(no subject)
Title: Lex Luthor Stole Forty Cakes
Summary: Lex practices demonology and steals forty cakes.
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, humour
Fandom: Silver Age Superman
A/N: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was "DCU, Lex Luthor, 40 cakes."
Lex Luthor was a man of science, but there were some things science just couldn't do for you, and Luthor was starting to think that killing Superman was one of them. Death rays, giant monsters, kryptonite, other villains - Luthor had thrown everything science, even the science produced by his own formidable brain, could produce at Superman, all in vain.
He just hoped no-one found his secret underground base until his robots had a chance to wash the pentagram off of the floor. This was embarrassing.
"Come to me, SHjer'tse, scourge of the spirit world! Come to Earth, SHjer'tse, most potent of the spirits! Come to the third dimension, O ruler of the sixth! Come to my aid, Shjer'tse, lord of the underworld! Come to-- "
"Okay, okay! No need to shout!" The demon appeared. At a casual glance it looked like a young man, but when Luthor looked closer he saw its skin was a shade too pale and its eyes were utterly black. "What d'you want?"
"I want," Luthor said, "to kill Superman."
"Doesn't everyone?" It was difficult to tell, but Luthor suspected those featureless black eyes were rolling up. "Why do you want him dead, anyway? You humans'd all go splat just like that if he wasn't around."
"He's defeated and humiliated me too many times to count. He's destroyed my work and undermined my reputation. But no longer! Because now I'm going to - "
"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. Soon I will be invincible, mwahaha, why don't I explain all my plans to you before I kill you, etc, etc." The demon leaned against the edge of the pentagram as if it were an invisible wall. "So what's in it for me?"
"When I rule the world - " Luthor started, before SHjer'tse cut him off. Luthor wished he could get to finish at least one statement here.
"Oh, I'm not interested in power. It's a bore, power. Naw, what I want is food."
"Once Superman is dead, I can find you any number of people, if that's what you want."
SHjer'tse made a face. "I don't eat people. I knew a demon who tried that once. Got the mother of all stomach aches. No, see, what I want is . . . cake."
"Then I will get you cake," Luthor said. He was getting a sinking feeling about this.
"Twenty cakes," Shjer'tse clarified cheerfully. "Before I kill any Kryptonians. And another twenty afterwards."
"Forty cakes," Luthor said, in the vain hope that he might have misheard.
SHjer'tse nodded. "Four tens," he said, in case Luthor didn't know what forty meant.
"You will have your cakes, then, demon, and I - I will have SUPERMAN!" Luthor's maniacal grin did not quite cover the foreboding he was feeling.
SHjer'tse gave him a funny look. "You do that," he said, in the tone of of one humoring a madman.
-
"Make a cake, Karel," Luthor ordered one of his robots.
There was a faint whirring. "I don't know how to do that," Karel said.
"How hard can it be?" Luthor said, in a statement that he would later learn to regret.
The first cake crumbled into fragments when Luthor and Karel tried to get it out of the pan. The second one wouldn't solidify no matter how long they cooked it, and eventually boiled over. The third one underwent a new and unusual chemical reaction and exploded, destroying the oven and damaging Karel.
Luthor sent Karel off to repair himself, and turned to another robot. "If I can't make a cake, I'll have to steal a cake."
"That would seem to be advisable, sir," the robot said. If Luthor didn't know better, he would have thought there was an edge of amusement to the robot's tone.
-
"There!" Luthor said, wheeling the cart into the pentagram. "Now my revenge will be complete."
SHjer'tse gave the cart a dubious look. "Those look like pies to me."
Luthor looked. They did indeed appear to be pies. "They are CAKES. Are you accusing me of lying?"
"No, no, those are pies. See?" SHjer'tse sliced one open with a previously nonexistant claw. "Apple filling." The demon frowned. "I hate apples."
Luthor made an incoherent noise of rage.
"Cakes, see - a proper cake is all soft." SHjer'tse poked the crust of one of the cakes. "This has a crust. Try again, human. Oh! I forgot to ask last time. Don't skimp on the icing, 'kay?"
"I take it back," Luthor said, through gritted teeth. "I hate you more than Superman."
Then he banished SHjer'tse and ate the . . . cakes himself.
And then he got sick.
And that's terrible.
Summary: Lex practices demonology and steals forty cakes.
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, humour
Fandom: Silver Age Superman
A/N: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was "DCU, Lex Luthor, 40 cakes."
Lex Luthor was a man of science, but there were some things science just couldn't do for you, and Luthor was starting to think that killing Superman was one of them. Death rays, giant monsters, kryptonite, other villains - Luthor had thrown everything science, even the science produced by his own formidable brain, could produce at Superman, all in vain.
He just hoped no-one found his secret underground base until his robots had a chance to wash the pentagram off of the floor. This was embarrassing.
"Come to me, SHjer'tse, scourge of the spirit world! Come to Earth, SHjer'tse, most potent of the spirits! Come to the third dimension, O ruler of the sixth! Come to my aid, Shjer'tse, lord of the underworld! Come to-- "
"Okay, okay! No need to shout!" The demon appeared. At a casual glance it looked like a young man, but when Luthor looked closer he saw its skin was a shade too pale and its eyes were utterly black. "What d'you want?"
"I want," Luthor said, "to kill Superman."
"Doesn't everyone?" It was difficult to tell, but Luthor suspected those featureless black eyes were rolling up. "Why do you want him dead, anyway? You humans'd all go splat just like that if he wasn't around."
"He's defeated and humiliated me too many times to count. He's destroyed my work and undermined my reputation. But no longer! Because now I'm going to - "
"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. Soon I will be invincible, mwahaha, why don't I explain all my plans to you before I kill you, etc, etc." The demon leaned against the edge of the pentagram as if it were an invisible wall. "So what's in it for me?"
"When I rule the world - " Luthor started, before SHjer'tse cut him off. Luthor wished he could get to finish at least one statement here.
"Oh, I'm not interested in power. It's a bore, power. Naw, what I want is food."
"Once Superman is dead, I can find you any number of people, if that's what you want."
SHjer'tse made a face. "I don't eat people. I knew a demon who tried that once. Got the mother of all stomach aches. No, see, what I want is . . . cake."
"Then I will get you cake," Luthor said. He was getting a sinking feeling about this.
"Twenty cakes," Shjer'tse clarified cheerfully. "Before I kill any Kryptonians. And another twenty afterwards."
"Forty cakes," Luthor said, in the vain hope that he might have misheard.
SHjer'tse nodded. "Four tens," he said, in case Luthor didn't know what forty meant.
"You will have your cakes, then, demon, and I - I will have SUPERMAN!" Luthor's maniacal grin did not quite cover the foreboding he was feeling.
SHjer'tse gave him a funny look. "You do that," he said, in the tone of of one humoring a madman.
-
"Make a cake, Karel," Luthor ordered one of his robots.
There was a faint whirring. "I don't know how to do that," Karel said.
"How hard can it be?" Luthor said, in a statement that he would later learn to regret.
The first cake crumbled into fragments when Luthor and Karel tried to get it out of the pan. The second one wouldn't solidify no matter how long they cooked it, and eventually boiled over. The third one underwent a new and unusual chemical reaction and exploded, destroying the oven and damaging Karel.
Luthor sent Karel off to repair himself, and turned to another robot. "If I can't make a cake, I'll have to steal a cake."
"That would seem to be advisable, sir," the robot said. If Luthor didn't know better, he would have thought there was an edge of amusement to the robot's tone.
-
"There!" Luthor said, wheeling the cart into the pentagram. "Now my revenge will be complete."
SHjer'tse gave the cart a dubious look. "Those look like pies to me."
Luthor looked. They did indeed appear to be pies. "They are CAKES. Are you accusing me of lying?"
"No, no, those are pies. See?" SHjer'tse sliced one open with a previously nonexistant claw. "Apple filling." The demon frowned. "I hate apples."
Luthor made an incoherent noise of rage.
"Cakes, see - a proper cake is all soft." SHjer'tse poked the crust of one of the cakes. "This has a crust. Try again, human. Oh! I forgot to ask last time. Don't skimp on the icing, 'kay?"
"I take it back," Luthor said, through gritted teeth. "I hate you more than Superman."
Then he banished SHjer'tse and ate the . . . cakes himself.
And then he got sick.
And that's terrible.