Lucinda knew—truly knew—that following a ghost child was a catastrophically bad idea. A professional-level way to derail the entire plot she had so carefully been guarding like a possessive screenwriter.
Did that stop her? In theory, absolutely.
In practice… she was already halfway down the hallway.
Her problem—one of many—was that Lucinda had an undying fascination with the paranormal. Ghost documentaries, cursed antiques, "definitely-not-haunted" houses for sale at suspiciously low prices—she'd devoured them all.
Her friend with a third eye used to tell her stories about seeing spirits flicker in mirrors and hover in corner shadows. Lucinda's mother called those stories delusions and "early symptoms of needing professional help," but Lucinda? She believed every syllable.
She'd tried everything to see a ghost herself. Rituals from the internet. Spirit of the Glass sessions. Bloody Mary. Charlie Charlie. Even that one questionable forum suggestion involving chanting at a swamp at midnight.
None of it worked.
So now that an actual ghost kid was bobbing through walls like a marble in a maze, was she really going to let it disappear just because it might ruin the established timeline of Smallville?
Please. Priorities. She would meet the ghost, talk to the ghost, comfort the ghost, listen to the ghost's tragic backstory, and then preserve the plot. Easy multitasking.
Lucinda's grin stretched so wide her face looked moments away from splitting open. Lex, trailing beside her, quietly considered smacking her with the flashlight—not out of malice, but out of pure self-defense. The woman was vibrating with excitement; he was vibrating with dread.
He was too late to drag her back. Lucinda reached the door the ghost had phased through—and to Lex's surprise, the room wasn't locked. She pulled the door open and immediately slammed it shut.
Lex blinked. "What's the problem, Lucy?"
Lucinda didn't answer. She stood stiff, sweating, eyes darting like she'd just witnessed a cursed VHS tape.
She turned to him with the fakest smile a human face had ever manufactured.
"There's something inside."
"Of course there is," Lex arched a brow. "There are experimental plants. In pots. Stationary, harmless, photosynthesizing—plants."
"What kind of plants?" she asked, one eye twitching like it wanted to flee her skull.
"Wild lilies," he said. "The backup generator is also in there, so let's—"
He reached for the doorknob, but Lucinda slapped his hand so hard the flashlight rattled.
"No! Absolutely not. You are never opening that door. We're going back. We're sleeping. We're retiring early and pretending we were never here—"
"Did the cold freeze your brain, Lucy?" Lex forced a smile and was about to reach for the door again.
Before Lucinda could stop him, something punched through the wall beside the door—fast, sharp, and violent enough to make both of them dive back. The object embedded itself deep into the concrete behind them with a sound like metal scraping bone.
"T-That's the problem!" Lucinda squeaked.
Lex stared at the object. No—that wasn't an object. They were tendrils. Long, rope-like tendrils stretched from the shattered wall, slick with a faint bioluminescent sheen that pulsed in steady, unnatural beats—like veins carved from moonlight and stitched onto something that should never have been allowed to grow.
Thorny barbs spiraled along each length, wickedly curved backward like the hooked teeth of deep-sea predators. As they writhed, the thorns clicked softly against the concrete, a faint chittering sound that made Lucinda's skin crawl.
The tendrils didn't just move—they searched. They swept the air with slow, serpentine confidence, tasting the atmosphere as though deciding what to claim first.
"Lucy," Lex whispered, voice low and sharp, "move over here. Crawl under them slowly."
He gestured from the other side of the loathsome vines. Lucinda had hopped to the opposite wall out of pure reflex, unintentionally leaving them divided by a curtain of murderous botany.
Lucinda nodded rapidly and startled crawling, she didn't even make it halfway when another tendril exploded through the doorframe with a violent crack, spearing straight toward her face. Lucinda yelped and dropped flat on her stomach.
Before she could even process her near-death, Lex launched himself over her. One arm shielded her head as the two of them rolled across the laboratory floor in a messy tangle of limbs and panic. The tendril missed them by inches, slashing a long, smoking groove into the tile where her neck had been.
They stopped rolling only when Lex accidentally collided with a wall and Lucinda landed sprawled half across him, blinking at the ceiling like she'd just seen her life flash by three different directors.
Lex groaned, the sound low and ragged, wincing as he pushed himself halfway upright in the dim corridor. The only source of light—the poor, overworked flashlight—had ricocheted across the floor and landed several meters away, sputtering in sad, intermittent flashes.
"Four out of ten for durability," Lucinda muttered, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
Lex shot her a look through the pain—a mix of disbelief and offended dignity. "Not helping—"
Before he could finish, the tendrils behind the shattered doorway began to thrash, knocking chunks of wood and metal aside as if the door were made of cardboard. The walls trembled with each impact, dust falling from above like the lab itself was reconsidering letting them inside.
"Lucy!" Lex forced out, voice tight with urgency. "Run!"
Lucinda gasped, instinctively stumbling back before forcing her legs to obey. She scrambled up and grabbed him under the arm. Lex expected—truly expected—that this was the moment she'd shove him aside and sprint for her own survival. That was the statistically reasonable response.
But Lucinda didn't run by herself. She hauled him upward with surprising strength, dragging him to his feet even as the writhing tendrils screeched against the concrete, splintering it as they grew more agitated.
Lex stared at her for a brief second, a little stunned. He's quite amused about her selflessness for a moment, although inside Lucinda's head was only purely survival in both ways. She wasn't doing it out of compassion. This wasn't heroism. This was pure, primal self-preservation.
Because if Lex died here, tonight, in his own lab and she survived, because she let him get stabbed by mutant lilies—Lionel would not simply question her.
No, Lionel Luthor would cut her personally. Maybe with a monologue about legacy. Maybe while humming. Lucinda knew that. She absolutely knew that. And survival instinct was a powerful motivator.
"That old man might be sick in the head," she thought as she pulled Lex forward with renewed urgency, "but he loves him in his own twisted horror-movie way."
Another tendril snapped across the corridor like a whip, missing them by inches. The impact tore a jagged canyon through the concrete wall, shards exploding outward like shrapnel.
"Are you guys planting Plants vs. Zombies here?!" Lucinda shrieked, throwing herself sideways as another tendril speared past her face.
She risked one glance over her shoulder—instantly regretting it. The once-sterile hallway was now a crawling nightmare, every surface strangled by pulsating black tendrils that rippled toward them like they could smell fear.
"NOPE—NOPE, WHY ARE THEY SPEEDING UP?!" she yelled, her voice climbing several octaves.
Lucinda clung to Lex's arm, trying her hardest to keep pace with his long strides, but her legs were tragically, fatefully short. Every step she took was the equivalent of three of his.
"Lucy—you're slowing us down—" Lex hissed between breaths.
"I'M SORRY I WAS BORN FUN-SIZED!"
Without warning, Lex reached back, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her clean off the ground with one arm, swinging her into his hold like she weighed nothing. He's even running when he do that.
"Yes, daddy..." Lucinda probaly screamed in her head.
She gasped, arms instinctively clinging around his neck. "H-Hey! You can't just—! Wait, you actually can. Proceed."
"The infected might have broken out of containment," Lex said grimly, eyes locked on the flickering red emergency lights ahead.
"I-Infected?" she echoed—then let out a second, louder gasp when another cluster of tendrils smashed through the ceiling tiles behind them, raining debris.
The corridor groaned as if the entire structure were being crushed from the inside out. Tendrils tore through walls, shredding metal, glass, anything in their path.
"MR. LUTHOR, SIR! THEY'RE RENOVATING YOUR LAB!"
Lex adjusted his grip on her, preparing to sprint again—but didn't get the chance.
A tendril slammed into the ground inches from Lex's foot, cracking the tiles like cheap porcelain. The shockwave knocked his balance out from under him.
Lex didn't let go of Lucinda, but his pace faltered. She could see the strain etched across his face, the sharp wince each time his foot hit the floor—he must have sprained his ankle.
"You can put me down, Mr. Luthor," she said, trying to sound calm, but Lex shook his head.
"We have to get inside the lab next to this hallway—fast," he said without looking at her. "I stored a special meteorite that could kill these things."
Lucinda's brow furrowed, her brain firing a dozen confused questions at once. A meteorite? To kill plants? Her gut told her to stop analyzing and just move.
She groaned and wiggled in his arms, testing his grip. Lex, distracted by the chaos and pain, finally relented and set her down. Before he could react, she sprang forward, tugging his arm so hard he almost fell flat on his face.
"You could run this fast all along?" Lex winced, his ankle protesting with every step.
"I could," Lucinda shot back without looking, "but only in limited edition mode." She barreled forward, eyes locked on the lab door like it was salvation itself.
Lex gritted his teeth, hobbling to keep pace behind her. "Turn right on the interjection—three doors after."
Lucinda nodded, lunging down the hallway. Behind them, the tendrils were a writhing, thorned nightmare, smashing walls and ceilings as they chased, their pale, bioluminescent veins pulsating with sinister intent. The air smelled faintly of ozone and rot, thick enough to sting her lungs with every breath.
They reached the lab door, and Lex pulled something from his pocket—but froze. Slowly, he turned to her, eyes wide.
"I—I lost it."
Lucinda blinked at him, slow and deliberate. "You mean the key?"
Lex didn't need to confirm. Lucinda's patience snapped. Teeth gritted, she drew back her leg and unleashed a perfect roundhouse kick. The door flew backward, clanging against the far wall like a cannon shot.
Lex stared, slack-jawed. "Y-You have… superpowers?" he mumbled.
Lucinda, one leg still raised in a fighting stance, hissed through clenched teeth. "Yes! And it's called anger." She planted her foot firmly on the ground and immediately charged inside, yanking Lex with her.
Behind them, the tendrils shrieked—if tendrils could shriek—their thorned tips scraping violently against the concrete as they thrashed toward the open door. The emergency lights flickered, casting erratic shadows across the walls.
Every second felt like a lifetime. The metallic, wet scraping of the tendrils against the concrete grew louder, closer, hungering for their next strike. Lucinda's heart pounded so hard she thought it might give them away, but Lex moved with unnatural precision, guiding her through the sterile, white-painted room. Unlike the chaotic labs they had passed before, this room was pristine, almost clinical, with nothing inside except a single door at the far end.
Lex's movements were swift, fluid—hands sliding across the smooth metal handle with practiced dexterity. He paused for barely a heartbeat, then swung the door open.
"C'mon, Mr. Luthoooor! They're coming!" Lucinda screeched, the sound of heavy thuds and the wet tearing of tendrils echoing outside.
Beyond the door lay another barrier, smaller and reinforced like a safe. Lex's fingers flew over a panel, punching in the code with a calm urgency. The door hissed as it unlocked, a sharp, metallic sizzle like water hitting a scorching surface.
Inside, cradled atop a soft cushion, was the object of Lucinda's awe—and terror. A white meteorite, smooth and glowing faintly, rested there as though it had been waiting for this moment.
Lucinda's jaw went slack, eyes widening as Lex turned toward her, holding the meteorite in both hands.
"W-where did you get that?" she whispered, barely audible, her gaze fixed on the celestial rock. Her astonishment didn't escape Lex's notice, and for once, he didn't answer—his focus was elsewhere.
He strode toward the broken doorway, tendrils pressing against the frame like living shadows. As they lunged, the meteorite raised high in his grip, the air itself seeming to hum with energy. The tendrils made the fatal mistake of coming too close. The moment contact was made, they withered instantly, their twisted, thorned forms disintegrating into dust, roots and all, leaving nothing but a faint waft of burnt green in the air.
Lucinda's mouth went dry as she stepped closer, confirming her suspicions.
It was white Kryptonite. Not the green variety that harmed Kryptonians, not the red variety that twisted minds, but a lethal, universal force designed to obliterate plant life, bacteria, and viruses—anything organic it touched. Rapid decomposition, total sterilization, complete annihilation. It was devastating in the truest sense, and it didn't even exist in the Smallville continuity. White meteorites might appear elsewhere in DC lore, but never in Smallville.
And yet here it was, in Lex's hands.
Lucinda swallowed hard, her mind racing as she followed his movements. The quiet confidence, the almost casual grip, the way he moved as if he had done this a hundred times—it was terrifying. How on earth did Lex Luthor, billionaire and mad scientist extraordinaire, acquire something that shouldn't exist in this universe at all?
Her eyes darted between him and the doorway, half-expecting the tendrils to come back—but the corridor beyond was silent now. Lex didn't even lower the meteorite. He simply stood there, a quiet force of calculated destruction, and Lucinda realized something chilling: no matter how much she thought she understood him, she had only scratched the surface of Lex Luthor's genius—and his reach.