American comic book: My Father is Superman, am I just an NPC?

Chapter 144 The Blood of the Saint! The Angel Still Wants to Return Home?
Night is about to fall.

Lucifer's Light Bar was unusually closed today.

The scarlet neon sign was dim and lifeless, and the "OPEN" sign at the entrance had been flipped to "CLOSED." Behind the bar, the female devil, Wheat, was wiping glasses.

Why are we on Earth 53?

She looked in confusion at the Lord of Hell, who was shaking a wine glass not far away.

The golden liquid shimmered with an alluring luster under the light.

"There are actually many more unmanifested Earths hidden in the multiverse, but our situation is rather special because my father, who deserves to go to hell the most, specifically..."

Just as Lucifer was about to explain, a loud bang suddenly came from the direction of the warehouse.

"boom!"

Then came a series of sounds of metal objects collapsing, accompanied by someone's panicked screams.

"What the hell!"

Crowley burst out of the warehouse, sweating profusely. His suit jacket was covered in dust, and his tie hung askew around his neck, making him look like a soldier who had just escaped from the battlefield.

Still shaken, he leaned against the doorframe, panting, and exclaimed, "Why didn't anyone tell me there was a bunch of big boss wings hidden inside!"

The Demon King clearly didn't dare question Lucifer, so he looked at the demon bartender, Mai Zi. Upon hearing this, Mai Zi immediately stopped wiping the bar with her rag.

"You're cutting off your wings again? And hiding them?" The female demon Wheat stared at Lucifer in disbelief. Lucifer quickly swallowed a mouthful of wine and innocently touched his shoulder.

“I’m not hiding them, I’m just putting them there… somewhere no one can see them.” It’s hard to say whether Lucifer’s statement is a mere excuse.

He is a demon who cannot lie, but that doesn't mean he can't argue. In fact, anyone who has dealt with Lucifer knows that Lucifer's favorite thing to do is to argue.

Lu is three years old.

It's not just one person who sees it that way.

He paused slightly.

The voice suddenly turned indignant, "Ever since I helped that little boy, wings have been growing from my back! This must be a conspiracy by an evil god!"

"My damn father is just trying to disgust me on purpose!"

Lucifer spoke with an air of importance, and casually pointed to Ian, who was floating in the clouds of Metropolis on the TV screen, staring blankly at "Armor Hero".

"..."

The female demon laughed in anger, covering her forehead and shaking her head repeatedly, "But you shouldn't have put them in our bar's storage room. Do you know how many men and women sneak in there every day to have sex?"

Of all the demons, she was the only one who dared to be so fierce to Lucifer; perhaps even most angels wouldn't have the guts—Lucifer was more lenient with her than with most demons.

Perhaps it was because of her loyalty and diligence, and also because Lucifer had indeed had few friends since birth.

"Oh? Then I hope my wings will add some fun for them." Lucifer wasn't angry at all; on the contrary, he smiled happily and gave the female demon Wheat a "you know what I mean" look.

"..."

The female demon was speechless once again.

"You'll scare them to death! Our customers will decrease as a result!" After calming herself down, she looked at the irresponsible boss through gritted teeth.

Lucifer swirled his wine glass dismissively.

"That's perfect, at least they died a happy death, right? They won't have too much of a hard time going to hell." He had lived for countless years, so his twisted logic was far more numerous than Ian's.

The female demon Mai Zi couldn't argue with this man at all.

"Snapped!"

She slammed the rag down on the table.

"I've had enough!" With that, the female demon bypassed Crowley, who was trembling with fear and kept his head down, not daring to say a word, and headed in the direction where Crowley had come from.

obviously.

This is to clean up Lucifer's mess—it's just a shame Ian isn't here, otherwise Lucifer's wings might be enough to make pigeon soup, even a single feather is so useful.

"Uh..." Crowley stood rooted to the spot, not daring to utter a sound, watching Wheat's angry retreating figure. To ease the awkwardness, Lucifer beckoned him closer.

"Ignore her. Maybe she's been in the human world for too long and caught her period." Lucifer deliberately spoke loudly to make sure his bartender could hear him in the warehouse.

"Bang~"

The sound of something being smashed came from inside.

The bar was playing languid jazz, but it couldn't mask the pervasive anger in the air.

"See, it's confirmed."

Lucifer chuckled and poured Crowley a glass of wine.

"Shall I give you a work report?"

There's always a reason why the boss pours drinks.

Fortunately, the savvy Crowley was prepared.

He approached cautiously and pulled out a crumpled report: "Well, Hell has been relatively calm lately. The riots have been suppressed, and the rebellious demons have been locked up where they belong."

"However, mine is not high. Since you have been away from Hell for a long time, there are still many demons who are eager to seize the opportunity to advance further."

His report made Lucifer curl his lip.

"boring."

Lucifer yawned.

"Isn't there anything interesting happening?"

He tore up the work report from Crowley's hand.

“Yes, yes!” Crowley’s mind raced as he quickly added, “We’ve developed a new kind of seduction potion that even angels find hard to resist.”

This was clearly the report Lucifer wanted to hear.

The Lord of Hell suddenly became interested.

“This is good! Get me a few bottles, we have a lot of angels right now.” As he spoke, Lucifer pointed to the angels who had fallen to earth on the television screen.

He then patted Crowley on the shoulder happily, "Do a good job. In a few days, you'll kill my entire clone, and your prestige in Hell will greatly increase."

Hear the words.

Crowley's face turned ashen.

"No, I wouldn't dare."

He feared that this was a test and trial by the capricious Lucifer.

"Tsk, how boring. When I have my grand wedding with the policewoman, you'll only deserve to sit at the same table as the equally boring Wheat." Lucifer glared at Crowley with displeasure.

Crowley quickly lowered his head.

Shivering.

However, the Lord of Hell did not continue his teasing. He suddenly changed the subject and asked a question he already knew the answer to: "Is Constantine in your hands?"

Lucifer still "loves" Constantine.

Crowley paused for a moment, then nodded: "When we captured the angel, we captured him as well. But Constantine has already escaped, and you know how slippery that guy is."

"As for that angel... I handed that angel over to the boy who calls himself the Evil God." After a slight pause, Crowley pointed to the television set with the [Evil God Funny Face] sticker on it.

In the picture, Ian is pointing and gesturing at Jonathan's new look.

"The culprit behind this angel's fall from grace has actually fallen into Ian Kent's hands. Tsk tsk, that's going to be quite a spectacle." Lucifer was even more excited than before.

He even sat up straight, as if anticipating some good show. Apart from those angels of the same origin, Lucifer viewed other ordinary angels no differently than he viewed mortals.

There was absolutely no emotion involved.

Crowley took over the bartender's job, wiping the table.

He observed Lucifer's emotions.

“Boss…” Crowley carefully chose his words, “I’ve noticed that, apart from the archangels, almost all the other angels have fallen to earth. Is God really that cruel?”

He certainly wouldn't dare to insult God as casually as Lucifer and Wheat.

However, curiosity compelled Crowley to ask the question that had been on his mind. His voice grew softer and softer, the last word almost stuck in his throat—a clear sign of cowardice.

This feeling is probably half real and half fake.

As the king of demons in Hell, Crowley understood better than anyone Lucifer's complex feelings toward God—a mixture of hatred, awe, and a twisted sense of longing.

Mentioning God in front of Lucifer is usually a very dangerous thing, but surprisingly, Lucifer, who was in a good mood today, did not fly into a rage.

He just scoffed.

Long, slender fingers gently tapped the rim of the wine glass.

It's as if they're playing the piano.

“God is much more ruthless than you think, Crowley,” Lucifer’s voice was meaningful. “Why do you think Heaven was polluted? The source of that pollution couldn’t have found its way in by itself.”

He paused deliberately, watching Crowley's pupils suddenly dilate.

"Yes, that old codger is like that. It seems like he's just doing nothing, but in reality... by doing nothing, he's already made the biggest statement."

Lucifer added a final sentence.

Full of malice.

His chilling implication nearly made Crowley drop his glass. He dared not respond or ask any more questions, fearing that if he did, he would become the Demon King who would be hit by pigeon droppings and die.

“Well… boss, it’s all my fault for being so talkative. Let’s talk about Constantine instead. Should I go and bring him back for you?” Crowley quickly changed the subject.

It's very stiff.

However, his profuse sweating this time wasn't acting, nor was it due to overexertion or physical strain. Lucifer gave the highly skilled tailor a disdainful look.

"No need, let Constantine play by himself. No matter how much he struggles, he won't get to heaven."

Lucifer casually swirled his wine glass, his tone scoffing, "Really, Crowley, you call yourself a collector, yet you haven't discovered the treasure that guy's hiding?"

“Baby?” Crowley looked bewildered.

Lucifer revealed a wicked smile.

"An artifact powerful enough to secure your throne in Hell."

His smile was truly sinister, even more sinister than the Dragon King's crooked grin. Upon hearing this, Crowley abruptly stood up, the chair scraping loudly on the floor.

"I'm going to go after him right now!"

Crowley knew Lucifer wouldn't lie, so Constantine might really have some treasure. But just as he reached the front door and burst out, he felt a blur before his eyes.

He returned to the seat opposite Lucifer.

“Some opportunities, once missed, will never come again.” Lucifer took a sip of his drink. “That thing has already been packed up and taken away. I advise you not to even think about it.”

"Otherwise you'll be in big trouble, and don't blame me for not warning you." This tone was very familiar to Crowley; he had recently warned his business partner in a similar tone.

His mind raced, and his gaze drifted involuntarily to the television screen—where Ian was holding a cup of milk tea, yelling at the transformed Jonathan.

"In Ian Kent's hands?"

Crowley, quick-witted, whispered to test the waters.

Lucifer's gaze then turned to the television.

"Not in his hands, but in his cup... The Sandman thing's punching bag has become vanilla seed boba milk tea, haha, I really love this guy."

Lucifer laughed heartily; this answer confirmed Crowley's guess. The King of the Crossroads stared at Lucifer's expression, recalling all the information about Ian in his mind.

The boy who suddenly appeared in the Kent family possessed power that even angels feared.

“Boss, I’m confused.” After much hesitation, Crowley finally asked the question that had been bothering him for so long, “This boy is clearly not Superman’s biological son. What is he?”

The bar suddenly fell silent.

Even the background music mysteriously stopped.

Lucifer slowly put down his wine glass.

“Believe me, Crowley,” Lucifer’s voice suddenly became as deep as an echo from the depths of hell, “getting the answer to this question might not be a good thing for you.”

Upon hearing this, Crowley's mind went blank again. Even Lucifer shared the same attitude, making him increasingly convinced that his guess might not be wrong.

"Okay, I won't ask anymore."

Crowley made a decisive choice.

“You do seem to have a tiny bit of an interesting quality.” Lucifer elegantly poured Crowley a glass of amber-colored liquor, and as the man looked on with a flattered expression, Lucifer turned his gaze back to the television screen. No one could fathom the thoughts of the Lord of Hell, and at that moment, Lucifer's mind seemed to drift back to that particular night.

Beside the sulfur lake of hell.

He witnessed Archangel Amanadir handing an infant to Clark Kent, the baby surrounded by a special aura that did not belong to the entire multiverse.

Just as Lucifer was about to approach and observe, a long-lost, chilling pressure descended from the sky—the first time since the Fall that God had cast his gaze upon his son.

Even.

It's just a warning.

This was also the only time Lucifer felt that God was still there since he chose to fall.

unbeatable.

Unchallenged.

Even today, Lucifer cannot forget it.

The music from the bar was echoing.

"Respect the unknown."

Lucifer suddenly raised his glass.

Under Crowley's bewildered gaze.

He downed his drink in one gulp. Crowley quickly followed suit, but as he tilted his head back, he missed the fleeting complexity in Lucifer's eyes—no one could discern the depth of emotion contained within them.

“Alright, now we should continue enjoying ‘Heaven’s Demise’ directed by God.” Lucifer suddenly laughed again, looking at the TV screen as if nothing had happened.

in the screen.

The disaster in the metropolis may be over.

However, Gotham, where the superheroes live, remains extremely busy.

A gray mist hangs over the ruins of Gotham, a hazy haze of pollution. The once bustling streets are now nothing but ruins and a pile of corrupted fallen angels.

In this somewhat sanity-destroying apocalyptic scene.

Several lithe figures were moving quickly.

They were carrying high-tech water guns, moving around every corner, whether it was the alleyways of the East District or the ruins of houses that had been removed.

Wherever there is a source of pollution, there is the Justice League.

The water gun, a seemingly comical weapon, actually contains a purifying fluid. It was something Batman rushed to make, capable of instantly neutralizing and removing the pollutants from Angel's body.

"The alleyways in the East District have been cleared."

Steelbone's voice came through the communicator.

"Three more corrupted angels have been discovered and have been purified." Batman stood on the roof of a half-collapsed apartment building, his cape fluttering gently in the stench of decay. In his hand he held a strangely shaped high-pressure water gun, its barrel covered with Batman's signature black technological patterns.

“Pay attention to the seven o’clock direction.” His deep voice rang out in the Justice League channel. “There’s a strong abnormal energy reaction there; there should be more than one corrupted angel gathered there.”

It's not just people cleaning up the pollution sources.

Others are cleaning up the pollution that has spread.

The Flash darted about like a red lightning bolt, precisely spraying a pale blue liquid from his water gun. The liquid hissed as it touched the black, viscous substance seeping from the ground.

Wisps of smoke rose up.

Subsequently.

The pollution on the ground was thus purified.

"Seriously."

The Flash ran while making sarcastic remarks.

“I never imagined that the daily life of a superhero would become—the daily life of a firefighter.” He slammed on the brakes and pulled the trigger, aiming at the shadows in the corner.

In the shadows struck by the blue liquid, a curled-up angel suddenly trembled violently. His once jet-black wings began to shed their filth, gradually returning to their pure white color.

But the process was clearly excruciating; the angel let out a heart-wrenching scream and collapsed to her knees—though she eventually regained her senses and stopped chanting that filthy hymn.

Wonder Woman quickly stepped forward.

The Lasso of Truth was binding a defiled angel who had begun to sing even more filthy hymns, frantically praising the God of All Laws, Ion: "Calm down! The purification process will soon be over."

She also used a water gun to purify the angel's body of impurities.

however.

The new hymns did not stop.

Wonder Woman could only release the bound angel. The next moment, the angel, who had lost her glory and the power link with Heaven, regained true clarity in her eyes.

The powerless angel raised his head, revealing a handsome but haggard face. His eyes were filled with wariness, and he instinctively shrank back when he saw the fully armed heroes around him.

"What did you do to me?"

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

With a whooshing sound, Batman leaped from the rooftop, his cape unfurling like bat wings: "We've cleansed you of the corruption. You're safe now."

While talking.

Batman scanned the angel in front of him with his device. Just like the angels who had been purified of corruption before, the angels showed information feedback in his device that was just like that of an ordinary person.

"Mortals, you should not interfere in the affairs of angels." The angel, still maintaining his arrogant attitude, stood up unsteadily and tried to spread his restored white wings and ascend into the sky.

Although he crashed into the ruins after flying less than ten meters, he still insisted on getting up and continuing to try—he looked like an ordinary person with a pair of degenerated wings on his back.

"I bet there's a rule in Heaven's orientation program that says 'Never accept help from humans.'" Aquaman couldn't help but make a sarcastic remark when he saw how arrogant the angels were.

"You can rest here for now. I will arrange safe accommodation for you and help you find a way back to heaven. You don't need to worry about anything else."

Batman continued to step forward and try to persuade him.

“Angels don’t need mortals’ charity; we will solve our own problems.” The handsome angel raised his head and looked at the mortal in battle armor.

He ultimately just nodded slightly.

No help was accepted.

This is not the first time this has happened. Although the superheroes have purified the angels from the corruption, the angels who have lost their powers still retain their pride.

"Why are they all so stubborn?" Not far away.

Steelbone sighed helplessly.

Similar dialogues played out repeatedly in every corner of Gotham. In the ruins of a bombed-out church in the East Side, an angel, after being rescued, immediately rejected Superman's suggestion.

“I know who you are, and we know who Bruce is. I don’t want to be a sample on his lab table.” Perhaps the angels had more respect for Superman than for Batman. At least this angel bowed slightly to Superman in thanks before folding his broken wings and staggering away.

At the exit of an underground pipe, another angel, after being purified, didn't even want to look at Batman, leaving only the words "We will find our way home" before turning away without looking back.

Not a single angel was willing to accept the aid. Although they expressed their gratitude, they maintained the arrogance and aloofness typical of higher-dimensional beings.

"This is like saving a bunch of rich guys from heaven."

Batman sighed.

Didn't stop it.

Because he had already conducted a danger assessment of these powerless angels, he estimated that most of them would have to be locked up in mental hospitals until the angels regained their power.

As for the remaining half, they either end up in illegal factories or are trafficked to brothels.

"Is this the suffering that angels must endure?" Just as Batman was boldly speculating about the thoughts of the Supreme Will, Superman Clark flew over with an empty water gun.

"Bruce, we've cleared all the areas."

Superman landed beside Batman, his red cape fluttering gently in the Gotham wind. He gazed at the angels being purified in the distance, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

"Ah."

Batman nodded.

“Bruce, you’re really amazing,” Superman suddenly said, his voice carrying a deliberate air of admiration. “To be able to come up with a solution in such a short time.”

He paused.

His blue eyes narrowed slightly.

"I think you were prepared for this, weren't you?"

This is not actually a question, but a statement made with certainty.

Batman didn't respond immediately; his gaze remained fixed on a dilapidated building in the distance. The ruins of Gotham cast long shadows in the setting sun.

However, Clark did not let this silence pass by. He asked abruptly with a forced smile, "Can you tell me what the raw materials of this purification fluid are?"

Hear the words.

Bruce's body stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment.

He slowly turned his head, his eyes beneath the mask appearing exceptionally deep in the shadows: "Believe me, Clark, you probably don't want to know the answer to this question."

In this regard.

Superman just gave another forced smile.

“Let me guess, yes, just guess.” Superman crossed his arms, his tone suddenly turning sharp, “You have a share in our family’s sewer cleaning company, right?”

As soon as these words came out.

Batman, who was still organizing his equipment, suddenly stopped.

"?????"

Batman was uncharacteristically stunned.

"What are you talking about?"

His tone was one of utter speechlessness.

The eyebrows under the mask almost reached the hairline.

At this point, Clark's expression turned serious: "I watched you take out those big barrels labeled with Ian's name and then create these so-called purification fluids."

He pointed to an empty container not far away.

The old father clearly only started settling scores after things were under control.

"Ok?"

suddenly.

Wonder Woman flew over after finishing her work.

"Using the pollution Ian created to combat another kind of pollution, good idea, Bruce." Wonder Woman smiled and gave Batman a thumbs up.

Before she could continue her teasing and lighten the tense atmosphere, Batman sighed heavily and pressed his hands to his temples.

“I just acquired some hospitals in Metropolitan, the hospitals that Metropolitan schools designate for physical examinations.” Batman didn’t seem to be trying to hide his actions. He paused, as if choosing his words carefully, “It was blood. I used your son’s blood thinner, plus some other chemicals.”

This explanation made Clark's expression slightly awkward.

Is that so?

Clark's voice lowered.

He suddenly began to agree with Wonder Woman's words; Ian might really have the legendary Ian virus, which could pollute and corrupt the Kryptonians' way of thinking.

No one in the Justice League was surprised that Batman would collect Ian's blood, as well as the blood of others, not even Ian's father.

after all.

Even Ian, the invincible Father God with super wisdom, had his blood collected by Batman, a cunning villain. Gotham's monster truly has all sorts of bizarre methods.

"So the blood of the gods has this effect." Wonder Woman raised her eyebrows with interest, her gaze shifting between the two men, even suspecting that Batman had secretly imprisoned some gods for research.

Otherwise, it wouldn't explain why Bruce was able to choose Ian's blood as the material so quickly—no wonder the angels were cautious and wary of Batman.

Sending angels and gods to the experimental table—that's something Batman is capable of doing. Everyone present knows that Batman's secret laboratory might contain anything.

“Ian has not participated in any physical examinations since he started high school. What I was able to collect was his blood sample from when he was an ordinary person.”

"As for why it works, don't ask me." Batman suddenly pushed aside Superman who was blocking his way. As the two passed each other, he spoke meaningfully, his eyes meeting Clark's.

“Either ask Clark, or go to church and ask God.” With that, he strode toward the Batmobile and began a final scan of the entire city.

This is to ensure that no source of pollution is missed.

The Gotham sunset cast a long shadow over him. Just as the atmosphere was about to become awkward, Cyborg's somewhat helpless voice suddenly came through the communicator.

“Uh, guys, I think we have another problem.” His mechanical eyes were flashing with data streams, clearly linked to America’s public network.

Are there other instances of pollution elsewhere?

The Flash and Aquaman were immediately taken aback.

however.

“No, the problem I’m talking about is that Superman still needs to move those residents and houses back.” Cyborg’s tone became increasingly strange, and he replied with some difficulty, “According to my data collection, the disaster relief loans that America’s government provides to Gotham refugees are a very special kind of usury.”

"How special is it? Well, loan sharks are all commenting online that it's the highest-interest loan ever." He paused for a moment before explaining.

"..."

"..."

"..."

The members of the Justice League fell silent at that moment.

Only Cyborg was still checking information while reporting to the Justice League members, saying, "I think those bigwigs in Congress and the banks don't know what they're doing."

“Those are Gotham citizens. After being forced into loans, even the most honest Gotham citizens are now taking stock of their weapons inventory and buying up bullets in large quantities.”

The way Steel Bone "broadcast" is simply astonishing.

"Wait, what are those Gotham citizens planning to do?" Aquaman's pupils suddenly dilated. He wondered if he was finally about to witness the uprising that the land dwellers had been talking about.

"Well, I dare not comment, but Gotham citizens have already raided air force bases in other cities and successfully turned the base soldiers to take control of more than 30 F-35 fighter jets."

Steelbone's voice was hard to describe.

Hear this.

Wonder Woman nearly dropped the Lasso of Truth in her hand.

"What the hell is going on?!" She thought back to when she first arrived in Gotham, to those ruthless people who thought the end of the world had come and wanted to can their neighbors for storage.

"These guys were placed in other cities, like max-level criminals entering a newbie village. The surveillance footage showed that even a kind old lady could pull a rocket launcher out of her super-sized underwear."

Cyborg continued his report, his tone growing increasingly helpless. Everyone looked at the figure using the Batmobile, eager to know who the citizens of Gotham had purchased their weapons from.

"Don't ask me, go ask the damn Jokers."

Batman felt like he was being blamed, and sighed in exasperation. His emotional control was getting worse, and his voice was full of impatience.

Just now.

"Oh no!"

Cyborg's shocked voice rang out again.

"Those guys are actually researching the unlocking program for a nuclear bomb—they got their hands on a nuclear warhead!" Gotham really does produce talent; their talent is far superior to that of Metropolis.

Upon hearing this, Superman immediately transformed into a red and blue afterimage and soared into the sky.

The Flash followed closely behind. Their mission was clear—to move the citizens of Gotham and their property back to the land they were meant to live on.

of course.

The first thing to deal with is the insurgents in those air force bases.

Superman is in charge of high-altitude interception, preventing any F-35s from taking off; The Flash is in charge of ground operations, forcibly taking away citizens who are debating whether to bomb the Capitol or Wall Street with a nuclear bomb.

The most outrageous incident involved an elderly woman in her pajamas who modified a microwave oven into an electromagnetic pulse cannon, causing all electronic devices in half a block to malfunction.

Over the next few hours.

The other members of the Justice League also witnessed what the "Gotham-style homecoming wave" was like—while Superman carried an entire apartment building across the bay, the residents inside were still calmly indulging in food, drink, gambling, and prostitution.

His mental state is top-notch.

"What a bunch of terrorists!" The Flash flew the stolen fighter jet back to the air force base at the speed of light, while the old man from Gotham was still studying the operating manual in the pilot's seat. The most outrageous thing was that an old lady wearing a pearl necklace was still clinging tightly to a metal box labeled "radioactive material" when she was sent back to the ruins of her home.

"This is a souvenir! A souvenir from outside!" the old lady shouted at the Flash, who was trying to reason with her. "My grandson will need it when he goes to college!"

Her words left The Flash at a loss for words.

Batman is still the best.

He immediately handed the old lady a large pen case, displaying his volatile Batman-like demeanor. He snatched the old lady's metal case and then had the Flash take it away for proper disposal.

“Something’s wrong, Bruce.” Clark brought back the last batch of buildings and saw Batman’s condition. He frowned and gave him a warning.

"Ah."

Batman didn't deny it.

He just looked at the hand that he had instinctively swung out, directly knocking the old lady unconscious, and his eyes flickered slightly.

"I will heal myself."

He assured the other Justice League members that he had no intention of seeking help. Instead, he got into his Batmobile and sped off as if to give himself a check-up.

It's unclear where they went, or what secret base they were heading to.

Superman quickly discovered that Bruce's vehicle had disappeared from his sight—clearly, Bruce had previously taken precautions against him after he gained enhanced abilities.

"I have a bad feeling."

Clark looked into the distance.

At this point, after continuous transport work, The Flash and Superman successfully restored most of Gotham's environment, although the buildings that were replanted looked slightly different from before.

“Bruce said he knows what’s wrong with him.” The Flash, clearly having just spoken with Bruce, said to Clark, panting as he leaned on his knees.

“Your speed has decreased by more than half, and your stamina is also depleting. I think the problems in your body are still eroding you.” Superman’s gaze returned to the Flash’s arm.

There.

The grotesque marks still remain.

The Flash looked down at his arm beneath his clothes and said softly, "Bruce told me that if I'm lucky enough, I can get rid of my troubles tonight."

He is clearly unwilling to imagine what would happen if he wasn't lucky.

"If you need help, or if you discover that Bruce has gotten into a bigger problem, let me know immediately," Superman patted the Flash on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"no problem."

The Flash gave Superman an OK sign, then transformed into a red lightning bolt and disappeared at the end of the street—he was clearly heading back to the research facility he had been staying at.

"Everyone can finally get some rest."

Superman glanced around at the other members of the Justice League.

"The way Bruce looks makes it impossible for me to get up in peace—who knows if I'll wake up one morning to find a bunch of bio-engineered female warriors created by Bruce on Earth."

Wonder Woman is also very worried about Batman's current mental state.

"Yeah yeah."

Aquaman and Cyborg looked at each other and gave the same response.

"I'll find a way to keep an eye on Bruce when I get back." Superman was naturally worried, and he made that promise before looking toward Metropolis.

Under the watchful eyes of a host of superheroes.

The invincible Superman vanished from the spot in an instant.

He was in a hurry—Clark had just landed amidst the ruins of his own yard when he saw Ian and Jordan wrestling over a gleaming belt.

"Let me play for a while! I'm my brother's favorite!"

Ian choked Jordan and pinned him to the ground.

"Bullshit! He still owes me two girlfriends! I should play with his belt!" Jordan retorted, reaching under Ian's armpit, causing Ian to let out a wicked, lewd laugh.

"What's going on now?"

Superman was standing not far away.

The cloak hung limply.

"Can someone explain this?"

He stood in front of the ruins.

I glanced at Ian and Jordan wrestling, then at Jonathan standing helplessly to the side, and at Madison carrying a lamppost, eating barbecue, and cheering Ian on.

"Jordan is an easy winner; he has to compete with the MVP for that magical transformation belt." Madison noticed Superman's gaze and mumbled an explanation while chewing on his barbecue.

She explained it before Jonathan could, and Superman felt that listening to her was just like listening to Ian—he still didn't understand anything.

“Uh, Dad, here’s what happened.” Jonathan scratched his head, walked forward somewhat embarrassedly, and for the next ten minutes he recounted his experience of meeting the white-bearded old man in his dream.

After hearing this, Superman's expression froze for a full five seconds.

"You mean."

Clark asked, enunciating each word carefully, as if to confirm he hadn't misheard, "An old man in a bathrobe took a belt out of the television and gave it to you, and then you could pray to the gods to borrow power?"

"The last time I heard about something like this was Shazam and his little story." Clark certainly knew Shazam, but Shazam hadn't joined the Justice League.

That special superhero needs to prioritize his studies in his daily life.

Faced with his father's question.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Seeing this, Clark frowned, beginning to wonder if Jonathan should see Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

“Honestly, I find it very strange too, but that’s how it happened.” Jonathan seemed to sense his father’s suspicion, sighed, and strode over to Ian and Jordan, who were still fighting. He snatched the belt they were fighting over and, to his father’s astonishment, fastened it around his own waist.

"Transform!"

A dazzling blue light erupted instantly, and Jonathan's figure rapidly shifted within the light. When the light dissipated, a figure covered in mysterious armor and surrounded by ancient runes appeared before everyone.

Most shockingly, as he gently waved his hand, the mud on the ground began to dance on its own, arranging itself into a neat square formation, as if performing some kind of mysterious ritual.

"??????"

Superman's mouth dropped open.

His jaw almost dropped to the ground.

"."

silence.

There was a long silence.

It's unclear how Superman convinced himself to accept this fact. He looked at his new home, now a ruin, sighed, and reached out to pick up his three children.

“Perfect timing, you can join the ranks of those cutting down trees to build your home now.” Superman’s ability to accept things is truly remarkable. Perhaps it’s due to proper training, but he took the three of them and prepared to take off back to his hometown.

"I can also help you fix your house. As a witch, I need to work on my strength regularly," Madison suddenly said, extending her lamp to Superman.

"..."

With one hand carrying three boys and the other holding a Madison streetlamp, Superman took off instantly and sped toward the Kent family's farm that had been their property for generations.

"I don't want to repair the house! I'll buy you a big house!"

Ian's resistance was ultimately futile.

He was still forced to join in cutting down trees, draining the moisture from the trees, and piecing together the house—and after working for more than half an hour, he finally seized the opportunity to escape with Madison.

Clark and his two brothers, who were fully engaged, didn't react in time.

Until the new house is built.

Superman then realized that Ian had disappeared sometime earlier, and there was only a demon head in the compartment mimicking the voices of Ian and Madison.

"What about people?"

He ignored the fact that the demon's head was still mimicking the behavior of a human being.

He looked around in astonishment.

at last.

The old father pinpointed the location of Ian and Madison—it was Gotham.

“Black Angel, come to me.”

"Don't worry, the white angel is going to the delinquent girl's place. They don't do screw-ups there."

obviously.

Capitalists are masters at seizing opportunities.

So, Ian's Greatest Tech Group started hiring.

(End of this chapter)