Dictator Hall. It had once been the Justice League's headquarters; now it was where Superman's throne stood. The building's exterior had not changed much, but the outer walls had been painted black, and a huge S-shield was embedded in the front like an open eye. There were no guards at the entrance. Superman did not need guards.
Ian had never imagined, not even if someone beat him to death, that he would see Lucifer once he got inside.
Ian pushed open the door and walked in. The hall was very dark, lit only by a few emergency lamps giving off a dim yellow glow. The floor was marble, cracked, with withered grass growing in the seams. Murals covered the walls, depicting Superman's conquest of the world—tearing monsters apart, burning cities, sitting on his throne as people knelt before him.
Ian looked away from the murals and swept his gaze across the hall.
Then he heard a plea for help.
And saw the one who had made it.
A person was nailed to the wall.
No, not nailed to the wall. Embedded in it. His body was sunk into the concrete, his limbs pinned by some kind of transparent energy locks, his head hanging low, golden hair covering his face.
His body was very thin, his clothes ragged and torn, and the exposed skin was covered in wounds, old injuries layered over new ones. But even so, Ian still recognized him.
Lucifer Morningstar. Lord of Hell, fallen angel, one of the oldest and most powerful beings in the DC Universe. And now, he had been pinned here.
Like a butterfly mounted inside a specimen case.
This definitely was not some great feat Superman could have accomplished.
And what he had said about God going mad also left Ian deeply concerned.
"Seeing