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

Chapter 153 The Emperor and Ian's Business!

In the desolate Warhammer universe.

Ian's dimensional projection flickered at the edge of the shattered universe, like an old television with a poor signal. He stared wide-eyed at the absurd scene unfolding at the edge of the broken world.

His father, who always wore his underwear on the outside when he was playing Superman, was working together with a giant in golden armor to press poor Uncle Batman into a golden chair.

"Even erotic chairs are nothing special! Is this the kind of content that minors can watch with their parents' supervision?" Ian stared wide-eyed, speechless.

Bruce's clothes were all torn to shreds.

Its body was covered with at least nine kilograms of mysterious slime, which, apart from its eerie color, looked exactly like the kind of slime that only appears in Japanese adult films.

Ian saw this situation.

I couldn't resist putting on sunglasses.

That way, he won't let his biased perspective lead him to overthink things.

"Where did I end up? In the Warhammer universe?" Ian looked around, confirming his surroundings. Blood-red storms raged in the sky, the earth cracked into endless abysses, and the air was thick with the stench of decay, madness, and despair. Of course, the most recognizable features were the armored man and his unwashed toilet.

This is no ordinary Batman consciousness space; it is a fragment of the Warhammer 40K universe, one of the core sources of extraterrestrial contamination. No wonder Batman has been acting strangely lately.

"Where's Slaanesh? Where's Nurgle? Where are Tzeentch and Khorne? They're practically my capitalist's four-piece suit!" Ian, using his dimensional projection, began searching everywhere.

He couldn't even imagine how wonderful it would be to lock Tzeentch's brain in a cage and have him develop a strategy game for him every day. Slaanesh is also crucial in contributing to the global decline in birth rates.

If you can add a bit of Khonor to the weapons and a bit of Nurgle to the bio-viruses—the Wayne Enterprises, the Stark Industries, Ian McKellen would be the most lucrative super arms dealer in the American comic book universe!

There are no truly terrifying evil gods in the world.

Only Lord Ian can control the evil god.

"Where are my lucky cats?" Ian, who had grand plans in mind, was filled with the desire to become a capitalist, but his gaze swept across all the broken universes and he still couldn't find the hidden warp god.

"roar--"

Bruce suddenly let out a roar that sounded inhuman.

His pupils split into five vertical pupils, each reflecting Khorne's blood axe, Tzeentch's grimoire, Nurgle's pustules, and Slaanesh's roses, as well as the fifth, the filth of chaos.

"Let me go! I'm perfectly fine! I'm going to kill you two lunatics!! I'm going to get Afu to sue you!! I'm going to lock you up in a mental hospital!!"

"Believe me! I can do it! I am Bruce Wayne! The richest man in the world! If I wanted to, I could even buy the whole of America!" Batman struggled, his eyes filled with chaos and pain, and he let out a low growl, as if some invisible force was eroding his soul.

His desires and tyranny were no longer under control.

"No, Bruce, you're not good at all!" Superman's projection of his soul also possessed unshakeable strength, and he firmly held down Batman, whose body was bursting with strange power.

"Don't get distracted, keep him under control."

The Emperor's voice was like a thousand overlapping harmonies. At that moment, the Emperor seemed to sense something, and slowly raised his head to look in Ian's direction.

Their eyes met.

Ian winked his right eye at him.

"..."

The Emperor did not respond. He looked at his throne and continued to whisper instructions to Superman. Superman increased his strength, and the Kryptonian muscles gleamed with a healthy glow in the shattered universe.

His unscientific biofield actually protected him from the contamination on Batman's body, which means that Ian's long-held aspirations are on the road to success.

“I will help him suppress the contamination.” As the Emperor infused the Golden Throne with psychic energy, the chaos in Batman’s eyes gradually faded, but the slime solidified into crystalline scars.

"What's wrong with me?"

Batman, who had been screaming incessantly, gradually calmed down. The chaos and darkness in his eyes slowly dissipated, replaced by a brief moment of clarity and bewilderment.

"Don't let him get up."

The emperor spoke in a low voice, his tone firm.

"clear."

Superman nodded, still firmly suppressing Batman. Meanwhile, Ian quietly approached the edge of this shattered universe, a ghostly blue dimensional phantom emerging behind him.

It seemed as if they were ready to strike at any moment.

"What's wrong with my Uncle Bruce? Did he get a stomachache and start mutating on the spot, and then you guys caught him red-handed?" Ian looked at Superman with one eye.

The other eye was looking at the emperor.

The Fiend was so adept at using one eye for multiple purposes that his gaze didn't need to move back and forth at all. He approached like a curious cat, hesitated for a moment, but still didn't try to swallow the slime on Batman's body.

Mr. Ian does not have pica.

He always had some foods he ate and some he didn't eat.

"Bruce went mad and tried to take down the evil gods of this universe, but he failed completely and was instead affected by the power of the four evil gods."

Superman was not surprised that Ian could enter this place like him. He looked at Ian, who was taking out a black box and filming Bruce, and responded in a deep voice.

"There are five."

The Emperor corrected Superman's statement.

Psionic flames formed a protective matrix around the throne.

Upon hearing this, Superman turned his head in surprise: "You included the Cthulhu contamination he brought in himself? I've already dealt with that contamination using special methods."

When talking about special methods, Superman glanced at Ian, being careful with his wording so that his youngest son wouldn't realize there were places where he could collect royalties from him and Batman.

"The erosion of the Destruction Realm has merged with his soul and cannot be eradicated. My psychic energy can only maintain a balance for about a hundred years. Until then, you must find a way to solve the problem."

The Emperor's golden armor creaked heavily as he pointed to the crystallizing scar on Bruce's chest, surprisingly believing that Batman might live to be a hundred.

With Superman and the Emperor offering their explanations, Ian gradually pieced things together. It was clear that Batman had messed up some fancy maneuvers.

"No wonder he's my Uncle Bruce, just like me, he likes to self-destruct at the drop of a hat. It's a pity he's not as lucky as me." Ian looked thoughtfully at the golden toilet under Batman's butt.

Of course, that was actually the throne of the Warhammer Emperor, which was part of the Emperor's life support system.

Pass through the Golden Throne.

The severely wounded emperor allowed human life to continue.

Although his body is still slowly decaying.

The history of this thing can be traced back to the Dark Ages, or even earlier.

In the Warhammer universe's lore, the Emperor discovered this ancient artifact in ruins beneath the Asian desert during the Unification Wars, and subsequently restored and modified it. It is a powerful psionic amplifier, enabling the Emperor to continuously emit the light of his Startorch, providing navigational guidance for ships navigating the Warp.

This ensured the safety of the human empire's interstellar travel. Of course, the Golden Throne also served to suppress warp demons attempting to breach the psionic barrier surrounding Terra and flood into the real world. However, for a shattered universe, this function was clearly meaningless.

Its only value might be to sustain the emperor's life as a human being.

"So if my Uncle Bruce is given the toilet to sit on, does that mean you'll have to change positions wherever you want to poop or pee?" Ian was surprised that the Emperor was going to let Batman sit on the toilet until he died. He remembered that in the Warhammer universe, the Emperor couldn't leave the toilet, or he would cause a huge disaster for the whole world.

"Ok?"

The Emperor looked at Ian, who was familiar with his own world, with a meaningful gaze.

“Look around at the world, child, so desolate, without sound, without laughter… I no longer need it. Let it leave with you, as a trace of our world’s existence.” The Emperor said, gripping his greatsword tightly, his eyes revealing an unprecedented resolve.

“My people have actually disappeared for countless years. If I weren’t unable to make decisions on my own, I would have already destroyed this doomsday world with my own hands.”

The emperor's voice was deep and firm.

It was as if he was making his final judgment.

To himself.

Ian was silent.

This was not an emperor lamenting his helplessness, but a deity announcing its own end. The emperor walked to the edge of this floating palace, his eyes reflecting a desolate world. His golden armor began to peel away, revealing pale skin beneath, and his naked body began to change.

Pieces of armor wreckage continued to fall.

Just like an old person on their deathbed.

Trembling, he unbuttoned his old, patched coat.

Between heroes and evil gods.

Often, the difference is just a matter of faith.

And at this time.

The Emperor was ready to abandon his obsessions. This being, once regarded as humanity's hope, began to ascend, now exuding a suffocating sense of oppression.

"what happened to him?"

Superman finally spoke. He noticed that Ian seemed to know the man in front of him, so he questioned Ian, his tone carrying a hint of unease.

"He is the fifth evil god."

The young evil god was unusually not grinning.

The pupils reflected the leaps in life forms that only dimensional demons could see.

These words were like a bullet, shattering Superman's entire understanding. He saw the Emperor's crown melting, the gold turning into liquid and dripping down, revealing the head beneath, which was beginning to distort into a grotesque shape.

“An evil god?” Superman repeated the word in shock, looking at the Emperor in disbelief. He had always thought the Emperor was full of goodwill. Could such a being be an evil god?
"This is a world that, even if it doesn't break apart, will eventually lead to tragedy." Ian stared at the figure not far away, his imperial aura beginning to rise.

It was not an outburst of battle, but an awakening of something ancient and terrifying. The Emperor's eyes burned with a deep, eerie flame, as if reflecting the destruction of the entire universe.

An endless force of destruction surged forth.

He will no longer be the emperor of mankind.

Instead, he became the new King of Darkness.

"Why are you helping us?" Superman sensed the Emperor's change and realized that Ian had just told the truth, which was rare for him. He looked at the figure in front of him in disbelief.

"Perhaps it's because I haven't seen humans for too long..." The Emperor's voice rang out again, but it was no longer as serious as before, but rather carried a hint of gentleness.

Even a touch of nostalgia.

The emperor is losing his reason.

and so.

He did not turn around.

"I'm leaving with Bruce Wayne. Now, I'm going to face my destiny." The Emperor's aura erupted completely, and endless destructive power swept out like a tidal wave.

It directly tore the surrounding space into pieces.

As the Dark Lord's corrupting domain unfolded, the entire universe resounded with the sound of shattering glass. It wasn't a roar of destruction, but the final sigh of a dying world.

The whole world is being swallowed up.

As the last vestige of reason vanished from the Emperor's eyes, his body was completely swallowed by darkness. What had once been the symbol of humanity's last hope had now become the universe's deepest nightmare—the Lord of Darkness. He no longer existed as "Emperor," but had become the embodiment of pure destructive will.

The figure of the Dark Lord hangs high in the center of the shattered world.

Batman has ultimately succeeded halfway; he is the last remaining evil god in this universe, destined to fulfill a fate he had long foreseen.

only.

What he wants to destroy is not a vibrant universe, but a rotten, dying fragment of a universe struggling to survive in the cracks of time.

This is a trial that has come too late.

A feast of despair and death.

A terrifying power surged within him, and endless dark energy swept out like a tidal wave, tearing apart the sky, devouring the earth, and even space itself seemed to wail.

This is not revenge, not anger, but an ultimate compassion.

“We have to get out of here.” Superman Clark grabbed Bruce with one hand and pulled Ian, who was about to charge forward with the dimensional projection, with the other.

"No! Dad! You can't do this! I'm an evil god too! I should join this destruction!" Ian was grabbed by the back of his collar. Not daring to use his dimensional power to defy his superior, he flailed his limbs wildly, looking like a black cat with its fur standing on end. He was being taken away from this universe by Superman using his idealistic methods.

"Nyos! I love you! Hurry! Hurry up and tear up the universe and give it to your ten-year-old fan!" Ian, unwilling to have gained nothing, frantically confessed his love to the Emperor.

This name is now a little-known secret.

This absurd request caused the Dark Lord to pause for a fraction of a second.

He turned his head, his face already blurred, but his eyes—those eyes burning with the embers of the entire galaxy's civilization—suddenly flashed a very faint ripple.

however.

The Emperor did not grant Ian his wish.

But in that instant...

Ian saw clearly what He was holding—it wasn't a weapon of destruction, but a tattered copy of "The Stars of Humanity," with a withered olive branch tucked between the pages.

Superman took the opportunity to pull the two away from the shattered universe.

The final image was etched onto Ian's retina like a brand: a collection of artifacts of human civilization, countless ancient texts, withering and being destroyed along with the Dark Lord and the entire universe.

The Iliad and the Odyssey

The Analects

Nicomachean Ethics

"Three Body"

Batman: The Dark Knight

Superman: Origins

Superman and Batman

……

The pages of the book fluttered in the destruction.

It was like saying a final goodbye.

They embody the knowledge, beliefs, history, philosophy, poetry... all the thoughts and dreams of humanity within the Warhammer universe. And now, they will vanish into nothingness along with the Warhammer King of Men.

"I need to say thank you to you for allowing me, in the final stage of humanity, to remain in this moment of knowing that the light of humanity still shines throughout the heavens."

Darkness completely enveloped his body.

The newly born evil god stretched out his limbs, every inch of which sang the praises of destruction, like a candle struggling to burn out in its final moments. He whispered something to the outside of the universe.

Perhaps the emperor proved that his will could overcome the corruption of ascension.

only.

No one will be able to witness this miracle anymore.

"Hey~"

Ian didn't know if he was mourning his own loss or the decay of a universe. In any case, his low sigh did not echo throughout the Warhammer universe.

Superman returned to the Batcave with the souls of Ian and Bruce.

When they finally returned to the real world, it was as if nothing had ever happened—except that there was now a welded-on throne toilet under Batman's butt.

The Batcave remained quiet, the instruments were still running, and the alarm had long since been lifted. The Flash rushed over like a red lightning bolt, his uniform still stained with coffee.

"How is he?" Barry's gaze swept back and forth across the three-person room, finally settling on Batman's bizarre posture—Bruce was lying on his side on the medical bed in an extremely un-Batman-like manner.

The area below the waist remained completely still.

Because the buttocks can no longer be separated from some precious object.

"A few minor issues remain, but overall the problem is resolved." Superman, unable to bear Batman's miserable state, stepped forward, lifted Batman, and placed him and the throne together on the ground.

of course.

Pinching Batman's philtrum hard to wake him up is also an essential step.

"Sigh~"

Batman was awakened by the pain.

It looked like a small mustache had grown out of the philtrum.

Dark blue, dark blue.

It was pitch black.

"A hidden danger? You mean Bruce has grown an organ on his butt that looks like a chair?" The Flash ran around Batman several times but couldn't find a place that could separate Batman from the throne.

“It’s a toilet, made of pure gold.” Ian was stuffing dried mushrooms he’d pulled out of the dimension into his mouth to calm his regretful and somewhat heavy heart.

What would happen if we pried it off?

Barry couldn't help but gesture with his hand.

"I will be corrupted into an evil god in no time." Bruce's weak voice was tinged with regret. He adjusted his posture and indeed found that his buttocks seemed to be welded to the throne.

"So, you won't be able to walk anymore?" The Flash asked, somewhat surprised. He couldn't imagine how Bruce would still be able to act as Batman and maintain order in Gotham under these circumstances. "Until I find a solution."

Bruce shook his slightly dizzy head.

“At least add a mobility device, and Batman becomes a wheelchair-bound Batman. That might scare the other Gotham monsters even more.” Ian used his brilliant ingenuity to try and appease Batman.

“I think Dr. Wells will definitely be able to find common ground with Bruce.” The Flash’s lips began to twitch uncontrollably, and he suddenly turned his back, his shoulders shaking suspiciously.

"You think it's funny?"

Bruce's death stare was fixed on everyone.

“Look on the bright side.” Barry tried to tighten his facial muscles, quickly trying to salvage his composure. “At least you can apply for disability benefits.”

However, this somewhat sarcastic "humorous" remedy doesn't seem to be a product of the Speed ​​Force flowing through his brain; Bruce's death stare is focused on the Flash alone.

"Who do you think is distributing disability benefits in Gotham?" Batman's voice was not only deep but also very annoyed, and the entire Batcave instantly fell silent, so quiet that the sound of machinery could be heard.

“Actually, if you can’t go out and do things, the banned Batman might be able to take your place in fighting evil in Gotham.” Ian’s idea, which he considered brilliant, made Bruce and Superman look at him several times.

"Who is the person who helped us?" Bruce didn't dare to answer, so he changed the subject. Even now, he still sees a lot of discussions about Batman in Metropolis.

The sheer volume of posts he couldn't keep up with deleting made him frustrated.

“Nyos, that’s what humans called Him during the Golden Age. He is the lord of humanity in another world, the Great Emperor.” Ian’s voice carried a rare hint of respect.

Upon hearing this, Bruce stroked the engravings on the edge of the golden toilet, remained silent for a moment, and then spoke in a low voice, "I can sense that he is indeed a respectable leader."

His voice was so soft it sounded like he was reciting a eulogy.

Superman's blue eyes also darkened.

"It seems you've had a rather unusual adventure." The Flash, keenly sensing the shift in atmosphere, tactically cleared his throat. "So... this golden, uh, throne, does it have any special functions?"

"The current findings are that it can automatically maintain a constant temperature," Bruce said expressionlessly, "and it can help me deflect anything that tries to attack my buttocks."

"At least I don't have to worry about being betrayed anymore." He wasn't sure if this counted as finding joy in hardship. Although he hadn't tested it yet, he could tell that the throne's material was definitely extraordinary. It also contained a very strong power—the same energy nature as his altered body.

"Ugh~"

Bruce suddenly bent over.

The golden throne emitted a blinding golden light. He gagged violently, and clumps of black crystals gushed from his mouth, hitting the floor of the bat cave with a crisp sound.

"Ahem. This is..."

Superman knelt on one knee, his fingertips lightly touching the still-wriggling black fragments. The fragments rapidly weathered under his touch, revealing the flickering, fading starlight within.

"It seems that the deity has completed its mission."

The cave fell silent.

Only the faint sound of black crystals breaking apart could be heard.

"maybe!"

Suddenly, Ian lunged forward, his hands gripping a wisp of drifting dust tightly. The instant his palms touched the black dust, the system's voice rang out.

[New data with additional dimensions is being analyzed]

[WARNING: Data corruption rate 99.7%]

[Developer mode enabled, bug fixes in progress.]

Ian was relieved. After all that, he couldn't have gone without gaining something; he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep for ten nights. Fortunately, the system didn't disappoint him.

The young evil god's voice distorted with excitement.

The corners of his mouth rose uncontrollably.

"Lord Ian will make a move!"

Black matter and starlight were gathering towards him.

"Ok?"

Bruce gave Ian, who was overjoyed, a meaningful look.

"It seems you've had a very fruitful trip."

He sat on the toilet, his eyes flickering slightly.

"Not bad, not bad." Ian couldn't suppress the corners of his mouth. He didn't forget that at times like this, he should put his hands in his pockets and try to keep his tone "indifferent".

"..."

Batman didn't rate Ian's poor acting; his gaze shifted to Superman. In the real world, Clark was still wearing that unfinished Iron Man suit.

The "S" logo on the chest was partially obscured by the mechanical structure.

"Perhaps you should take off my armor."

Batman spoke softly.

"It is not yet finished being cast."

As Superman spoke, he began to remove the embryo of the Hell Armor. Bruce stared silently at the intricate patterns on it, his expression strange as he hesitated several times before finally speaking.

however.

He ultimately said nothing more.

"Finish it as soon as possible...I need it...Let Ian draw more of his monstrosities on it." Bruce just doesn't learn his lesson; he actually wants to fight pollution with pollution.

"okay!"

Ian responded on behalf of his father.

Superman and The Flash looked at each other in bewilderment.

“I need some rest.” Batman looked at the empty base and the medicines lying on the ground, and rubbed his temples wearily.

This is clearly an invitation to leave.

"Okay, if you feel uncomfortable anywhere, remember to contact us anytime... Remember not to get up from your chair, I don't want to see you announcing on TV that you are the king of the world."

Superman gave me some earnest advice, and then, amidst the Flash's gossipy questions, he took Ian and left the Batcave, leaving Batman alone in the empty room.

"I need to be able to get up too! That Emperor guy welded my ass to the spot!" Batman said, slapping the armrest of the throne in annoyance after everyone had left.

The feeling of being involuntarily disabled is not pleasant.

“That person also modified my body.” Bruce Wayne sat on the golden throne, his fingertips lightly tapping the armrest, each touch sending up a visible ripple of psionic energy.

I thought about it.

Having regained some of his sanity, Batman used his voice to awaken a bunch of underground robots and began directing them to help him analyze the throne's material.

of course.

One's own body must also undergo a comprehensive study.

Bruce slowly raised his palm, gazing at the flowing golden lines beneath his skin. These lines were not static—they meandered and moved like living things, weaving ancient runes within his veins. When he concentrated, he could even see the energy floating in the air, swirling like a colorful mist between the instruments.

“Psionicist.” The word was squeezed out between his teeth with a bitter sense of helplessness. He suddenly clenched his fist, the air surged, and in an instant, sparks flew from all the electronic equipment in the Batcave. The holographic projections twisted into hideous faces, while the Batmobile in the corner was lifted three inches off the ground by his psionic burst.

In the Warhammer universe, psykers are individuals who draw energy from the warp and possess supernatural abilities. They are considered "walking calamities," and their existence is fraught with contradictions and dangers.

Psionicists possess extraordinary senses that allow them to see through non-material spaces. Psionic power is an extremely versatile force. Psionicists, who specialize in manipulating bio-energy and processes, can alter their own structure or heal allies at the cellular level, and can also mutate the flesh of enemies. Psionicists can even lift massive objects out of thin air to attack or crush the internal organs of enemies.

It has many uses.

The ability to grant users precognitive abilities can be seen as a special kind of magic. Since the DC universe doesn't have a warp, Bruce's psionic power comes from the throne beneath him.

This was neither an illusion nor a magic trick. Every time Bruce closed his eyes, he could feel that power flowing through his body, like a flame in the darkness, burning in his nerves, blood, and even bones.

"This is a potential problem."

Bruce was not happy about gaining superhuman powers.

Instead, I felt heavy-hearted.

Instead of resting, he immediately began his research. To figure out what he had become, he started using the advanced equipment that Ian and the Flash hadn't yet "ruined"—including a nano-scanner, a quantum brainwave analyzer, and a flesh-and-blood analysis system specifically designed to detect bodily mutations.

Be ruthless.

Batman is capable of cutting off his own flesh and blood for research.

"Clap clap clap~ Clap clap clap~ Clap clap clap~"

Deep inside the bat cave.

Keyboard typing.

The instrument hummed.

Bruce Wayne sat at the control panel, beneath which rested the golden throne he had brought back from outer space, which emitted a faint yet eerie energy fluctuation between the instruments.

Ancient secrets are being unraveled, one by one. The throne is not made of metal, or at least not entirely of it, and carries a certain heaviness that does not belong to this world.

Just as the analysis and research were ongoing.

Gotham's alarm system suddenly went off! The siren shattered the silence of the Batcave, red lights flashed, and surveillance footage automatically popped up. Bruce quickly pulled up the feed.

Then came a wave of furrowed brows.

I saw.

In the image, a black angel with cloudy eyes, as if brainwashed, is wearing clown makeup and flapping its wings, carrying a clown in pajamas.

They floated in the sky above downtown Gotham City.

"Good morning, Gotham!" The Joker shouted, spreading his arms wide across the city. "The weather's perfect for a real downpour!"

talking.

He started taking off his pants.

of course.

This is just an appetizer.

Subsequently.

The clown then pulled out a spray bottle that looked like it was spraying pesticides and frantically sprayed "rain" containing some kind of poison into the city. The crowd fled in terror, but many people were also poisoned.

They all collapsed to the ground and burst into laughter—police cars arrived with sirens blaring, but faced with this sudden supernatural spectacle, almost no one knew how to react.

Under the Joker's orders.

The angel gracefully waved her arms.

Every electronic screen in Gotham instantly turned pink.

Bruce watched as the words "Good morning Gotham~ Batman loves me" were projected onto the exterior wall of Wayne Tower, followed by a bouncing heart emoji.

Bruce suddenly prepared to stand up.

The instinctive reaction was to change clothes and go into battle.

however.

The golden throne emitted a warning hum, and a powerful gravitational pull held him firmly to it. Only then did he realize that he was now inextricably linked to this damned "throne."

I looked at the surveillance footage again.

The clown is dyeing the angel's feathers green.

"Damn it!"

Bruce's fingers tightened on the armrest of the throne.

There was an explosion.

The signal suddenly stopped.

Bruce's expression shifted as he watched the damage caused by the psionic pulses he had unconsciously released. When he activated the new monitoring system, the angel was carrying the Joker past the chemical plant.

"It's your turn to shine again, my dear wishing machine!"

The clown was giving orders to the angel.

Rainbow-colored dust fostered a large number of roses that looked exactly like him on the rusted steel frame.

Each rose seemed to express his longing for Batman. Seeing this, Batman finally lost his temper. After a moment's hesitation, he took control of the robot.

The robots created tires for him capable of supporting the throne and himself. So be it, he's going to fight in a wheelchair. Nobody said Batman couldn't fight the Joker in a wheelchair, right?

Batman is on the move.

Ian and Superman are also in action.

After they left, they once again became Lord Gotham's white slaves.

"Dang——dang——dang——"

Deep in the universe.

The echoes reverberated like the clashing of metal.

That was a long process of forging the "new Emperor Armor" for Batman, a forging process that lasted for several hours, and only stopped when Ian was about to go to school.

"Dad, I promise I won't cause any big news today." He said goodbye to his father, who was going to work, while watching the system he was working on repairing extra-dimensional data.

[Repair progress: 0.5%]

The progress is indeed somewhat slow, but it's understandable. After all, the Warhammer universe is completely shattered, and the fact that the system can repair it is a testament to its awesomeness. However, this doesn't affect Ian's manipulation of his own system.

"Your efficiency is even worse than that of an orc mechanic. At least they can assemble a starship with their saliva and scrap metal!"

The morning sun shone on his face, and the city's hustle and bustle rushed towards him. Yesterday he was struggling between destruction and reconstruction, and today he had to return to his textbooks and homework.

This is perhaps life.

Ian walked into the school gate, entered the classroom, and then he saw Madison, a delinquent girl, sitting on the podium, holding chalk in her hand, and vividly telling her story to her classmates.

"Ian is planning to raise space chickens on the moon, and they'll definitely sell for more than imported chickens." She was clearly promoting Ian's idea, and all the classmates looked shocked.

"Great idea! Martian ducks, lunar chickens, just advertise them as cures for all diseases, and it sounds like a sure-fire hit!" Ian thought the young delinquent girl did have some business acumen.

He joined in the boasting, which immediately convinced a group of naive classmates to admire him greatly, all saying that they would help Ian raise chickens after graduation.

Until the teacher arrived in the classroom.

Ian then calmed down.

However, he still chatted with the young delinquent girl downstairs about whether the angels were adapting to their new lives.

The answer is obvious.

Angels always find a way.

Apart from Michael, the other angels all have a strong ability to adapt.

"Those angels are doing a good job at the factory, but they always want to transform it into the environment where they live in heaven." The young delinquent was also reporting to Ian very seriously.

"It's alright, let them renovate it. Anyway, they won't be able to see the home they remember when they go back to heaven. It's kind of pitiful."

"No, it has nothing to do with me. I don't know anything about it."

"I'm just a kid, stop asking me. If you keep asking me, I'll have to tell all my lies for today."

that's it.

When the school bell rang.

Ian had already learned about the developments in his business through his excellent deskmate. The school bell was still echoing in the hallway when Madison grabbed Ian's backpack strap.

"Why don't you go and give another speech to the angels, especially to Archangel Michael? He's the worst performing of all the angels."

Madison also encountered a troublemaker.

“Tonight, I’ll go over tonight. I need to see my therapist right now,” Ian replied, as he stuffed a copy of “The Art of Being a Boss” into his own dimensional world.

He no longer needs a schoolbag; it's like a collar that someone always grabs.

Are you going to see a doctor? Can I come with you?

Surprisingly, Madison was actually interested in forming a team for something like this.

“I’m here as an expert to discuss the patient’s condition with Dr. Hannibal. You can’t come at all.” Ian politely declined the young woman’s offer and then drove his Hellcat to the mental health clinic.

However, Ian thought today would be a very ordinary day, but when he pushed open the carved wooden door of Hannibal's clinic, the hinges made a dying creak with a very ominous feel.

next moment.

The stench of blood assaulted Ian's nostrils as if it were a tangible presence.

(End of this chapter)