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SM/DC Chapter 86 : Alexander Luthor
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 19:57:50 +0000 UTCThe man scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his temple, staring up at Arthur like he was seeing a god walk the earth.
“You’re… you’re really not with them?”
“This isn’t some kind of Syndicate in-fighting?”
Arthur turned his back slowly, “Did that look like in-fighting between colleagues to you?” Arthur said, his voice cold and resolute.
“No… I’m not with anyone.”
The man exhaled, a sharp breath of relief and disbelief mingled. For the first time in years, he felt something foreign, hope.
Arthur didn’t look back as he spoke next.
“Take me to Alexander.”
“I can be of help. And…”
“I’ll need his help too.”
The man blinked, hesitated, then nodded with hesitant trust. There was something in Arthur’s voice, something genuine, something real, like a man who had fought through hell and still had the will to stand.
“Very well, sir,” he said. “Follow me.”
They walked through the skeleton of Blüdhaven, broken highways and hollow buildings swallowed by this corrupt world. The man led Arthur past an old, crumbling church, through a rusted steel hatch that hissed open like a grave being disturbed.
From there, it was a descent into the forgotten underbelly of the city.
Stairways wound downward like a spiral of nightmares, passing through layers of brick, stone, and reinforced steel. Water dripped from cracked pipes overhead. Old emergency lights flickered dimly, red, orange, red, casting long shadows on the walls.
The deeper they went, the narrower it became. The city above felt like a distant myth.
Arthur finally spoke, his voice echoing slightly in the narrow chamber.
“How long have you all been hiding like this, Resistance man.”
The man in front of him adjusted his cloak, sighing. “I'm called John, and about that... it’s been years, but this base is new, Ever since the Syndicate took full control. They don’t look for us down here. Either they really can’t find us or they are not taking us seriously. Not anymore, they only care about finding our leader.”
“Well, trust me on this one, they don’t know, otherwise you all would be dead.” Arthur said rather calmly.
“I guess so...We’re… the leftovers. Scavengers. Ghosts. It’s not resistance. Not really. It’s survival.”
They passed through another corridor, this one made of carved concrete reinforced with scavenged tech and alien wiring, tech Luthor himself must’ve constructed.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, watching the strange machinery embedded in the walls, pulsing with blue energy.
“And what about Luthor?” Arthur asked.
“Do you believe he has a chance at beating them?”
John didn’t answer at first. He stopped walking, just before a thick blast door marked with Luthor’s insignia.
“…No.”
Arthur tilted his head slightly, surprised by the honesty.
“But,” John continued, “He’s not trying to beat them.”
“Not just them, anyway.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
John looked back, eyes heavy with something that wasn’t just fear, it was confusion.
“Our leader is… worried. About something worse than the Syndicate.”
“Something he refuses to explain.”
Arthur’s jaw clenched.
“Worse than Ultraman and his crew of murderers?”
John nodded, hesitating before placing his palm on the scanner.
“Only he knows.”
“And he’s not sharing it with anyone.”
Arthur fell silent as the massive blast door began to groan open. Beyond it lay the heart of the resistance, a sprawling underground base carved into the bedrock, lined with old Watchtower tech, salvaged vehicles, and maps of Syndicate territory spread across digital projectors.
Arthur’s gaze swept over the room.
‘No seriously… what the hell could be worse than them?’
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned brighter now, less out of anger, and more out of instinct. A new threat rising ?. Something even darker than the Syndicate’s iron grip.
And whatever it was, Alexander Luthor was preparing for it.
Arthur took a step into the base.
“I guees it’s time we found out what your leader isn’t telling you.”
The heavy metal groaned shut behind Arthur as he stepped into the heart of the resistance hideout.
It was lit by flickering lights salvaged from old tech, red hues casting jagged shadows across the cracked concrete and the walls. It wasn’t glamorous, but it breathed survival.
All around him, people moved with quiet urgency.
Men and women, armed with salvaged rifles and pistols, carried out tasks, repairing weapons, poring over tactical maps, stitching up wounds, maintaining what little tech they had left. Some wore modified exo-gear, others had crude armor pieced together from scavenged parts. Everyone had the same look tired, hardened, desperate.
As Arthur stepped forward, their eyes followed him, mistrusting, wary, unsure if he was friend or foe.
“Don’t mind them,” John said, walking beside him.
“You understand the situation.”
Arthur gave a slight nod, his glowing eyes scanning the facility.
“I do,” he said. “I don’t blame them for being distrusting of strangers.”
“Trust is a luxury in this world.”
A woman at a control panel flinched slightly as his shadow passed her. Arthur didn’t react. To this, he understood. Fear, hope, and defiance all fighting for control in the hearts of survivors.
They stopped in front of a steel door, sleek compared to the rest of the base, its reinforced shell humming faintly with active security protocols. It wasn’t just a door, it was a barrier, one even the resistance didn't casually cross.
Two heavily armed guards stood in front of it, weapons in hand, body armor glinting under the emergency lighting.
John turned to Arthur.
“Our leader is inside. I can’t go beyond this point,” he said.
“This is as far as I take you.”
Arthur gave a simple nod.
John turned to the guards. “He needs to meet our commander. Luthor will want to hear what he has to say.”
The guards gave Arthur a long, silent look. Then, with a nod, they stepped aside.
“Very well,” one of them said.
“He’s inside.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said politely, stepping forward.
Just as Arthur reached for the panel, a voice bellowed from beyond the wall, filtered and distorted through speakers, but unmistakably irritated.
“Not now! I’m busy too damn busy to be disturbed right now!”
Arthur stopped mid-step, blinking.
He clenched his fist as his lips twisted into something between a smirk and a scowl.
“In every reality…” he muttered to himself, “Luthor is unbearable.”
“…And very punchable.”
He sighed, stepped closer to the door, and raised his voice just enough to carry through the thick steel.
“Alexander Luthor.”
No answer.
Arthur smirked faintly, then added:
“If you’re trying to find a way to stop the syndicate, I could do what none of your people can, I’m the one who just fought their annoying speedster.”
Silence.
Then, a clunk, the sound of bolts disengaging. The steel door hissed and slid open with reluctant grace.
From the dark within, a single voice echoed calm now, but sharp.
“Enter.”
Arthur stepped inside, and the door sealed shut behind him with a hiss of finality.
The lab was… functional, but primitive. Compared to what Lex had back home, this looked like a desperate attempt at brilliance amidst rubble. Circuitry patched with duct tape. Computers cobbled together from alien and human tech. Power cells pulsing like the last flicker of a dying star.
And at the center, a tall figure stood hunched over a terminal, his back to Arthur.
Alexander Luthor.
Grizzled. Gaunt. Brilliant eyes, His coat was half-charred, fingers stained with engine grease and ash. He looked like a man too smart for his own good, held together by caffeine, paranoia, and sheer intellect and will.
He turned slowly.
“So… you’re the one who made Quick bleed.”
His eyes locked onto Arthur’s, and for a second, the room felt like it held its breath.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Luthor said, stepping closer, eyes narrowing.
Arthur didn’t deny it.
“I’m not here to play guessing games, Luthor,” Arthur replied coolly.
“I came to offer help, and to ask for yours.”
Luthor studied him for a long moment, his brain already racing ahead of the conversation. Then, with a sharp turn, he strode across the room to a cluttered workstation and grabbed a small, cylindrical device silver, humming faintly with green light.
“I saw what you did through our recruit. John sent back the feed of your fight with Johnny Quick, or at least some of it..”
He approached Arthur again, raising the scanner.
“Are you an alien?”
Arthur’s glowing gaze didn’t waver.
“No. You wouldn’t even be able to enter this Earth without being hunted by Ultraman or Power Ring the moment you step out of the sky.”
Luthor grunted.
“Fair enough.”
He activated the device with a snap of his fingers. It hummed louder as it scanned Arthur head to toe, casting faint green projections of his vitals in the air. After a few seconds, the readout stabilized.
Luthor’s brow furrowed.
“You are… human.”
Arthur sighed, folding his arms.
“To spare you the guessing games, I’m not from this Earth and I don’t mean I'm from outer space, no.. I mean I'm from a different earth, a different reality.”
“I was teleported here. Thanks to you.”
Luthor froze, the scanner still pulsing in his hand.
“…What?”
Arthur stepped forward, his voice cool, but heavy with implication.
"It was your counterpart, the Luthor from my world. He built some kind of machine,… and then he used it on me. Whether it was intentional or not it doesn't matter it sent me here. and now I'm stuck in this world."
“the next thing I knew, I woke up on this ruined Earth.”
Luthor’s eyes widened, his pupils shrinking slightly as the weight of Arthur’s words settled in. He muttered, almost to himself.
“No… Are you saying it’s possible?”
“That interdimensional contact is real?”
“That there are other Earths, other versions of this world?”
Arthur nodded slowly.
“Not just possible. I’m living proof.”
