. Even if it isn't the truth.
The fog and the dark water continue endlessly. This place is as formless and silent as sleep. Clark tries to be patient, but the longer he does nothing, the more he starts to doubt everything. Can he even trust this guide? Or he is being led in circles over this river for what seems like hours now? Fate said the beings that have Lex's soul can't lie – what if that's the reason why the guide may not talk about himself?
"Can't this go any faster?" Clark demands.
"It's up to you. Make it go faster."
"How?"
"You need to have a goal in mind in order to get there," the guide says, staring straight ahead, as if said goal is right there. "Or else you'll just keep on stumbling in the dark. Of course maybe it's better you're not thinking too hard of what lies ahead. If this is how you picture the underworld, I imagine your version of hell is none too pleasant."
"You're supposed to be my guide, aren't you? Just tell me where we're going." Clark is trusting this guide less and less. None of this is helpful. It's more like the guide wants to confuse and discourage Clark.
"Down," the guide says softly.
Clark stares. "What?"
"We're not going to a place," the guide says, once again loud and forceful. "This isn't the reality you're used to. There's no time and space. It's just your mind that's used to four dimensions. We're looking for things. Entities. Think of them instead."
Right. Clark tries hard not to think of a guy with horns and a pitchfork. Lex wouldn't make deals with a guy like that. No, the kind of devil Lex would sell his soul to would be all smooth and civilized. Polite, pragmatic. Clark sighs. He's not thinking of Lex's devil, he's thinking of Lex himself. This is getting him nowhere. Just as he wants to give it up and jump the boat to try his luck swimming, there's a sudden jerk and the boat runs on ground. At first sight the shore looks similar to the one they came from, but the pebbles aren't grey and round here, instead they look chalk-white, like ground bones. Beneath them Clark glimpses steel and glass instead of sand. The fog recedes, and as it does so Clark is seized by sudden vertigo. They're not on a shore. The boat has run onto a building. A tall sky-scraper, out of all proportion, a mile high or longer, and it's lying here in the middle of nothing like a ship on the ground of the ocean, dirty and broken, the fog spilling over it like shrouds and running down the sides, as if what lurks there must be an endless abyss.
Clark swallows. His fear of heights is back with full force now that he can't fly anymore. The guide, however, jumps out of the boat. Clark follows with shaky limbs. He turns around in a circle, and when he looks back to where the boat was, it is gliding away into the fog already. A moment later, they're alone again.
There's a signpost a few metres ahead. An arrow points in each direction. Down, the one that goes to the right says. Down, says the left one. Down, each of them. The last one points up. Away, it says.
Clark is just about to ask what that means when there's a low creak in the distance, then another. The creaking turns into a horrible scratching and screeching, like fingernails on a blackboard. It's coming closer. The guide turns towards the sound, seemingly as surprised as Clark. Something emerges from the fog with huge jumps. It's large. It's walking on four legs. It's a three-headed dog.
A three-headed robot dog. It looks like one of Lex's more eccentric creations. The dog's eyes are glowing green, all six of them, but the pointy teeth are red as rage and passion. The tongues, square and immobile between the robot jaws, are silver, like splinters of fear.
"Someone must have really impressed you with all these Greek stories," the guide comments and takes a controlled step back. The robot dog advances and makes a sound. It's the sound the caves used to make to call Clark to them, a frequency only audible to Kryptonians, but the guide seems to hear it as well. Clark gives the monster another look, then comes to a decision. He grabs his guide by one rag-covered arm and runs. His legs feel leaden, impossibly slow, as if chained to the ground, but the arm Clark clings to is tangible under the stiff and sticky rags, the only firm thing right now. Bone pebbles and glass are like marbles to walk on, they slither and stumble more than they run, but somehow they manage to keep their balance and stay upright.
It's like running in a dream. Clark knows that as long as he doesn't fall and as long as he doesn't let go of the guide, the monster won't get them. And then there are steps ahead, just like in a dream, and Clark is out of breath, the cold air burning in his lungs, but finally his feet are on solid ground. The steps are made of stone, old stone, and the higher up they go, the nicer the stones look, turning from concrete to sandstones, to real marble, pink then black then finally white as driven snow.
The last step is wooden and creaky, like the veranda on the farm, trodden with age.
And then Clark skids to a halt in front of a large pair of wooden doors. The guide stops a bit more gracefully. They look up and Clark sucks in a surprised breath.
They're standing in front of building that doesn't even exist anymore. Lex had it razed when he left Smallville for good. But down here in hell, the mansion looks splendid. Richer and more imposing than it ever did in real life. Clark is sure his fantasy has added a few little towers and turrets as well. There's even a banner hanging down from a window on the first floor, purple and green, proudly sporting a crest.
The crest has five corners. It's Superman's shield but in place of the curling S, there's the L of the LexCorp logo.
"Interesting," the guide says.
Clark gives the guide an annoyed glance and knocks on the door as firmly as he can.
For a long time, there's no response, then the doors slowly open. The hallway behind them resembles the interior of the castle, but it is lit by torches and candles and the air that rushes against their faces from the inside is hot and stuffy. The door has been opened by a man in a servant’s uniform, more formal than any of Lex's servants ever looked, more like a butler in a movie. He's holding a three-armed chandelier, and the red wax of the candles has run all over his hand and sleeve like a glove of frozen blood.
The man raises the chandelier, and as the candles illuminate his features, Clark remembers the face with a jolt of memory. The servant is Morgan Edge, his face horribly disfigured by bleeding cuts. He smiles, greedy and salacious.
His human enemies always scared Clark the most.
"Just in time, Kal," Edge says. "Just in time."
"What are you doing here?" Well, maybe that's a stupid question. This is hell, after all, or some place like it. Edge deserves to be here.
"I serve," Edge says, without a trace of resentment.
*
Edge leads them through a long and winding succession of hallways that could never fit into the real mansion, until Clark has completely lost all sense of direction. Then the light grows a few shades brighter and they pass through a doorway into a great hall – it's Lex's study, with the wood-panelled walls and the high ceiling that Clark remembers. Even the stained glass windows are there, but all the glass is red, ruby and crimson and deep burgundy, as if waterfalls of wine are running down the windows. In the centre of the room is a large table, a heavy monster laden with dishes and food and chandeliers. At it head stands a throne, there's no other word for it, and at it's sides, two more, one quite as luxurious, the other smaller and narrower.
Clark recognizes all three occupants instantly.
In the middle resides Lionel Luthor, or some diabolic parody of him, his mane of hair fuller and wilder than in life, his eyes burning with something unearthly, a fire Clark has seen in the mirror a dozen times. In one hand he holds golden chalice, with the other one he is lazily feeding a fruit to the woman to his left: Lana, clothed in gauzy black shrouds, her face paler and softer than in life, her eyes pools of darkness, her hair falling down nearly to her knees. Her lips are glistening red from the juice of pomegranates.
To Lionel's right, though, sits someone who makes Clark forget even Lana. Broad and large, a giant's body, with a face like cracked granite and eyes like dying red suns –
"Darkseid!" Clark exclaims, starting forward. "You're dead!"
Lionel chuckles. His voice isn't quite right, just like his eyes, hoarse and growling, more like a large cat's than a man's. "Quite astute, young man."
"No! Lex destroyed you. The Anti-Life equation – you're gone."
"I will never return to your universe, Kal-El," Darkseid says. He's the same, he's real, Clark knows it with utter certainty. "I will never be the Lord of Apokolips again. But I have always been a welcome guest in hell."
"Most welcome," Lionel agrees amiably.
"You're behind this," Clark accuses. "You stole Lex soul!"
"He sold it, fair and square," counters the Lionel-shaped devil. "A cheap thing to a cheap price."
"I'm not interested in that fool's soul," Darkseid booms. "But I had to get my revenge on him and your puny adopted planet."
"This was all just a trick to lure me here?"
Darkseid stays impassive since his stony face doesn't allow very many expressions. But the devil cocks his head and rubs his beard. It's a perfect expression of Lionel Luthor as Clark remembers him. He wonders why the devil has chosen this form. Is it Clark's own imagination giving it to him? He wasn't that scared of Lionel, nor that impressed by him.
"I must admit we didn't expect you to come here once we had the soul. Our most renowned guest here assured us that Luthor's absence from your equation would plunge your world into imbalance, causing much despair and destruction. As it turns out, we have eliminated not one, but both of you. But you are here. It has been a long time since one of the living has found their way into our realm. Tradition demands that we listen to your request." The devil smiles invitingly. "What may we offer to one such as you? You have power, everlasting life, beauty, fame – is it love? Knowledge? Your people, maybe, Last Son of Krypton? We can raise the dead for you. Give life to the dying. We can bring back what is lost and undo what is done…"
Clark looks from Darkseid to the devil, and to the woman at his side who looks like Lana. There is no recognition on her face, just a numb smile, and he hopes with all his heart that it isn't her, that none of this is what it looks like, that it is all just some very twisted trick of his imagination, some dark corner of his subconscious.
"I'm here to claim Lex Luthor's soul," he says loudly and firmly. It sounds good. Confident.
"Ridiculous," Darkseid thunders.
"How entertaining," drawls the devil. "What makes you think it is yours to claim?"
"I saved his life," Clark replies, remembering what Fate explained to him.
The devil hums appreciatively, examining his finger-nails. They're too long, almost claw-like. "A noble and respected reason. Save a man's life and he becomes yours forever to protect. Have you?"
"What?"
"Protected him? You must take good care of your possessions after all."
Clark has faced many enemies. He knows not to show his self-doubts and uncertainty at times like this. And he remembers all the many times that he has saved Lex and protected him, all the time he has spared his life when, maybe, he shouldn't have.
He hopes that it weighs more than the times when he has failed Lex.
"Yes."
The devil studies him, and although it is clammy and cold in the hall, Clark feels sweat breaking out on his back and his forehead. He knows that this creature is looking right through him and seeing everything. Judging him. This is how it should feel to stand in front of a god, not a devil, but Clark can't think of anything but the lies he has told, the people he has hurt. He is guilty, a coward, a liar, a failure.
"He is yours," the devil replies.
Clark raises his head in disbelief and blinks. This can't be that easy.
"If you can find him," the devil amends. "And take him back to your world."
He laughs, scratchy and hoarse, and Darkseid joins him, laughter like breaking bones. A shiver runs down Clark's spine, and he clenches his hands to fists and takes a deep breath.
"Find him?"
They're not listening. They just go on laughing, louder and louder, until the bowls and cutlery on the table are shaking with it, and the stained glass is rattling in the windows. Clark covers his ears and stumbles backward, bumping into Edge, who is laughing, too, and flees the horrible place.
The guide slips out of the doors and they fall shut, abruptly silencing the infernal laughter. Clark shudders. "That was easier than I thought," he says to calm himself down. He misses the others, Bart, Wally, Arthur, who'd make joke at times like this.
"You haven't found him yet," the guide says, not at all optimistic.
Clark looks around. They're not the in the hall with the torches as Clark expected, but still in the mansion, on top of the staircase. It's quiet here, and outside it isn't dark anymore, but a grey slant of light, like in November, dreary but peaceful. He takes a deep breath, glad to have the scent of pomegranates out of his nose.
"I can find him."
Darkseid: Darkseid is maybe Superman's most powerful enemy, but he is also a God of the DComics universe - an evil one. He is the ruler of the planet Apokolips (not a typo) and in JLU, he clashes with Superman several times, ending with him getting killed. However, Darkseid manipulates (despite being technically gone) Lex into recreating his body. Darkseid heads for Earth to destroy it once he's back, but Lex and his villain team strike an alliance with the Justice League. Lex eventually finds the way to stop him, the so-called Anti-Life equation, which is Darkseid's greatest desire and defeats Darkseid at the cost of his own life.
The devil: No, this is not a Brimstone crossover. I've never seen Brimstone, though I'd love to. Anyways, Lionel isn't the devil. There are several contestants for the title in the DC/Vertigo universe. They have a guy called Lucifer, and they have several "devils" like Trigon. Basically, the devil is whoever any given author needs him to be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2007-02-09 10:56 pm (UTC)I'm dying to know who Clark's guide is, though. Are we ever going to find out, or will we wonder forever?
Happy sigh. I really love this.
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Date: 2007-02-09 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-09 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 11:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 01:35 am (UTC)I love that the journey is a referendum on how Clark didn't always do everything that he could to protect the soul in his care, Lex's. Granted he probably thought/believed that of all the people who's soul he protected, Lex was the one who could most look after himself. I think it's great that Clark needs to prove himself not so much worthy of Lex, but he needs to prove that he is finally willing to go fight for Lex instead of the world.
I love that Clark is still so slow that his love for Lex is such a newly admitted thing - to himself. So funny and sweet and very Clark.
I love that the one that Clark may have to convince in all this is Lex, or Lex's soul. If Clark has to find him and bring him back, who's to say that Lex wants to go back - I don't know if Clark can be convincing enough to get the best part of Lex back.
The Questions section:
So where is Lex - at Loeb Bridge or Belle Reve?
Huh, Lana's in hell?
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Date: 2007-02-10 11:48 am (UTC)I think Clark's problem is that he, in a way, respects Lex too much - he thinks Lex should be capable of being a good man on his own, and it's easier for him to blame Lex than to admit that Lex is a very flawed and sometimes weak person - just like everyone else.
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Date: 2007-02-10 02:28 am (UTC)Also, Endless allusion! Man, do I love Sandman.
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Date: 2007-02-10 11:40 am (UTC)I think Lex was the only source Clark had for mythology and religion when he was young - the Kents don't seem to have raised him very religiously (I wonder about that, actually. I could actually see Martha as a not very religious person, but Jonathan? I guess he preferred keeping to themselves to going to church.)
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Date: 2007-02-10 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 04:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 05:10 am (UTC)Also, I bet I know where Lex is. Not saying 'cos I don't want to ruin it for anyone reading this in case I'm right, but it's very sneaky of you if it's where I think it is.
I'm pretty sure that there's a hell for the passive-aggressive somewhere, so that may well *be* Lana.
Each chapter has been that much cleverer and poignant than the one before, I can't wait to see the final chapter.
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Date: 2007-02-10 11:34 am (UTC)And your guess might well be right ;) It's guessable.
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Date: 2007-02-10 09:24 am (UTC)And Lex would be an awesome president, for just the reasons you state, because he's a perfectionist, he likes doing a good job.
Also, having watched all of JLU, I now adore Dr. Fate, and you write him just awesome, his wisdom, Clark's immense frustration and distrust of that wisdom. It's great how Fate understands Lex, too - the time with him after Lex took out Darkseid that you alluded to before (I'd like see that story somehow, how Lex returned from The Source...)
The Endless! Hee! I forget they're DCU, technically. And Clark has a claim on Lex's soul by way of saving him six zillion times, yay!
Clark hugging Kon. Aw. Such a small gesture and so much to it.
And the afterlife is marvelous. Robo-Cerberus and Lana as Persephone (once upon a time was Superman almost Demeter, letting ruin take the world for want of her return?) - and Clark knows all the Greek myth from Lex; so much of what Clark is is bound in Lex. Not to mention, Lionel as the devil (in Clark's head if nowhere else). Hee.
Can't wait to find out who the guide is (I was thinking it was Lionel, until he appeared enthroned, still wondering...)
Er, and that's enough out of me, but yes, totally loving this story, and can't wait for the finale. You can do it, Clark! You're Superman! please do it! *whimpers hopefully*
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Date: 2007-02-10 11:31 am (UTC)I think there have even been crossovers between the JLA and the Endless - they've met Dream, I think.
Lana as Persephone is an image that hasn't left me all through S6, what with her always wearing black and the gloomy mansion. And yeah, Clark is Demeter, which is weird and incestuous, but Nell sure as hell isn't.
I *love* your guess as to the guide's identity. Lionel! Oh, that's awesome.
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Date: 2007-02-10 12:21 pm (UTC)...I wish I had more faith in SV's writers, I'd credit them with this but I think we're reading too much into it >_> (and Hades didn't abduct Persephone just to get Demeter's goat, so...)
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Date: 2007-02-10 03:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 10:29 am (UTC)Also, as someone above mentioned, I also think I know where Lex is...I'm guessing we're guessing the same thing...but won't say so as not to spoil...but damn is this fic awesome!
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Date: 2007-02-10 11:25 am (UTC)I guess that you're all guessing correctly, but we'll see! Clark's vision of the underworld... heh. Oh, there are going to be quite some reveals next chapter. *cackles*
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Date: 2007-02-19 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-19 07:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-10 11:13 pm (UTC)Ah, Clark! I love that we've now switched to Clark's PoV. I can't wait to see what the rest of the Underworld will be like. I could see the Talon as a part of Hell, too, eventually - a gouche part of hell where the coffee tastes horrible.
Also, the guide has to be Chloe. Just - has to be. If she's dead here, that it.
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Date: 2007-02-11 10:36 am (UTC)The Talon... we'll see shades of it, definitely :D
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Date: 2007-02-10 11:34 pm (UTC)I also like how much wisdom Clark has gained over the years. This bit...
"Clark looks at the guide's featureless mask. "There are always others I could be saving," he answers. It's a hard-learned lesson, but one that he has learned to accept. "As long as you're saving someone, it's the best you can do.""
....shows just how much he has grown into being Superman.
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Date: 2007-02-11 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-11 08:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-11 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-11 12:45 pm (UTC)i wonder if lex is closer than clark is aware of...? ;)*hinting*
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Date: 2007-02-15 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-11 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 10:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 09:12 am (UTC)I can't take a guess at who the guide is or where Clark thinks he'll find Lex, though, because if the gods are going to make things hard for Clark, then it's going to be something Superman-hard esp. with the trust issues and lack of superpowers, not that I have doubts he'll succeed. :D
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Date: 2007-02-15 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-19 02:29 am (UTC)Even though I don't always like Clark, I feel for him here. It's so interesting to follow him as he tries to literally save Lex's soul. Of course Lionel is one of the damned. Psychofuck.
♥ Endless :D
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Date: 2007-02-25 10:46 am (UTC)So many things I liked. That Lex and Clark have shaped one another and while Lex recognizes that consciously, Clark seems to have the knowlege hover just under the surface of his consciousness.
How much do I love that he's grown up? Yes, still rash, still passionate, but his answer to the guide's comment about fairness and soul saving was spot on -- How else could Clark answer? He literally cannot save everyone. And how many bitter survivors had asked him the same question? That's a sadness in and of itself right there.
His guide -- I've got my guess as to who it is. I hope I'm right and all will fall into place just as it should, finally.
(one note, who or what are the endless? Feel free to point me at a link or some other reference!)
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Date: 2007-02-25 11:21 am (UTC)The Endless are part of the Sandman comics, which in turn belong to the Vertigo comics family, which is very close but not entirely part of the DC universe. There have been crossovers, and the JLA has met Dream of the Endless, as far as I know.
I deliberately left it ambiguous whether this is hell or not, because a) neither Clark nor Lex know for certain, b) I don't like to become too religious in my fantasy and c) "Hell" is a somewhat vague concept in comics anyway.
Will change the wrong link!
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Date: 2007-02-25 10:52 am (UTC)Is this hell the Hell of the damned or simply the place of the dead? It's not quite obvious if it is either or some mixture of both, a confusion that I enjoy because it teases perception, but it does make me curious to know if it is meant to be that way.
okay, it's really two other things.
The second is simple -- you've a link on the fifth part of the story that mistakes this part for part 5 as well. ;)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 08:26 pm (UTC)Since everyone else in these comments is guessing where Lex is, I'm going to throw my hat in before I go on to the next part and guess that he's the guide to hell. What better way to make sure that Clark never finds Lex?
no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 10:43 pm (UTC)And now I miss Lionel. In hindsight, he was one of the awesomest things about SV.