Clark stopped in the middle of the spacious, well-lit room.
It looked like a normal suburban den — hardwood floors, white walls, recessed lights, a flat-screen mounted on the wall.
The only problem was what Daniel had decided to keep in it.
Clark's eyes moved from a stack of scratched wooden coffins in the corner to a metal shelf holding several solid-gold skulls.
Beside them sat a mummified hand giving a thumbs-up, a glass jar of black liquid moving on its own, and a rusted, bloodstained broadsword leaning against the couch.
"Daniel... what is this room?"
"Storage," Daniel said, leaning against the wall. "Just souvenirs from my travels. I keep them for the memories."
Clark looked at a Victorian-era mirror on a folding table. "Is that mirror bleeding?"
"It's a phase. Ignore it."
Daniel stepped in front of him and pointed toward the middle of the room. "You're getting distracted. Our guest is over here."
The fake Superman was strapped to a heavy steel chair, thick iron chains holding his arms against his body, a jagged piece of Kryptonite secured to the emblem on his chest with silver duct tape.
The impostor was slumped forward, sweating under the lights. Every few seconds he coughed, and a little black static came out of his mouth before disappearing.
Clark eyed the chains, then the Kryptonite. "Did you really duct-tape Kryptonite to him?"
"It holds."
Daniel grabbed another folding chair, dragged it over, and sat backward on it. "Let's wake him up." He leaned forward and slapped the impostor across the face.
The man woke with a gasp, pulling against the chains to reach Daniel — the movement pressed the Kryptonite harder into his chest, the green glow intensifying, draining what strength he had left. He coughed, spitting another bit of black blood onto the floor.
Clark winced but said nothing.
"Morning," Daniel said, resting his arms on the back of the chair.
"Let's skip the bullshit. I know you're not Superman. You know you're not Superman. Tell me who gave you this power and how you changed everyone's memories."
"How the fuck did you remember?" the fake Superman shouted, straining against the chains. "This was supposed to be my dream world! Everything was supposed to revolve around me! How can you say I'm not Superman?"
Daniel leaned forward and slapped him again, snapping his head to the side.
"What the fuck is this, some chuunibyou phase?" he asked, rubbing his hand. "The world doesn't revolve around anyone. It revolves around its own axis and the Sun. That's basic science."
Clark glanced at him. "Did he just say dream world?"
"He did." Daniel looked back at the impostor.
"Which means you're not just some construct. You actually believe you're Superman. You wanted his life, got the powers, and somehow changed reality so everyone else would believe it too." He tapped the back of the chair.
"But your version has holes in it. You knew the public stories, but you didn't know anything about Superman's actual life."
The fake Superman gritted his teeth. "You weren't supposed to be here! The wish was perfect! I had the powers, I had the respect, and I was the hero of Metropolis!"
"Yeah, and you clearly never paid attention to Superman's actual life." Daniel's expression changed as he leaned in.
"Who gave you the wish?" The joking tone was gone now. "You're some random guy who was handed the ability to rewrite reality. So tell me who gave it to you."
The impostor laughed. "You can't undo it. The Book is already writing the next chapter."
Daniel stopped. He looked at Clark, then back at the impostor. "The book?"
His mind went straight to the Book of Destiny. He didn't remember every detail of DC canon, but he remembered enough — the Book wasn't some ordinary magical artifact. It could alter fate, rewrite reality, change the course of entire worlds.
Yeah. That explains a lot.
If this idiot had somehow gotten hold of the Book, making everyone believe he was Superman wouldn't have been hard.
A brief sense of relief passed through Daniel. Whatever protected him from reality changes — his system, or something else — had apparently kept him outside the rewrite.
Otherwise he'd have ended up like Bruce, Diana, and Kara, completely unaware their reality had been altered.
"Where the hell is that book?" he asked.
The impostor didn't answer. Instead he tilted his head back and spat a thick glob of black, static-filled saliva at him.
Daniel simply tilted his head aside. The spit passed his ear and hit the floor, fizzing for a moment before disappearing.
"Screw you! Hahaha!" the impostor laughed despite the Kryptonite weakening him. "You don't understand how this works! You can't stop the narrative. The Book is already fixing the plot holes. Soon I'll get out of this chair, take my life back, and kill you!"
Clark stepped away from the mirror, expression hardening.
Daniel stared at the impostor for several seconds. Then he sighed and stood.
"You know, I usually avoid torture." He walked toward the fake Superman. "But you're a counterfeit, you just spat on my floor, and you're making this unnecessarily difficult."
Daniel placed his hand on the impostor's head. The Nexus mark on his hand began to glow. A faint ticking filled the room.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The impostor's smile slowly faded.
Daniel looked directly into his eyes. "People think torture is only about physical pain." The ticking continued. "Let me show you what eternity feels like when you're completely alone."
The mark flashed.
"Now you're going to spend eternity there." His voice stayed calm. "Until you break."