Lex Luthor's POV:
I watch the security footage for the fourteenth time.
The quality is poor - Wayne Manor's systems are sophisticated, but Scarecrow's attack created chaos that even the best cameras struggle to capture clearly. Still, I can see enough.
My son stands untouched amidst the pandemonium, his posture relaxed while Gotham's elite claw at their own skin in terror.
Beside him, his bodyguard - Cassandra - remains equally unaffected. And there, just at the edge of the frame, Constantine - that mystical charlatan - staring at Samael with unmistakable recognition.
I pause the footage, zooming in on my son's face. There's something in his expression - not fear, not concern, but curiosity. As if he's observing an experiment rather than experiencing a terrorist attack.
"Play it again," I order, and the technician complies without question.
This time I focus on the moment when one of Scarecrow's men approaches them, weapon raised.
There's a subtle gesture from Samael - so slight it's barely perceptible - and the weapon malfunctions. Not a coincidence. Not luck.
Power.
The video conference with Samael had been frustratingly uninformative. He'd been perfectly composed, assuring me he was unharmed.
"It was quite the evening," he'd said with that slight smile that reminds me so much of myself. "Dr. Crane's formula is fascinating from a biochemical perspective. Fortunately, we were able to exit before significant exposure."
"The reports indicate mass hysteria," I'd pressed. "Yet you seem remarkably unaffected."
"Ms. Vesper was prepared," he replied smoothly. "She had respirators. Very efficient."
When I questioned Cassandra directly, her response was characteristically brief: "Protected him. Left quickly."
Their stories aligned perfectly. Too perfectly. I know evasion when I hear it - I've built an empire on reading between lines, on detecting the lies beneath the truth.
"Turn it off," I command, and the screens go dark. I turn to the man waiting silently in the corner of the room - the medical chamber where Samael spent nineteen years of his life.
Jason Blood looks out of place among the sterile equipment, his antiquated tweed jacket and tie at odds with the cutting-edge technology.
His red-streaked hair is the only splash of color in the monochromatic environment. He's been examining the room with detached interest, occasionally touching a surface as if reading its history.
"Well?" I demand. "You've seen the footage. You've examined his former dwelling. What conclusions have you drawn?"
Blood turns to me, his expression weary. The man looks no older than forty, yet his eyes carry centuries. "Your son's condition is... unique, Mr. Luthor. There are traces here that defy conventional explanation."
"I'm not paying you for ambiguity, Blood," I reply coldly. "I require specifics."
"Specifics?" A humorless smile touches his lips. "Very well. There's residual energy in this room that doesn't belong to this plane of existence.
It's not quite magic, and it's certainly beyond science. It's something else, something... higher."
"Higher?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice. "You imply divine intervention?"
Blood hesitated, then spoke. "It is, though it is hard to discern it through the chaotic nature of this place, the Veil is thin to this mortal realm...I believe that even the Creator had a hand in your son's destiny.
I am but a man, and it is a fool's errand to try and divine His purposes."
I scoffed, a sound dismissive of his words. "Are you now claiming my son was touched by God?"
Blood was silent for a moment before his tone changed.
"Do not mock what you do not understand, mortal. For blasphemy is a dangerous game."
I sneered at him before his words were cut off by a boom of power.
"Bah! You speak of destiny, man? You speak of the grand design? Then tell me, o' mortal, why do you refuse the power that was given to you!"
Blood screamed as these words came from his throat, as he changed. His body contorted, his skin changing color, features shifting into something inhuman.
Within seconds, where the reserved antiquarian stood, now looms a yellow-skinned demon with red eyes and a grotesque, fanged grin.
"Lex Luthor, man of science, man of pride, Calls upon powers he can't abide. What fear now grips your mortal heart, That you'd seek knowledge of hell's dark art?"
The creature's voice is guttural, each word delivered with theatrical emphasis. The rhyming speech pattern is as absurd as it is ancient.
"Spare me your doggerel," I snap. "I want information, not poetry. What do you sense in this room? What is my son?"
Etrigan looked around the room, sniffing what was in the area.
The demon's grin widens as he moves around the chamber, sniffing the air like an animal. He runs clawed fingers over the bed where Samael lay comatose for so many years.
"Heaven's hand has touched this place, A bastard son, his blood and grace. Lucifer's essence, clear as day, A fallen angel in his play."
I felt a chill despite myself. "So, God made him this way?"
Etrigan laughed, a sound like burning timber. "The touch of God, to replace what had been lost! But do not fret; though he may not be of your cause, he is, your son to the end.
He may be of the light, but in the darkness, he may bend. His will shall guide him, not some divine plan, So do not worry, o' mortal man."
The demon paused as he circled me. "This is but a guess, however, for even a demon cannot fully understand the purpose of the heavens.
But I can tell you, what walks is of your blood, soul and bone, and it is not of any possession I am aware of."
I've heard enough. "Change back," I command. "Your demon's theatrics try my patience."
The creature snarls but complies, his form twisting and shrinking until Jason Blood stands before me once more, looking exhausted.
Despite my words, I could not help but wonder about what the demon said. That God - God Himself! - had a hand in this, in my son's life.
I've never been a man of prayer or religion, but I would be a fool to deny the divine with the knowledge I have. Though that does not mean I am a man that bends to destiny. I shape it.
Though this does explain much.
The doctors offered complex explanations involving genetic mutations, immune deficiencies, and neurological disorders.
Though, I had been told by those mystics, that Samael's soul, they claimed, was too powerful for his body.
It was a vessel too frail to contain the immensity within.
My thoughts were interrupted when Jason had returned.
"There, was that what you wished to hear?" he asked, though he sounded tired and irritated.
I turned and faced him. "That one alive, and walking shares my blood, that it is indeed, my son? Yes, it was.
And that nothing besides a touch of God was the only thing that could have made my son's body - my lineage to be so weakened also good to know." A hint of pride in my final words, taking pride in my own blood.
Jason simply scoffed at those words as he began to leave the room.
"Where do you think you're going? There is still much to discuss."
Jason paused and turned his head. "I have told you all that I can. What you do with this information is your problem. I wish to stay away from what you do next."
"Hm, perhaps I should tell you to stay away from my son," I threatened, to which Jason only chuckled.
"Your threats mean nothing to me. I am merely a man, but I am also a tool for something far beyond your comprehension.
I do not care for what you do, your son, or your ambitions. I only care about protecting the balance, which you are threatening with your curiosity for the forbidden.
Goodbye, Luthor."
And with that said, Jason left with me watching him leave.
After his departure, I remained in the room, surrounded by the machines that monitored my son for nearly two decades.
I access the secure server on my tablet, reviewing the footage from Wayne Manor once more.
There - that moment when Samael makes his subtle gesture and Scarecrow's weapon fails. I enhance the image, frame by frame.
For just an instant, there's something like a shimmer around his hand - a distortion in the air that could be a camera artifact... or something else entirely.
I've built my empire on seeing what others miss, on exploiting the overlooked detail, on turning the seemingly impossible into the inevitable.
I've challenged Superman himself, stood against beings with godlike power.
My son may be whatever he may be, may wield power beyond conventional understanding. But he remains my son. My blood. My legacy.
And I will ensure he fulfills his potential - divine or otherwise.
I close the footage and initiate a secure call to my research facility in Nevada. "Prepare the Prometheus Protocol," I instruct the director. "Phase One only."
It's time to understand exactly what my son has become - and how to ensure his power serves our interests.
After all, even archangels can be guided. Even divine power can be harnessed.
Even Lucifer had a father.
And I myself will be a better father than God ever was.
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(Author note: So Lex is doing his own research.
Yeah, don't think he didn't notice the weirdness around his son, he's too smart for that.
Also, I was thinking about who Lex would consult and well, Jason Blood isn't really the conventional hero, he's more neutral so long as it doesn't threat the balance and all that.
And what Lex stated about his son piqued enough interest in him to come and investigate.
Also, yes, Samael is also son in soul of Luthor, since I see reincarnation also affecting the soul, like not exactly DNA like with the body, but gaining a piece of the father and mother's soul as well, while keeping the previous ones from the first life as well.
Also, the reason Etrigan had an easier time appearing than normal, its because of Samael's infernal essence being present in the room.
So yeah, do tell me how you found the chapter and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)