Chapter 451: The Scream Poem (Middle)

"I can tell you with full responsibility that someone found Lionel Luthor's corpse in the guest room bathroom—he's dead, and he's been dismembered."

"Poor little Luthor has lost his father, oh, and the poor Luthor Corporation has lost its leader."

When the Joker finished speaking, the entire estate fell silent, the atmosphere freezing, leaving only the howling wind and snow outside the windows.

In the surveillance room, Batman saw the people who had just pressed the button frozen at their phones; some extended their hands again, as if hesitating whether to change their choice.

One elderly man, over fifty, with gray temples, one hand on his hip, the other holding a phone, spoke with booming authority:

"The Luthor Corporation is finished! I'm certain the entire company relied on Luthor alone—but he got what he deserved. While alive, he hoarded all the power, and his son's an idiot. Now look!"

Many shared his view—they were all old foxes of the business world, not intimately familiar with the Luthor Corporation, but well aware of its inner workings; the entire corporation had always been under Lionel Luthor's control.

In their understanding, if old Luthor died without a successor, the corporation would collapse.

Soon, many realized that the only legitimate heir to the Luthor Corporation was now hanging from the ceiling—if they pressed one button, he'd be blown to pieces.

Once he died, the Luthor Corporation would lose all chance of recovery. Not only would those close to Luthor seize the opportunity to carve up the corpse, but the market vacuum left by the corporation's fall would be enough to feed many.

Yet many still hesitated, for they felt Lex posed no threat—a lonely autistic man who still couldn't speak properly, what could he possibly do even if he lived? Could he run a business? Could he save the Luthor Corporation after its leader's sudden death?

These insiders knew that even under normal mental conditions, achieving such a feat would be extremely difficult.

Batman noticed several yellow dots suddenly appear amid the blue—after examining the flashing yellow rooms, he recognized the occupants as distributors; recalling the Luthor Corporation's longstanding conflicts with certain agricultural and seed distributors along the East Coast, this was no surprise.

But Batman knew the Joker wouldn't make it so simple. Sure enough, his voice rang out again:

"I know you're all curious about old Luthor's cause of death. Unfortunately, I must inform you—he was killed by Lex Luthor."

"Little Luthor isn't an autistic patient at all. His intellect and sanity are perfectly normal—he possesses unparalleled wisdom. He designed a complex trap, murdered his father, and dismembered him."

At that moment, Clark, suspended in midair, spoke: "That's not true—Lex…"

He tried to defend Lex, his voice loud enough to reach the guests' rooms—but no one listened.

After the Joker gave several examples illustrating Lex's brilliance, the blue glow reflecting on Batman's face instantly turned yellow—many changed their minds and pressed another button.

"He hurt his own father? He's insane. This murderer deserves to die."

"No—he's too clever. If he escapes alive, the Luthor Corporation might not collapse, and that would hurt my business…"

"The whole Luthor family deserves to die!"

"I knew it! I always knew there wasn't a decent soul in that family! If the police won't come arrest you, then just die already!"

At that moment, the Joker brought his other phone to his ear, listened for a moment, then shouted:

"Perfect! It seems the vast majority have changed their minds—they chose—Lex Luthor!"

"No!"

Clark shouted, his face twisted in agony, gasping for breath, using his last ounce of strength to struggle violently: "He's been abusing him at home! Beating him until his body was covered in wounds, forcing him to pretend he's autistic to control him! Lex didn't do it on purpose—he's a victim too!"

Clark did everything he could to defend Lex. Through the reflection on the floor tiles, he saw Lex now at his weakest point.

Lex's neck wound had reopened, flooding the air with thick blood. His head hung low, face pale, lips purple, barely able to speak, his breathing growing faint.

In essence, Lex was just a teenager. During the time he was controlled by Lionel, he had no chance to exercise or strengthen his body. On the contrary, the drugs Luthor forced on him had damaged his health, leaving him weaker than an average person.

No matter how brilliant his mind, it still required blood flow—and clearly, his circulation and blood pressure were now dangerously low, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

"Look, Clark Kent! I told you—he's a saint!"

The Joker stepped to the center of the room, pointing at Clark: "My praise for him is not exaggerated!"

"Even knowing this is a game of life or death, he still defends his friend Lex! Doesn't he realize that if Lex escapes, he'll die? Of course he knows!"

"Yet he willingly sacrifices himself to save others—like Jesus walking among mortals!"

More exaggerated praise poured from the Joker's mouth.

But the voting results didn't reverse—the rope binding Lex continued inching upward. At that moment, Batman finally confirmed the Joker had an accomplice.

The ropes suspending the two men and the ceiling mechanism weren't automated—someone had to pull the ropes for them to rise.

Clark looked up as Lex slowly neared the bomb. He shouted: "No!"

Suddenly, the rope's pulling slowed. Lex still ascended—but far more slowly, leaving a long distance between him and the bomb.

At that moment, the Joker spoke, staring into Clark's eyes: "You know, Clark, you've done me a tremendous favor."

"You may not realize how brilliant this Lex Luthor is—but a similarly detestable man told me he's among the smartest people on Earth."

At that moment, the Joker spoke, looking into Clark's eyes: "You know, Clark, you've done me a tremendous favor."

"I hate dealing with people like him. You have no idea how much effort I've spent trying to outwit him—and it's been useless!"

"He's not like you. You can't trick him by pretending to be some mysterious agent and making a phone call."

"That call was you!" Clark snarled, burning with rage, feeling like a fool manipulated from start to finish.

"Exactly," the Joker said, puckering his lips into a sad expression. "I'm just a common comedian, a pitiful, unloved clown—how could I possibly match a genius like Lex?"

"I called him, pretending to be countless identities, giving him every possible reason to doubt, but none of it worked."

"It was too hard to fool him—but too easy to fool you. So I chose to make you, this powerful, righteous man, deal with him."

Clark's chest heaved violently. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw muscles trembled with fury.

"It's fine, Clark… really…" The Joker spoke in a nearly gentle tone. "You're upholding justice—he's a vile murderer who killed his own father."

"What? You say Lionel abused him? But look…"

The Joker curved both hands into a megaphone shape and shouted:

"Little Luthor killed his father because Lionel Luthor was a violent, deranged abuser! He beat him until his body was bruised, tortured him, controlled him, and constantly harmed him!"

"Little Luthor was only seeking revenge—he merely used today's opportunity, letting others' hands kill his father and dismember him!"

The Joker shouted loudly. Though his voice was grating, Clark knew the upper-floor guest rooms could hear every word.

But the voting results didn't change. Lex continued rising, inching closer to the bomb.

"Did you see? The truths you sought, the justice you tried to uphold—no one cares."

The Joker seemed to speak to Clark—but Batman felt the voice pierce through the monitor, striking directly into his soul. Batman knew the Joker was speaking to him—he was the only audience in this absurd play.

"No." Clark's voice came low, carrying a calm and resolve that even Batman found startling.

"I wanted to punish Lex because I believed he killed someone. I knocked him out to prevent him from harming others."

"And now we're tied here—not because my desire for justice was wrong, but because before acting, I failed to investigate thoroughly. I blindly believed a liar's lies."

"That's my only mistake. The fault lies with me—not with my desire for justice and fairness." Clark spoke slowly, word by word.

"And if anyone in this whole affair must be blamed—it's you. You, you damned madman."

"If you hadn't staged this ridiculous comedy, no one would be trapped here. No one would have to choose. No one would die."

"But if you insist on playing this childish game, let me tell you—you picked the wrong person."

As he spoke, he twisted his waist, yanking the rope hard. His body swung out. Because the rope was long, it swung twice before slamming into the railing of the second-floor atrium.

In the motion, Clark twisted his body so his chest faced the railing. The railing scraped against the rope binding the kryptonite. Then—*clank*—the kryptonite, never tightly secured, was squeezed loose, arcing gracefully through the air before landing on the floor.

Clark was suspended high. When the kryptonite hit the ground, it was still far from him. Instantly, he regained some strength. He pulled with his arms, broke free of the rope, and shot into the air.

The Joker looked up, teeth grinding: "What are you doing?! Saving that vile murderer? Is this your justice?!"

"No." Clark denied it. His eyes glowed brilliantly in the reflected light of the blizzard. His deep voice echoed through the estate like divine music descending from heaven:

"If my mistake caused all this—if my failure gave you reason to deny justice…"

Clark was hung so high that when the kryptonite fell to the ground, it was still some distance away from him; almost instantly, he regained some strength, strained his arms, and immediately broke free of the ropes, then soared into the air.

As he spoke, he twisted midair, shattered the nearest window, and shot outside with a *whoosh*, arriving above the mayor's mansion.

His face was still pale; weakness and exhaustion hadn't faded. But he forced himself to concentrate, squeezing out his last reserves of strength. His eyes began glowing with blinding radiance.

When the red heat beams erupted from his eyes and swept across the land surrounding the mansion, everyone opened their windows and looked upward—at the godlike figure in the sky.

The heat beams circled the entire estate. Where they passed, deep furrows carved the earth. The mansion was now severed from the surrounding land, like a cake cleanly sliced from its plate.

At that moment, everyone felt the floor beneath them shake violently. They dropped their phones, fell to the ground, but kept their eyes fixed on the windows.

The blizzard grew fiercer. Amid swirling snowflakes, they saw the entire mayor's mansion rise—

When the red heat ray erupted from his eyes and swept across the land surrounding the mayor's estate, everyone opened their windows and looked up at the figure in the sky, godlike in its grandeur.

The heat ray shooting from his eyes circled the entire estate, leaving deep trenches wherever it passed, as if the whole estate had been sliced apart like a cake, completely severed from the surrounding land.

At that moment, everyone felt the floor beneath them shake violently; they dropped their phones and fell to the ground, yet their eyes never left the window.

The blizzard grew fiercer, and amid the swirling snowflakes, they saw the entire mayor's estate rise into the air—

Or rather, be lifted up.