The Book Of Origin: Codex Architectus

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Chapter 2: The Remaking of a Myth

FADE IN.

A shattered city, a once-thriving metropolis now reduced to rubble and ruin. The skyline, once grand, stands lifeless, a skeleton of its former self. Ash drifts through the air, suspended in eerie stillness. Amid this wasteland, one figure stands.

Superman.

His cape flutters weakly in the wind, tattered from the chaos he’s endured. His suit is scorched, his body battered, but he remains unbroken. His eyes scan the city, fierce yet focused, searching for signs of life—or more accurately, signs of the Architect. There’s a calmness in his demeanor, a determination that cuts through the silence.

Then, a flicker—a card, spinning in the wind, slowly drifting towards the ground.

The King of Spades.

Superman crouches, his gaze fixed on it. No surprise in his eyes—only acknowledgment. He reaches out, picking it up. His fingers brush the card as he inspects it. A quiet understanding forms.

SUPERMAN
(softly, with cold clarity)
"You’re here."

His voice is barely a whisper, the weight of the words recognizing a presence long anticipated. The Architect. The one who seeks to test everything Superman stands for.

CUT TO THE SHADOWS.

A low, calm voice cuts through the air like a knife.

ARCHITECT
(smoothly, with deliberate patience)
"You finally noticed, Superman."

Superman’s eyes narrow, but he remains still. His senses stretch out, searching for any sign of movement. He’s not surprised by the Architect’s presence; he’s just... waiting.

Nothing.

SUPERMAN
(almost bored, with a touch of indifference)
"You're not hard to find."

A statement of fact. The Architect’s methods might be complex, but Superman has seen worse. This doesn’t rattle him. The game’s rules are familiar—he’s been here before.

ARCHITECT
(mildly amused)
"You misunderstand, Superman. It’s not about hiding. It’s about manipulating the world around you—your certainty, your limitations. You’re so... predictable."

Superman’s expression tightens, but he doesn’t respond. He knows the Architect is trying to get under his skin, but he isn’t playing that game.

Suddenly, a burst of heat vision cuts through the stillness. The force of it is raw and focused, but it strikes nothing. The Architect has slipped away, vanishing into the cracks of the city like smoke.

ARCHITECT
(from somewhere, off to the side)
"That’s too easy. It’s always been too easy for you."

Another card flutters by. The Ace of Spades.

Superman catches it instinctively. This time, his grip falters slightly. The card burns his skin—sharp, biting. He looks at it, and a flicker of recognition hits him. Kryptonite.

His body reacts before his mind can catch up. His heart rate spikes, breath shallow. The pain isn’t excruciating—yet—but he can feel the weight of it settling in.

SUPERMAN
(gritting his teeth, with a hint of irritation)
"Figures."

ARCHITECT
(now closer, almost whispering in his ear)
"Just enough to slow you down, Superman. Just enough to remind you of your fragility."

Superman’s body falters for a moment, but only for a moment. His knees tremble, vision narrowing, but his resolve never wavers. He’s not defeated. Not yet.

His body screams for release, but he forces his hands to grip tighter. The pain isn’t new—it’s just part of the process. He’s been through worse. Always will be.

SUPERMAN
(quietly, not for the Architect but for himself)
"I’ve been here before."

A moment of stillness. Then, with a surge of will, he stands tall. He rips the card from his hand, tossing it aside as if it’s nothing more than paper. The brief, lingering feeling of weakness evaporates. He looks up, his eyes glowing faintly with the remnants of his fading strength.

ARCHITECT
(watching with calculating curiosity)
“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for. But you’re still vulnerable, Superman.”

SUPERMAN
(coldly, no bravado—just truth)
"I’m not vulnerable. I’m just human."

The Architect’s expression twists briefly. A flicker of something—disappointment? No, something darker.

ARCHITECT
(with quiet reverence)
"You’ll never be the same after this."

Superman doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. The fight, the tension—it isn’t about words anymore. It’s about understanding what each represents. The Architect, with his calculated precision, his belief in control and manipulation. And Superman, with his relentless insistence that even in the face of the worst—he endures.

Another card slices through the air—The Queen of Spades—and it lodges deep into Superman’s shoulder. The sting is immediate, burning. For a moment, Superman feels it. The Kryptonite is potent now, more concentrated than before.

But he won’t let it define him. His pulse quickens—not in fear, but in recognition. The game is on.

SUPERMAN
(gritting his teeth, voice steady despite the pain)
"Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m afraid of this."

Superman stands, not because he’s unbreakable, but because he chooses to. Every step forward is an act of will. He moves toward the Architect, his vision hazy, his strength waning. But still, he moves.

ARCHITECT
(in a rare moment of hesitation)
"You’ll break eventually."

SUPERMAN
(sharply, as if daring him to say more)
"We all break. But it doesn’t matter."

With that, Superman, fighting against every part of his weakening body, lunges forward. The Architect reacts instantly, but there’s no grandeur in the fight. Just raw, brutal action—Superman, unflinching, tearing through his limits.

The Architect steps back, almost impressed.

ARCHITECT
(with a hint of respect, his voice lowering)
"Perhaps... perhaps you are different after all."

Superman doesn’t stop. He won’t stop until this is over. Until the Architect understands that no matter how many times he’s tested, Superman will always rise again.

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FADE TO BLACK.

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