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

Chapter 145 The Dream God Strikes! Is Batman Doomed?

Superman stood at the window of the half-finished wooden cabin, staring at the job postings on the roadside in the direction of Gotham. Not only were his eyes twitching, but the muscles in his cheeks were also twitching uncontrollably.

no way.

It's because my father's eyesight and hearing are still very good.

He not only witnessed Ian conning a group of powerless angels, but also heard Madison holding a megaphone and shouting something about a "Heavenly Re-employment Project" in broken Latin.

"Puff puff."

The demonic bullhead made a cautious sound.

Seeing Superman's increasingly contorted expression, the hellish creature completely panicked. It clearly thought that its clumsy imitation had angered this god among men.

otherwise.

It doesn't explain why even the most controlled Superman can't control his facial muscles.

"Ian forced me to do this!" The Minotaur suddenly slid to his knees, his head sliding three meters across the wooden floor, stopping right at Superman's feet as he wept bitterly. "I didn't want to! I'm just an ordinary trash can! But Ian forced me to learn from the other filthy demons and use my voice to bewitch you."

It was clear that its demonic nature and instincts had been aroused. The guy secretly glanced at Superman's ashen face, his voice growing softer and softer, filled with fear and unease.

"Please don't crush my head."

How could I not be afraid?

The demonic bullhead knew that the Superman before him was becoming increasingly malevolent, and that there was even a faint divine presence within him. Heaven knows what version of Superman he was dealing with.

"Shut up already." Superman sighed, rubbing his temples. He turned around and saw Jordan standing in the doorway, staring intently at the demon's head on the ground.

Clark's muscles trembled uncontrollably again—don't forget, he's now Superman who can hear thoughts, and he knows exactly what his second son is thinking even if he doesn't say it.

Of course, the demon bull-headed creature didn't have that ability, but it did have the perception of a demon after all. Seeing Jordan's strange look, it was so frightened that its entire head began to fade wildly.

"Don't let him come any closer! Please! Superman!"

It's hard to imagine that one day, the devil would be asking Superman for help.

"..."

Superman put the demon's head directly into a wooden box. The demon's head did not refuse; on the contrary, it felt somewhat safe. Superman sent it, along with the box, directly to the North Pole.

Lonely Fortress.

The round trip didn't take Clark much time at the moment, and he also brought back Louise, who was placed in the Lonely Fortress. Along the way, he was bombarded with complaints from Louise.

The old father was naturally depressed.

When the elderly father returned to his new home, he saw Jordan still peering out the window.

"Get out to work!" Superman grabbed Jordan by the collar and strode towards the door. He had just breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Louise, who had put down her luggage, speak with dissatisfaction.

"What did Ian mean when he said you wouldn't let him buy me the Big House because you were jealous?" After regaining a cell phone signal, Louise held her phone and saw the delayed text message she had just received.

"Meow meow meow~"

An orange cat emerged from the handbag at her feet and was affectionately rubbing against Louise's ankle, who was carrying a can of premium food. It mimicked the meow of a dead cat and was happily picked up by Louise.

"speak."

Louise is holding up her phone.

Clark was shown Ian's 5,000-word essay, written in a very Weibo-like style. It's quite reasonable that the owner of this studious child is also a tattletale; Superman felt that today was the hardest day of his life.

“You know Ian sometimes likes to exaggerate… Our little home is quite cozy, and we should set a good example and not condone Ian’s extravagant spending.”

Clark's super brain was used in similar scenarios.

He came up with a quick idea.

They provided a solution that demonstrated the wisdom of the logging community.

Makes sense.

However, women often don't like to reason.

"Is that so?"

Louise raised an eyebrow and swiped her finger across the phone screen: "But he said he earned his money from Bruce through his own hard work, by getting eighty dollars for every time he got hit in the face."

Mom looked up at Clark.

"I think maybe he just wants to show us respect?"

Women's thinking is naturally more emotional, and the thought of Ian working illegally for Bruce to earn money to buy her a big house filled her with immense warmth.

of course.

There's also the reason why Louise would never want to live in a big house.

Every woman dreams of living in a big house.

"..."

Clark couldn't find a reason to refute Louise's statement for a moment, after all, Ian didn't seem to be wrong—Ian's little essay for Louise was indeed that terrifying.

Short essays, some true and some false.

It's truly irresistible.

"Actually, we also like Big House."

After Jordan was exposed, he worked with Jonathan on lumber. He seized the opportunity to express his demands to Clark, and also dragged Jonathan, who didn't really care, into it.

"You can earn money through legal means to buy what you want." Clark's earnest advice did not give the second brother a profound understanding.

"It's making money, it's making money."

My second brother has already found his own way to make money.

However, Clark saw right through his thoughts.

"Jordan, I've already warned you, registering with those not-so-active superheroes and then selling them so-called Kryptonian health products is not a legitimate business."

Clark was extremely frustrated and tried in a low voice to steer Jordan back to the right path—however, he discovered that Jordan's mind was starting to lean towards selling Kryptonian offspring to private hospitals again.

"..."

The elderly father was completely dumbfounded.

It is clear that they have encountered the most difficult Kryptonian crisis in history.

"Those aren't ordinary health supplements."

“I did add some of my blood to it, so how can it not be considered a genuine Kryptonian health supplement? Even if I don’t sell it, Ian will eventually drag me to his health supplement processing plant.”

Jordan, unaware that his thoughts had been read so clearly, responded confidently, clearly showing that he, like Louise, enjoyed peeking into Ian's notebook.

However, Louise prefers to read Ian's diary, and after awakening his super brain, he realizes that he can sneak a peek at Ian's "business plan" when Ian goes out.

of course.

Jordan's description of Ian's grand plan here is actually a bit exaggerated. The "business plan" clearly states that he was tricked into working as a tester at a silicone molding factory.

"........."

The old father's silence was always so resounding.

Fortunately, only he could hear Jordan's inner thoughts.

Louise, however, was more concerned about her accommodations for the night. While petting the cat that had popped out of her handbag, she looked at the unfinished wooden bed.

"I think the backrest should be ergonomically designed so that we can lean against it when we read or study at night," Louise said to Jonathan, who was working.

"no problem."

The older brother immediately agreed.

“You seem quite skilled.” Louise sat on the half-finished sofa, gently stroking the orange cat in her arms, but her eyes were fixed on the headboard that Jonathan was carving.

She watched as her son, clad in that mysterious armor, frantically carved wood with a chisel. Amidst the flying sawdust, a distorted human figure gradually took shape—a bizarre image resembling a belly dancer, its limbs twisted at impossible angles, its expression a half-smile.

"."

Louise's hand, which was petting the cat, suddenly stopped.

“Darling,” she said, trying to remain calm, her voice tinged with unease, “I don’t think this is ergonomically designed. Did you sculpt a dancing person on it?”

To be honest, Louise didn't even dare to imagine what kind of nightmare it would be like to lie in the arms of an Indian man while she was sleeping in this bed at night, with her back against the headboard.

"Hahaha~"

Jordan laughed until his stomach hurt.

Wearing armor, Jonathan scratched his head sheepishly. He looked at the tools in his hands. "Well, I didn't actually want to carve it like this. It just happened by some strange twist of fate."

His carving knife began to move again, attempting to correct the distorted human figure. However, after his "refinement," the image on the backrest gradually transformed from a distorted figure into an even more distorted one.

The "person" now appears to be performing some kind of cult ritual.

"So, the price of wearing this armor is that your aesthetic sense will be affected?" Louise took out a bottle of red wine from her handbag.

She was trying hard to accept and understand what was happening. Her mother had also heard about Jonathan's situation, and while she was shocked, she was also happy for him.

After all, she was always most worried that Jonathan, who had no abilities, would develop some psychological problems because of his ordinary identity, so even now she was trying her best to consider Jonathan's feelings.

"I do not know either."

Jonathan answered honestly, but his hands didn't stop moving. Wood chips continued to fly, and the carving on the backrest had now turned into an indescribable mass of lines.

You can vaguely make out three human figures entangled together.

Louise's expressions became increasingly fascinating.

He guzzled red wine down his throat.

"I'll do it."

Clark finally couldn't stand it any longer, his eyes glowing red. His thermal vision precisely swept across the backrest, smoothing out the eerie carvings and reshaping them into smooth, ergonomic curves.

"Actually, you don't need to be so meticulous. In fact, Mom and Dad, have you ever thought that if you don't let Ian buy the big house, he might find a chance to blow up the house?"

Jordan is no longer the laughing Jordan.

Instead, he sat down on the unfinished wooden sofa and muttered to himself. As Ian's second brother, who had been closest to him since childhood, Jordan knew Ian's ways of doing things far better than the rest of the family.

"..."

Clark's eyes paused for a moment, and Louise's wine glass stopped at her lips, just as everyone seemed to have been reminded by Jordan.

There was a sudden knock on the door.

"Dong dong dong."

The pace was steady, neither too fast nor too slow.

This slightly dispelled the eerie atmosphere in the room.

"I'll go open the door." Louise looked back several times as she went. No one knows a child better than their mother. She felt that Jordan's words made sense, so she wanted to take a good look at her new home.

My mom started to develop a sixth sense.

Having already decided on this new home, she might not even live there for more than a few days—perhaps this is the superpower every woman possesses; Louise's intuition is remarkably accurate.

I saw.

Louise opened the creaking wooden door, and stood a middle-aged man in a suit and tie. He had his hair neatly combed back and wore a kind, benevolent smile.

She was also holding a nice briefcase.

"Who am I looking for?"

Louise asked in surprise, not recalling seeing the man among her neighbors, and in this sinful time most people wouldn't visit strangers.

"Is this Mr. Ian Kent's temporary shelter?"

The man flashed an even more approachable smile, his attitude bordering on obsequious. "I am Phil Dunfield, a top real estate agent at Modern Properties."

Hear the words.

Louise's eyelids twitched.

Phil had already taken out a gold-embossed business card from his briefcase and handed it over with both hands: "I have found a suitable property for Mr. Ian Kent that perfectly meets his requirements."

talking.

Phil also pulled out an exquisite photo album.

“We don’t actually need to move to a new house.” Louise forced a polite smile, but her gaze unconsciously drifted to the headboard behind her, which Jonathan had carved beyond recognition.

In this regard.

Phil seemed to have expected this, and he wasn't disappointed at all. He simply handed the album to Louise, saying, "Mr. Ian Kent told me that I still need to help him convince his incredibly stubborn parents who like to reminisce about the past."

He glanced at the dilapidated wooden house with some emotion, thinking that Ian's description was quite accurate; such a wealthy family actually lived in a wooden house that seemed like a gift from nature.

It's really unexpected.

of course.

Phil felt he could understand.

Many wealthy people, once their material needs are met, enjoy engaging in these "pretending to be weak while actually being strong" tactics.

"How do you plan to convince me?" Louise flipped to the first page of the leather photo album, and a modern mansion covering nearly a thousand square meters came into view.

It features floor-to-ceiling windows, a smart home system, a heated swimming pool with massage function, and a large wine cellar.

“It’s really beautiful,” Louise said apologetically, her fingers gently tracing the spacious, bright kitchen in the photo. “But it doesn’t look like a place we could live in.”

This was clearly an attempt to politely decline Phil's offer.

“This house is currently on sale at a 30% discount, and I’ve contacted the owner, a very kind and wealthy man. He said he would help Mr. Ian Kent, who is interested in buying it, and work with me to persuade you.” Phil lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret he couldn’t tell anyone else.

Just as Louise was about to ask more questions, Clark arrived after hearing the commotion.

"Oh? How does this wealthy tycoon you're talking about plan to persuade us?" His super hearing had already caught up with the conversation, and his Kryptonian intuition told him that there was a conspiracy at play.

“To be honest, I’m not clear on the specifics either.” Phil glanced at his watch, somewhat puzzled. “Logically, the ‘lobbying expert’ assigned by the homeowner should have come with me.”

most of the time.

Things can't withstand constant nagging. Just then, a black minivan slowly pulled up to the side of the road. The door opened, and three people with distinctly different demeanors stepped out.

The first person was wearing a polo shirt with "Community Improvement Program" printed on it.

Holding a resident satisfaction survey form in his hand.

The second person, carrying a briefcase with the logo of a child protection agency, had a serious expression. Clark could already hear what the person was thinking; this was a staff member investigating a child abuse case.

"..."

Clark was stunned. He also deduced that the other party had accepted a $100,000 bribe from an unknown wealthy man and was determined to portray him and Louise as inferior parents.

“This area is slated to become a stinking garbage dump, and now this family is the only one left to be relocated.” The third man had a “City Planning Bureau” work badge tucked into his suit pocket.

They walked toward where Louise, Clark, and Phil were standing—this was undoubtedly a powerful lobbying team, and even the most powerful members of the Justice League were starting to tremble.

It's not just Clark.

Louise, who was dumbfounded, seemed to realize what kind of person the wealthy and kind tycoon was.

"Damn Bruce! What is he trying to do?" Louise looked at her husband indignantly, while Clark's gaze was already fixed on Gotham.

Of course, he couldn't find any trace of Gotham's Deceptive Master.

but.

That glimpse.

But it also allowed him to see Ian's booming "career".

I saw.

It was in front of a dilapidated church.

The night was deep, and the wind whispered through the ruins of Gotham, as if still recounting the cathedral's former glory. Now, only ruins remained, the dome collapsed, and stained glass windows shattered.

however.

The place was bustling with activity. Ian Kent was standing on a pile of bricks, with a huge banner hanging behind him: "Heaven's Office on Earth - Angel Re-employment Registration Office".

"The Gotham Angels Re-employment Center has officially opened. Its first CEO, Ian Kent, said that it will create 500 jobs in heaven. First come, first served. Those who come later may lose their chance to go home."

"If you arrive too late, there is no way to heaven!!"

"Black angels and white angels, they are all good angels!!"

"No 998, no 668!!"

"As long as you are willing to atone for your sins, heaven is not a dream!!"

"Boss Ian is kind-hearted; he can't bear to see angels fall to earth!!"

"Work hard today, enjoy paradise tomorrow!!"

"Believe in Ian, and you will have eternal life!!"

"Trust Ian, and you'll return to heaven!!"

"Three days left! Three days left!!"

"If you miss today, you'll have to wait another thousand years!!"

This is certainly not Ian himself promoting it.

He also had a large loudspeaker with a black box embedded in it, which continuously broadcast a specific frequency of sound to the whole city—Madison shouting at the top of his lungs.

As CEO, Ian certainly wouldn't shout himself, but luckily the young woman was with him and could do it for him, her intonation perfectly capturing the feeling of a leather factory in Jiangnan.

It's obvious that Ian taught them well.

"Line up! Don't push!"

Ian waved a baton he'd picked up from who-knows-where and shouted at the group of black-winged angels in front of him, "Those who have registered, go to the left to collect your angel badges."

“I’ve already sent people to find a factory, and soon everyone will be able to begin their atonement.” Ian, dressed in a white mimicry robe, was acting as a great philanthropist, doing his utmost to help the homeless angels.

Don't ask why you're homeless.

Anyway, the angels would be homeless even if they returned to Heaven—Lord Ian couldn't bear to see these displaced angels sleeping on the streets, so he chose to stand up and help the group of powerless angels.

"Uh, what's an employee badge?" The black angels looked at each other, bewildered. They were originally corrupted and fallen battle angels, but now they were lining up like college students seeking employment.

“I know, I know, it’s what those laborers in the sugarcane plantations of America dreamed of.” Madison had indeed been to school, but she remembered this history thanks to her slave-owning ancestors.

Perhaps it was because her ancestors had once been glorious, so Madison seemed to be doing a great job now. She was in charge of the white angels, registering their height, weight, measurements, and special skills.

"Ok?"

Some of the angels familiar with history frowned, but after turning to look at Ian again, they didn't think too much about it; after all, they still had the eyes of angels.

One can see the radiant glory of an archangel on Ian.

"Your Excellency, may I ask why we are required to perform labor?" One of the tall black angels hesitated before stepping forward. The angels in their line were not required to register their height, weight, or body measurements.

“You can interpret this as God’s test for you.” Ian spoke earnestly, his compassionate demeanor striking the angels, and the radiance emanating from him was dazzling.

"I see."

The angels connected their fall from heaven with this, realizing that God was indeed dissatisfied with some aspects of them, so He sent an archangel to guide them to change.

"I understand!"

The black angel knelt on one knee in reverence.

"This is a test given to us by the Lord! I am willing to accept all suffering!"

He loudly proclaimed his stance to the other angels. The other dark angels followed suit, kneeling and praying as if Ian were not mortal, but a glorious incarnation descended from heaven.

"Yes, yes, yes, it's a test. You, the most devout one, will get an extra meal every night from now on."

Ian took out his magic book and had all the angels sign "Ian's Labor Contract" in turn—this was a newly created "document" magic derived from [Ian's Magic Book].

The black angels stepped forward one by one, pressing their fingertips onto the pages. Instantly, their names turned into ink, merging into the spine of the book. The magic book closed a page with satisfaction.

Continue chewing its "food".

Yes, the book is crunching and gnawing at a pitch-black notebook, the pages fluttering like butterflies, as if being greedily devoured by an invisible mouth.

"What is this book eating?" an angel couldn't help but ask.

“Never mind it,” Ian waved his hand. “The child is just starving.”

The angels nodded, asking no more questions, and instead threw themselves into the registration process with even greater enthusiasm. Meanwhile, not far away on the other side, a girl in a white suit and glasses without lenses was holding a microphone, asking a group of handsome angels questions, constantly tallying the abilities they possessed.

"Special skills?" she asked without looking up.

"I can bless a thousand souls at the same time," a female angel said proudly.

Madison rolled her eyes: "Can you dance?"

"what?"

The beautiful female angel was very confused.

"Ugh, you're really useless." Madison sighed. "Oh well, as long as you're good-looking, that's enough. Go to livestream room number 3. Today I'll teach you how to call your family members 'muah' first."

The angels were puzzled.

But thinking that this was a test for returning to Heaven, they all obediently followed the arrangements—perhaps Batman's previous speculation was correct, that the angels would either end up in illegal factories or be abducted to brothels. The only thing he hadn't anticipated was that the new-age brothels, illegal factories, and even mental hospitals were all opened together by a rising star from the same capitalist family.

Yes, that's right. Ian is going to arrange for these handsome male and female angels to do live streams, make money, and sell products. The only conscience of the evil god is that he doesn't need the angels to sleep with the top spender.

As for the Black Angel.

Their live streams are definitely not going to be very effective, because they can't save on electricity costs at night.

So of course, they all have to be sent to the factory to shine and generate heat.

“Family! I know you want to go back to heaven! But God may have heard MacArthur say—the sun always shines after the storm! There is no such thing as a free homecoming.”

Just at this time.

Ian also floated into the air, with seventy-two pure wings mimicking the [Myriad Manifestations] behind him, and the glory emanating from his body concealed the false reality.

"You were once the guardians of Heaven, the purest light before God's throne." Ian's voice was not loud, but it rose and fell, its impassioned tone piercing the hearts of every angel. "But now, you have fallen to this mortal world, your wings stained with dust, your faith wavering, and you have even begun to doubt—whether Heaven is still willing to accept you?"

He paused, glancing around. Every gaze met his, as if he weren't speaking, but looking directly into their pure souls.

"I tell you, the answer is: Yes! As long as you work hard, you can go back to Heaven!" These words resounded like thunder, shaking the hearts of all the angels.

It swept away their confusion and fear.

“You may be banished, judged, or tested… but that doesn’t mean your fate is over!” Ian’s voice rose higher and higher. “Heaven has never truly closed its doors; it is simply waiting, waiting for you to prove yourselves again—through your actions, your perseverance, and your tireless efforts to earn the recognition behind those doors!”

"Whether it's tightening screws or live-streaming to sell my products, these are all tests, steps on the path to redemption! You don't need to question the significance of these tasks, because they are opportunities given to you by God—to temper you in suffering and elevate you in ordinariness!" Ian's seventy-two wings were fluttering wildly.

His voice was incredibly infectious.

“Someone asked me, ‘Kind Ian, can we really go back?’” He smiled slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mysterious yet firm light. “I would say: Of course we can. As long as you are willing to give, willing to fight, and willing to believe—you will eventually spread your wings again, fly through the clouds, and return to that sacred land.”

“This is not a lie, this is hope.” His voice lowered, yet became all the more sincere. “You are not losers, but warriors whose mission is not yet complete. You are not fallen, but children on their way home. So remember—work hard for Ian, and you will return to heaven.”

This is not just a slogan, but a promise;
This is not a scam, but an opportunity;
This is not a lie, but a choice. Working for me is a test of your will, letting you know the suffering of all beings; live streaming is about connecting with the world, letting you understand their worries and anxieties.

"The 007 work hours are also meant to allow everyone to experience and understand the time when God created the world in seven days! How can we meet God without going through trials and tribulations!"

He stretched out his hand.

Pointing to the distant night sky:
"Look, the starlight has not faded, and Heaven is still waiting for you to return." This speech was truly a great success, as if the little mustache had possessed him, and it resonated with the hearts of almost every angel.

The angels were silent.

This was followed by thunderous applause and cheers.

The angels were so moved by the presentation that some even began to shed tears. Later, the angels rushed to sign the contracts, afraid of missing out on this "precious opportunity."

The white and black angels had no objection to the contract that they belonged to Ian 24/7, since it was perfectly reasonable for the Lord's test to require working around the clock.

To know.

They used to brainwash people with the same PUA tactics they encountered when they encountered penitents, using the same words that they needed to restrain their behavior 24 hours a day, every moment.

now.

It's their turn to need redemption.

Naturally, they would desperately try to grasp this hope of salvation—no one could say for sure whether Ian's behavior was just an absurd hoax, or perhaps the angels could truly gain the necessary tempering from this experience.

Angels were bowing and worshipping Ian, and hymns of praise echoed through the dilapidated church. Ian stood on a makeshift pulpit, holding a cup of milk tea with three times the amount of pearls.

He was in high spirits, but it didn't last long, because suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure silently entering the church, which had no complete roof, accompanied by angels.

Morpheus, the god of dreams, lifted his foot, took a step, and in the next moment, without any of the angels realizing it, he arrived in front of a fairly intact chair and slowly sat down.

He didn't say anything. He just calmly watched Ian, who had realized he was there and started frantically slurping his milk tea, his cheeks puffing out twenty-four times a second.

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +199]

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +199]

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +199]

……

As system notifications continued to appear, Ian finally received the upgrade he had hoped for.

[Level Up!]

【Entropy Annihilation Lord Lv11 [1300/10240]】

Strength: 332-384

[Physical fitness: 375-401]

Intelligence: 25.0-26.1

[Spirit: 129-136]

Before upgrading, Ian's attributes were nourished by divine power and had a slight improvement, but the upgrade was obviously the main improvement, and he became stronger again.

at the same time.

Without Ian even realizing it, the angelic glory around him grew ever brighter, and a divine aura flowed around him, a sight that only the angels could see.

"Lord Ian must be acting on the Lord's will!"

"This radiance, this majesty... there's no mistake!"

The angels saw this.

They all believed that Ian was an archangel who descended to earth with the will of the Lord.

otherwise.

Why did the already overwhelming glory emanating from Ian intensify even further after his speech? Clearly, this demonstrates God's growing trust in this archangel!

He's doing the right thing!

The angels grew even more fervent and convinced. Of course, Ian paid no attention to this; he stopped his speech and, while exchanging glances with the Dream God not far away, slurped down his milk tea.

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +134]

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +99]

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +78]

……

Every second counts.

Ian was also trying his best to minimize his losses.

【Entropy Lord Lv11 [4300/10240]】 He really drank himself into a full stomach, to the point that his body was overloaded to the point where it was difficult to absorb and convert the experience points.

Ian was quite disappointed that the skill "Ultimate Hunger" was still missing some skill points to upgrade. He even considered taking out a loan from the system to borrow skill points to increase his body's capacity to process loads.

"..."

As Ian's cheeks bulged from 24 times per second to 68 times per second, like a starving ghost being reincarnated, Morpheus, the God of Dreams, finally couldn't maintain his composure.

"You should return my things."

The Dream God's voice was soft, yet it caused the temperature in the entire church to plummet. Ian hurriedly wiped his mouth, but before he could respond, Morpheus had already raised his pale finger.

He snapped his fingers lightly—

"Snapped."

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The angels remained frozen in their kneeling posture, Madison's hand holding the live broadcast equipment was suspended in mid-air, and even the falling dust seemed to stand still in the air.

The only ones still able to move were Ian, holding the milk tea, and the Dream God, who was slowly approaching. The angels, having lost their glory, were naturally unable to escape the Dream God's power.

In fact.

Aside from having an extra pair of wings compared to humans, and probably not needing to sleep to replenish their energy, angels are really no different from mortals; they can't even move an object with their thoughts.

“Okay, okay.” Ian is a man of principle, so he usually keeps his promises. He reluctantly handed the wet sandbag back to Morpheus.

"Da da da~"

Morpheus stared at his soaked sandbag. He dared not ask Ian what kind of milk Ian used for his milk tea. This ancient god, who knew little about Ian, was afraid of hearing a frightening answer.

He carefully examined the remaining dream sand inside.

Their silence deepened.

"Um..." Ian blinked, then suddenly put on an embarrassed expression, "Could you leave me a little more? Just a little bit! I helped you find the sandbag, so you should repay me a little."

His words carried a hint of greed, though not entirely greedy.

The Dream God's hand visibly trembled twice. He stared at Ian in silence for a long time, and finally grabbed a small handful of sand from the sandbag and slapped it heavily into Ian's palm.

"As expected, you're the most generous. I'm going to create a generosity ranking for you and Miss Death." Ian was easily satisfied, and he happily poured the gravel into his milk tea cup.

A few tiny crystals slipped through his fingers and silently seeped into the ground. Morpheus didn't stop them; he simply looked silently at the uneven church floor.

The gravel didn't disappear; it seemed to be pulled by some force, constantly sinking down, sinking through layers of soil ten meters, a hundred meters, and many, many meters deep.

It eventually landed on a roof made of a special alloy.

Its texture is unusual, as if it possesses its own will. The moment it comes into contact with the metal, it begins to slowly seep in. In the gaps invisible to the naked eye, it slips in silently, like a drop of water falling into the soil, passing through the defense system, data cables, and steel structure without a sound, and finally landing in the space beneath the alloy roof.

at last.

The sand, barely visible to the average person, lay silently on the ground in front of a pair of combat boots. The blinding white light illuminated the entire laboratory. The owner of the boots sensed something and looked down, but saw nothing.

"Bruce, what are you planning to do?" The Flash, Barry Allen, sat inside the transparent isolation chamber, his fingers nervously tapping his knees.

He watched as Batman outside performed some operations. Batman stood in front of complex equipment, holding a test tube in each hand. The test tube in the superhero's left hand shimmered with rainbow-like light, like solidified aurora, while the test tube in his right hand contained a viscous black substance that occasionally emitted a morbid glow.

"As expected, you retained some of that pollutant, which is not a safe practice. It could adapt to the environment and contaminate you silently."

The Flash's eyes were fixed on the black test tube.

His voice carried an unusual seriousness. Batman did not answer immediately. He placed the two test tubes into the centrifuge, and the instrument immediately emitted a low hum.

“I’ve been infected too.” Bruce’s voice was hoarser than usual as he continued to operate the dashboard. “It’s just that my symptoms are more subtle than yours and Clark’s.”

"So I'm going to try to save myself."

Clearly, after self-examination, Batman, whose personality was somewhat out of control, finally realized where the problem lay, even though he couldn't remember the dreams he had before.

"Clark's feelings about you were actually correct!"

The Flash, startled, paused for a moment before turning his gaze to the rainbow test tube: "What's in there? Can it save us? I think you'd be better off using me for your experiment."

"If you completely lose control because of a dangerous experiment, it won't just be you who's doomed." This is what he and the other Justice League members are most worried about.

“This is a special substance I collected from the air in Metropolis when I dealt with a witch before Ian.” Batman stopped his work and turned to look at him. His eyes, hidden behind his mask, appeared exceptionally deep in the cold light of the laboratory. “Actually, the isolation pod you're in right now isn't protecting me.”

This statement is chilling when you think about it carefully.

The Flash started pounding on the glass dome.

however.

He couldn't stop Batman from making his own decision.

God knows if Batman was deeply influenced by this decision.

Before he could finish speaking, Bruce had already taken out the fused reagent and, under the Flash's shouts and horrified gaze, the Gotham savior injected it into his carotid artery without hesitation.

"Wait! You should at least do some animal testing—"

The Flash's exclamation abruptly ceased.

Batman had already collapsed onto the bed that had been prepared beforehand, as if he had entered some strange dream, and the expression on his face began to become painful yet resolute.

In the air.

The sand that had dripped into the laboratory began to drift.

"Bruce!"

Of course, the Flash inside the isolation chamber couldn't see the sand.

He stared in horror at the strange scars that appeared on his friend's body, the lines moving across Bruce's skin like living things, as he frantically pounded on the isolation pod and looked around.

The Flash knows.

He had to try to find a way to escape.

Bruce was far too audacious.

He needs to inform Superman about the situation as soon as possible!
"I knew I shouldn't have put it in the cage again!"

The Flash tried desperately to use resonance to penetrate the glass, but fortunately Bruce did not use the Speedster's defensive glass again, and he successfully passed through the glass and entered the laboratory.

"What should I do!?"

He first went to check on Bruce's condition.

Just as The Flash pulled out his phone.

"Oh, this looks bad, Flash. Danger is imminent. You might need my help." A voice that Flash knew very well suddenly rang in his mind.

That was the tone of voice that the mysterious boy in his bizarre dream, who treated him like a toy, always used!
[P.S.: Please vote with my monthly tickets at the beginning of the month! I'm going to start updating like crazy.]

(End of this chapter)