Info on Timelines/Universes: It's an original and vague timeline but pulls a lot from the most recent Superman movie, with a few obvious exceptions: everything takes place back when Superman was introduced both because it works and to highlight the immortality bit. Zod's motivation is also slightly different because, honestly, I think the one in the movie is ridiculous. Batman stuff will be pulled from what general knowledge I have, but note that I don't read comics and am primarily armed with Wikis and an imagination.

Extended Summary: To the humans of the late 22nd century, so-called "Superheroes" and "Supervillains" are a thing of the past, tales from their grandparents of an age long gone. To the rest of the Galactic Community, they are a thing of mockery, ridiculous tales that Humanity has deluded itself into believing. But to a select few, they are a memory of hard times and harder men and women who rose when humanity needed their help. When times grow desperate once again, however, one Man of Steel among them knows that its time for Heroes to return.

Chapter One: A History Lesson

"So, tell me about this . . . Superman, was he called?" An incredibly odd voice, almost doubled-over with something at once warbling and metallic, asked as its owner shuffled some papers about. An intentional slip, no doubt; nobody holding an interview about humanity's Superheroes would be ignorant of the most famous one.

"Ahh, yes, the venerable Superman," the aged but decidedly human voice of Garrett White, the so-called "Superhero Historian," replied, "My ancestor had quite a lot to say about him, both in his private journals and from his work at the Daily Planet, not to mention all the other sources of information still available," He chuckled at this, "What do you want to know?"

"How about his . . . origin, I suppose," The turian interviewer proposed, "I've read the official record, of course, but I'd like to hear your opinion. What does your research say about where this . . . remarkable individual came from?" The skepticism was evident in his voice, but Tionn Gallus still made an admirable effort towards impartiality.

"Fair enough," Mr. White replied, tactfully ignoring the slip, "Reports are varied as to exactly when he arrived on Earth, but the details of the event that brought him to our awareness and of where he supposedly came from are well established. In 1938 AD, a group of, forgive the term, aliens came to Earth, led by a man named Zod. They claimed to have come from a dead planet and to be seeking one of their own, someone called Kal-El, who they believed to have been on Earth for many years."

"Superman," Tionn made the obvious guess.

"indeed," Garrett confirmed, "Long story short, they lied. After the yet-to-be-named Superman turned himself in, they immediately deployed a pair of massive terraforming devices to the surface."

"Wait, but if this Kal-El," The turian seemed to have an easier time with that than 'Superman,' "Had already been on your planet for several of your years, clearly they could survive the environment, so why did they need the terraformers?"

"They didn't," the historian replied bluntly, "Common consensus, and I agree with it, is that they wanted Earth, all of it, but they knew we wouldn't give up our homeworld without a fight. With that in mind, terraformation becomes the logical fastest way to kill off every human on the planet."

"Since your species is still around, I'll assume they failed," The interviewer commented dryly.

Garrett nodded. "According to official records, Superman beat back several individuals just as powerful as himself, destroying one terraformer single handedly and the other using some sort of improvised WMD," he explained, "After that, he gathered up the wreckage and threw it into the sun."

"Conveniently eliminating every shred of evidence," Gallus couldn't help but interrupt.

"I'll say it was convenient," Garrett snorted, "The biggest war in our history was just over the horizon. We dropped our first nuke in that war, Mr. Gallus. I can't imagine what it would've looked like if the Superman hadn't taken his peoples' tech beyond our reach."

"Fair enough, assuming all this is true," Gallus admitted, "But we'll have time for that later. This war; what role did your "Superman" play in it?"

"He didn't," The historian shook his head, "Superman was a titan in a world of brittle glass. He knew full well that any side he took would win just because of his support, so he did his level best to stay the hell out of politics. So, instead of Superman, it was the "Great American Industry" that won the war, most notably the rising Luthercorp and Wayne Enterprises, which are giants even to this day."

"And what about Lex Luthor, his supposed Nemesis?" Gallus asked.

"Ahh, yes, him," White sighed heavily, running a hand through his silvered hair, "Well, I don't know about waging out-and-out war against him, but for the latter half of the twentieth century, Luthor was the undisputed richest, and some say most powerful, man in the world, and its no secret he hated the Superman. Despite his wealth and influence, however, the man's ideas never seemed to really gain traction until about 1960, when people began to realize that ole' Supes looked exactly the same then as he had twenty years before . . . "

For Superman, seemingly eternal life was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. For twenty years, he had served faithfully the people of humanity, safeguarding them from any threat or evil that promised harm to the men and women of Earth, and for a very long time, humanity had loved him for it.

That had been before he was immortal, however; an alien, yes, but one who still looked human and still a mortal man, however powerful he may be. Now, with his refusal to share technology or help against the Nazis/Communists and the silvered lies of Lex Luthor, this new revelation was just too much. Mankind had begun to feel stifled, repressed beneath his constant vigil. Superman hadn't come to exist for the glory of it, but it was as clear as day that such widespread sentiments were not a sign to continue. So, he eased up a bit, gradually scaling back his help in all but the most dire situations, which actually cropped up less without his blatant challenge to the forces of evil, until The Superman was all but a rumor.

In 2005, however, when a masked vigilante by the title of "Batman" began cleaning up Gotham, Michigan and sparked off a new Era of Superheroes, Kal-El was watching and Superman returned to the limelight. For fifty odd years, this new age lasted, supported by the work of Bruce Wayne(it's not easy to hide from a Kryptonian's senses) and those beneath his wing. Inevitably, however, though the man himself had long since retired from active duty, Bruce Wayne's death, natural but no doubt accelerated by the hard life he'd led, caused the gradual undoing of the bonds among the so-called "Bat-Family." As a consequence of this, the Second Age of Heroes ended; the Batman, as skilled and relentless as he was, had still been a man and it was that fact, along with the efforts of him and his team, which had allowed humanity to flourish even in a time of Heroes and all that came with them..

Once more, Superman slipped into obscurity, even deeper this time in mourning for a man that, in his heart, he'd never quite believed would ever die. Superman never rose again, fleeing the Earth and all its painful memories with the aid of a particular suit, built with Bruce's help and loaded with a copy of The Fortress' Jor-El personality, which would serve as a battery for his incredible abilities so long as he kept it charged on the proper form of solar energy. After announcing his intent to the world, Superman went on a soul-searching trip around the universe and, so far as humanity knew, never returned.

For Clark Kent, however, longevity was a blessing, at least at first, a cause for celebration and an excellent excuse for his coworkers to head for a bar and drink the night away, though naturally the man himself only had the one. They all praised the modest man for seemingly finding the key to eternal life on an old Kansas farm. He deflected all the praise and beer offered his way with an easy grace and a small, modest smile, forever hiding the sad realizations he'd come to. Jor-El had suspected that, under the incredible power of a sun so much brighter than Krypton's, his body may never fall into disrepair, and sure enough, it hadn't.

Worse, people were beginning to notice. Soon, Clark Kent, the man he had been since birth, would need to disappear forever for the safety of all he held dear. He would even have to hide from Lois. She was the love of his life, yes, but he could no longer in good conscience stay with her, not with the knowledge that she would fade and die even as he remained young and strong; he regretted not an instant of their years together, but had Clark known from the start that he was doomed to this fate, he wasn't sure he ever would've ever gotten close to her at all.

"I'm sorry to see you go, Mr. Kent," Perry White told him when he announced his plan to go on a multi-year trip around the world.

"I'm sorry to leave, Mr White," He said back with a sad smile, adjusting the strap on the bag filled with his stuff from around the office, "This paper's been good to me, but I'm beginning to feel my age, even if I don't look it." A lie, of a sort; his body at least would never fade.

"Yeah, well you've been good to this paper, too," his former boss replied, smiling, "Long as I'm around at least, there'll always be a place for you here, and hey, you find any good scoops on your trip? You know where to mail 'em."

"Of course," Clark replied, grinning, "See you around, I guess." Another lie. He would never see these people again. Not seconds after he walked out the door, Lois Lane got up and stalked out after him, nobody making even a twitch towards stopping her. When she got out the front door, however, all she saw was some trash blowing in a wind that did not exist and a rapidly-fading blur way up in the sky. When she got home later that day, a simple four-word letter was waiting for her.

"I'm sorry," It said in painfully familiar handwriting, blotched with one, single tear, "Live well."

An old, old woman lay in a sterile white bed surrounded by top-of-the-line machinery that beeped and whirred muted noises to the world. She was in the greatest hospital in the world, a place that neither she nor her children would ever have been able to afford on their own. She was resting, half-conscious and, to put it frankly, waiting for her inevitable death when slow, hesitating, but oddly resonant footsteps approached the door of her room.

"Hello, ma'am?" A respectful, old-fashioned, but very young male voice asked, accompanied by the sound of the door squeaking quietly open. She opened her weary eyes to see a man somewhere in his twenties, brilliant blue eyes and chiseled, classically handsome appearance complemented by a classic white-collar male haircut but marred by a pair of thick-framed glasses that shrank his glorious eyes to less than half their size. He wore an archaic plaid formal coat fitted for a man twice his apparent size.

"Mrs. Lane-Reynolds? I'm Clark Kent the third," He introduced in a hesitant southern drawl, "My grandfather, well, he always had a lot of nice things to say about you."

"You can't fool me, Smallville," Lois laughed softly, the fires of youth and matronhood both echoing in her voice, "Not with that tone and certainly not with that horrible old coat you wore on our first date."

"Wasn't really trying to," He replied, his signature subtle grin tinged with a sadness that looked entirely too used to being there, "just everyone else," His gaze turned worrying, "are you comfortable here?"

"So it was you who got this for me," she smiled, "I thought as much. So, which high-up bigwig in Wayne Enterprises is it you know?"

"The man himself," Clark smiled, "Bruce is a good man, if a bit . . . ominous. He figured out how to do the glasses, as well as hack this entire place. He fully intends to wipe our conversation from the face of the Earth, so . . . if there's . . . anything you want to say . . . " He faltered, still looking incredibly nervous and even after fifty years, he was still an open book to her; Lois knew exactly what he was getting at. She laughed again.

"Oh, please, that?" She asked, now doing her best impression of a grin at his obvious confusion, "Smallville, I saw it on your face the moment that idea crossed your mind. I watched you argue with yourself for weeks, trying and failing to find a better way. Sure, when it happened, I was sad, heartbroken," her voice faltered, "I felt betrayed, and furious at you for years, but in the end, I knew why you did it. You did it because it was the right thing to do, the only decent thing to do. You're a good man, Clark, the greatest I have ever known, super even without all of your incredible abilities, and nothing will change that."

"Christ," he tried to joke, even as tears rolled in torrents down his cheeks and a weight visibly lifted from his shoulders, "I feel like I'm talking to my mother," but at least he was smiling, now, real and genuine.

"And every other second, I keep expecting it to be '61 again, younger and more beautiful than this worn-out soul I've become," she replied, also crying but less so, "So I'm going to tell you just what you told me back then. I'm sorry, Smallville," he gave her a startled look but she ignored it, "I'm sorry that I had to steal your heart then grow old and die without you and I am sorry that you couldn't stay with me, even if you wanted to, without putting us both in far too much danger. Now, don't you dare forget me," and for just a moment, the fiery young reporter and the dying old woman she'd become were one in the same, "but don't mourn me, either. I've lived a good life, and your visit today is the best thing I could've ever hoped to see in my final days. I will die in peace and there is nothing to mourn about that."

"It seems you still know me far too well," Clark managed to choke out.

"And you'd damned well better find some other girl who does, too, sooner or later," she ordered, "Somewhere out there, you will find someone else to give your heart to and if you don't take that chance, I will personally kick your ass when you do come up to meet me."

"Yes, ma'am," and although he looked more sad than ever, his tears were dry and a weary smile hung on his face again.

"Now go, Smallville," She ordered with a vague gesture, "and don't you dare look back," then she turned her head to look at the camera in the corner of the room, "and you, Bruce or whoever's doing this, don't you ever let this man get his hands on the tape."

"Really?" Clark had to ask, aghast at the thought of brooding over a recording of the conversation.

"Come on, Smallville," Lois teased with a wink, "it's been fifty years. You can't expect me to trust you just like that."

"Fair enough, I guess. Goodbye, Lois," and for the first time in fifty years, he had on the same genuine, boyish, innocent smile only she had ever seen.

"Goodbye, Clark," she smiled back, then let her eyelids fall. Less than an hour later, Lois Lane-Reynolds, loving mother and grandmother, died at last in her sleep.

It was raining, the day of her funeral, courtesy of a black-haired man to the side that was neither as unassuming nor as young as he appeared; it was a complicated trick, not something he would've been able to do without heavy preparation and the help of the Bat Clan, but the deceased was worth a little extra effort. Clark's enhanced hearing couldn't help but pick up every word that was said, but he paid little mind to the others there. When approached by several mourners wondering about his presence, he merely stuck to the grandson alias, which Bruce and his proteges had fleshed out into a fully functional cover for him.

For the most part, however, he simply stood there, uncaring of the damp chill around him, until everyone else had left. Then he walked up, crouched carefully amid the flowers and other worthless things around her grave, and gazed upon the headstone. It was simple, understated for a prizewinning journalist, inscribed with the simple epitaph she would have preferred, but there was one thing missing. He closed one eye, focused very, very carefully, and began to laser etch the granite with his heat vision. When the man four times his apparent age finished, Superman's mark had been burned into the rock above her name. An odd V like an obvious mistake in the cutting process bisected it halfway down the middle; coincidentally, it made the simple depiction of the symbol of the house of El look oddly like a heart.

After that, Kal-El continued to practice this new art form of his, as well as making more etchings on the graves of his friends; it was somewhat morbid, but the act of etching gave him closure and a sense of completeness, as though by leaving a mark of who they had been on their graves, he was bidding a final farewell to his friends. Some, of course, were more subtle or flashy than others; he couldn't do most of them overtly, for one, once people started to notice, but all were heartfelt, wherever he ended up placing the marks.

Kal-El's final act before self-exile was to etch a giant slab of pure white marble as both a monument to the dying Age of Heroes and, unknown to the public, as a memorial to a man he had called brother. It featured most prominently an enormous, patriarchal bat, wings outstretched to shelter those beneath it in a far more gentle depiction than might be expected. Every single hero or heroine there had ever been was represented in some form or another, save himself. As he brought the monument to the outskirts of Washington, DC, resplendent in the bright, primary colors of his old costume, he proposed that humanity choose that depiction themselves. Finally, from that very spot, he left Earth for parts unknown.

A/N: So, this is basically the stuff that needed to be said before plot could happen. Hence, history lesson. Now, I do plan to continue this but I also don't have any more written and did all this in one day, so if I don't end up doing so, I will post a second chapter just to explain a lot of the plot points I'm currently planning.
Here's a few teasers for now:
A: Krypton's destruction has nothing at all to do with this Cycle.
B: The Illusive Man's real last name isn't Harper any more.
C: Hey, Asari are women who live a really long time . . . (May or may not actually pair Kal-El with one. This only occurred to me as I was writing that line of dialogue.)

Oh, and there's an issue I really want input on: according to the Mass Effect wiki, Element Zero is created when stars explode. That gives me artistic license to have it either give Superman a power boost or make it a weakness. Since the stuff is so common, that would make it at least a minor factor almost anywhere he'd choose to go whether I make it a positive or negative factor, and I will choose one or the other.