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

Chapter 155 God and Ian the Ordinary Citizen

Ian may have a form called the "Red Sun".

However, his Red Temperature level was clearly inferior to that of the current [Red Temperature Heavenly Kingdom Vice-Lord]. Given the other party's blatant blatantness, how could Michael, with his boundless wisdom, not guess who the tycoon was?
"Oh!"

He smashed the computer monitor through with a single punch. Just a second before Michael's fist touched the screen, the live stream chat was still displaying the terrifying message: "[The angel is wiggling his butt]".

With a bang.

The curved screen, worth thousands of dollars, exploded into a shower of chips under his fist.

The flying glass shards cut his palm. However, despite the fact that he was bleeding, Michael ignored it and began smashing things up in the live stream.

"Damn it! Damn bastard!" Within a minute, Michael's expression gradually changed from confusion and irritation to utter rage.

He lacked life experience and actually disassembled the computer host with an electrified hand. Before he could catch his breath, the host short-circuited and emitted a burnt smell.

Immediately afterwards, a current surged through his arm and up his entire body, causing Michael to convulse violently and let out a slightly heart-wrenching scream, like a rich woman's heartache.

"Ah ah ah ah ah!"

Two thousand years later, the Archangel tasted the pain of mortals once more—his feathers bristled, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud like a peacock struck by lightning. His body convulsed, his hair steaming, but this wasn't the worst of it. Michael found that words were appearing before his blurred vision once more.

【Even if your computer breaks down, I can still see you. See my divine power? Are you envious? Envious is useless! Hahahaha!】 The last paragraph even played a realistic voice.

"Ughhhhhh—!"

This time it wasn't a scream.

Michael's voice was filled with humiliation, much like a groundhog roaring at thin air. The voice was incredibly long and full of emotion, making the factory ceiling tremble slightly.

"Da da da~"

Hurried footsteps came from outside the door.

Hearing the commotion, a white angel who was livestreaming next door rushed over to check on Archangel Michael.

"Your Excellency, are you alright?" The live-streaming angel's hands were trembling when she saw Michael's disheveled appearance, and she almost dropped the selfie stick she was still holding.

"Of course I'm fine! What could possibly happen to me?" Michael struggled to sit up, a trace of saliva from the electric shock still clinging to the corner of his mouth, but he still tried to maintain his dignified image.

"Just ran into a little trouble." He tried to make it sound like he had just experienced a restricted live stream, rather than nearly being defeated by a broken machine made by humans.

Of course, despite his best efforts to cover up the truth, his face, which had turned from red to green, was still very ugly, and his jaw was clenched so tightly that he almost broke his molars.

The live streamer nodded, didn't ask any more questions, and instead raised the phone on the selfie stick and pointed the camera at himself: "I asked, and he said he's fine now."

She addressed the viewers in the live stream.

"Who are you talking to?" Michael was immediately alarmed upon seeing this, a very bad premonition rising in his heart. Usually, such premonitions would be prophetic. Now that he had lost his power, Michael wanted to pray that he had also lost his ability to prophesy, but reality was truly not on his side.

This may be largely due to Michael's habit of altering reality too much, which has created a grudge with reality that is no less intense than the one between him and the other angels.

"Um... it's Lucifer. Lucifer is in my live stream right now." The live stream angel hesitated for a moment, not daring to lie, and gave a dry response.

at this time.

Some viewers in the chat called them the "Chuunibyou Group," but the streamer had no time to explain, because he saw the archangel's face turn from blue to red again.

The reddish-brown hue was incredibly intense.

It was practically oozing smoke from its ears and nostrils.

"What did you say?!"

Michael suddenly looked up, his voice booming like thunder!

"No! It wasn't me who wanted to contact him!" Angel quickly waved her hand. "It was him... he sneaked into my live stream, and then... he kept sending me gifts."

"Fifty fantasy castles".

The live stream angel added earnestly.

His eyes were a little dodgey.

Michael's expression grew increasingly grim.

"Are you planning to move to hell and become a fallen angel? You're willing to side with the devil for a little bit of virtual currency?"

He shouted his question.

His tone was filled with anger and disbelief.

"Of course not!" the angel hurriedly explained. "I am still devout to the Lord and to Heaven, but... as you know, points are very important to us."

“Lucifer gave too much.”

"It's not easy to get this kind of gift, especially under such strict supervision. I can't even dress too revealingly, and it's even more difficult to ask for a large reward."

"Those people in the live stream were saying that if I showed them my breasts, they would give me a lot of money. I really don't know why there are warnings like 'pornographic content in live stream'."

The female angel's tone was full of grievance. Her words also fully demonstrated that these angels, whose understanding was very different from that of humans, were already thinking of taking shortcuts on the very first day of work.

However, it was strictly prohibited.

"Even fallen angels wouldn't utter such shameless words!" Michael roared again. Before he finished speaking, the angel's phone vibrated again.

The female angel glanced at the screen instinctively.

"Oh, he sent me another fifty Fantasy Castles and told me to remind you that you have to be dedicated as a streamer. If you're not dead, get up and get a new computer to finish the dance for Lucifer."

"He knows you're a spoiled brat with a bad temper, but he says he chooses to forgive you." The live-streaming angel relayed the message in real time, and as a result, she gained another fifty Fantasy Castles.

At this moment.

The female angel who was live-streaming didn't know whether she should be happy or not. She knew that Michael, who was stomping his feet, was right, but the fallen angel they usually looked down on had given so much.

“I was just relaying his message, but… Your Majesty, you were dancing for him.” The female angel tried to suppress her guilt, so she chose Michael as an example.

As soon as these words came out.

Michael had reached his limit.

"I quit!!"

He abruptly ripped off his floral shirt, slammed the door, and stormed out. Left behind, the poor livestreaming angel silently cleaned up the mess and replaced the computer in the studio.

then.

She connected to the internet and logged into Michael's account.

"Family members, Michael has quit. Can you follow me? My name is Aurelia, and I'm also a member of the Paradise Family. Plus, my live stream has perks that Michael can't give you."

"What? You want to see a domineering CEO? I can be a domineering CEO too. As long as you give me more tips to help me regain my glory, I can even sculpt a giant eagle for myself."

The female angel only spent half a day and she has already learned how to be a deadly trap. Perhaps she truly deserves the title of "Live Stream Angel" because of her extraordinary talent.

Outside the factory.

The setting sun cast a long shadow of Michael. He angrily kicked a soda can, which flew through the air in a perfect parabola before being disdainfully shunned by a passing stray cat.

The roar of a Hellcat engine echoed in the distance. Michael looked up and saw Ian's demon car disappear around the street corner. To this day, he couldn't accept how someone who associated with demons could be a so-called savior angel. A feeling of abandonment and resentment suddenly welled up inside him, and the archangel raised his hand, pointing in the direction the car had gone.

"You're going to crash and burn!!!"

He mobilized the remaining divine power within his body, and a dazzling golden light condensed in his palm—then with a "poof," he blew up a breeze like a fart, causing the plastic bag on the roadside to swirl around.

"It has recovered a little, but not much."

Michael stood frozen in place.

Even stray dogs dared to bark at him.

His expression grew increasingly forlorn.

"I'm getting out of this damn place."

Michael stood outside the factory gate, glanced back at the bustling factory, and, having made up his mind, wandered aimlessly along the road toward the city center.

The highway leading to the city resembled a glowing snake winding in the setting sun.

Michael's steps were heavy, yet he had no direction. The metropolis was still bustling in the evening, with neon lights flashing, cars and people coming and going, and the streets were full of life.

"Stay away from me! You stinking humans!" Michael walked through the crowd like a zombie, his eyes vacant, but his heart was filled with an unquenchable rage.

He was once an archangel, the right wing of the Creator, and the one who ruled over judgment and war. Now, however, he has been banished to the mortal realm, and this humiliation makes him resentful of everyone around him.

"Hey kid, are you alright?"

The sound came from the right.

Michael turned his head.

He saw an old man wrapped in a tattered blanket sitting in a sheltered spot next to an ATM. The old man's gray beard was stained with food scraps, but his eyes were unusually clear, like two obsidian stones polished by time.

"You should take care of yourself,"

Michael could hear his own hoarse voice.

however.

He did not give up mocking the other party.

"Think carefully about why you've fallen to this state. Is it because of alcoholism? Gambling? Or simply laziness?" As an archangel, Michael believed he had witnessed countless reasons for people's fall from grace.

He thought the other person would be angry because he had hit a nerve.

only.

The old man smiled unexpectedly, revealing a few uneven, yellow teeth.

"Perhaps it's because of the exploitation by politicians and capitalists, or perhaps it's because God only looks at the human world but is indifferent to it. Of course, the biggest reason is definitely because I ruined my own marriage."

He adjusted his posture, and the blanket slipped off, revealing a dirty hat printed with the words "Vietnam War Veteran." "You look no different from me. Are you angry about your own experiences or angry about the injustice of this world?"

The old man's words were somewhat philosophical.

Michael, however, only felt a surge of irritation.

“Don’t expect everything from God. You are guilty, which is why you have fallen to this state.” Michael remained loyal, and his words made the old man with yellow teeth chuckle softly.

"So you also feel guilty?"

The old man suddenly asked.

This question struck Michael like a blow to the temple.

He stood there, stunned.

His expression changed several times in succession.

Michael recalled Ian's sarcastic remark about "exchanging points for answers," Lucifer's smug smile as he showered gifts, and his own mockery in the live stream chat.

Of course, the stinging pain of the electric current running through his body after smashing the computer with his punch was also unforgettable... At that moment, he was not an archangel, not a judge, nor the creator of the universe.

He was just a loser.

He looked down at his hands.

Then I looked up at the setting sun.

The glory of the past is now nothing but irony.

“It’s none of your business.” Michael finally gave a cold response, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, and he seemed somewhat listless.

When walking away quickly.

The archangel heard the old man behind him still rambling on and on.

"Child, anger is a mirror; it will only ever reflect your own reflection."

The old man's voice carried a hint of a sigh.

The archangel felt the name sounded familiar, but he didn't think about it much. He simply walked along the street, his spirits low, as more and more pedestrians appeared on the sidewalk.

"Human beings are born with original sin."

Michael's gaze swept across the street—the drunkard over there was guilty; the ragged homeless man in the corner was guilty; and the well-dressed elite across the street was guilty on top of guilty.

“This filthy world!” Michael walked through the crowd, his pace quickening and becoming more urgent, as if trying to escape something, but wherever he went, all he saw was “evil.”

A beggar lies on the street because he is lazy; a child cries because he is not strong enough; couples quarrel because they are not loyal to each other; and office workers are exhausted because they crave pleasure but are unwilling to put in the effort.

“Sloth is a sin, greed is a sin, weakness is a sin, and humanity should all be sent to hell.” He repeated this as if chanting a spell, until he crashed into a wall of flesh.

"What did you say, kid?"

A two-meter-tall, muscular black man grabbed him by the collar. Michael smelled the cheap cologne mixed with sweat on the man and saw his own distorted face reflected in those bloodshot eyes.

I'm telling you guys—

His second half of the sentence turned into a muffled groan.

The world suddenly spun upside down, and then darkness fell. When Michael realized he had been shoved headfirst into a garbage can, the stench of rotting food and chemical cleaners filled his nostrils.

"How dare you be so disrespectful to me!" Plastic bottles and pizza boxes pressed against his cheeks, and a sharp object grazed his earlobe. He heard the black man's laughter and the sound of footsteps fading into the distance.

"This is what you deserve!"

Someone shouted in the distance. Michael struggled, and the overturned trash can rolled him onto the sidewalk. When he finally crawled out, he found his work pants stained with sauce and coffee grounds, and a rusty screw clutched in his right palm—probably the last souvenir he had brought from the factory.

"Need any help?" a voice came from not far away. Michael looked up and saw a man in a camel-colored trench coat sitting on a public bench, slowly licking his ice cream. The man was about six billion years old, his greasy hair was neatly combed, and the wedding ring on his left ring finger gleamed warmly under the streetlight.

Ice cream dripped onto the man's shiny leather shoes.

He didn't wipe it.

He simply continued to gaze calmly at Michael, who was covered in filth.

Michael was also watching him.

“Gabriel.” The former vice-ruler of the Heavenly Kingdom was quite disheveled, standing on the street corner, his wet hair dripping with sewage, his eyes fixed on the man sitting on the public bench.

His brother looked up and gave him a gentle smile.

Good evening, brother.

Gabriel straightened his clothes. Michael strode over and plopped down on the bench, splashing dirty water onto Gabriel's shiny leather shoes.

"You smell terrible."

Gabriel wrinkled his nose and snapped his fingers. A soft white light flashed, and the filth on Michael's body vanished instantly, even his clothes returning to their original whiteness. This scene...

To Michael's surprise, his pupils dilated.

"Why do you still have divine power?!"

He grabbed Gabriel's wrist suddenly, his voice filled with disbelief and shock.

"Perhaps it's because I've always been obedient?"

Gabriel chuckled and bent down to wipe his shoes with a wet tissue.

“Okay, that’s good. You can send me back to Heaven.” Michael’s voice was full of pleading, with an eager excitement. “Right now, immediately.”

He didn't want to stay in the human world for even a moment longer.

however.

"Oh, oh, oh, the help I'm talking about isn't this favor, it's that I can take you back to that factory for free." Upon hearing this, Gabriel immediately waved his hands frantically to distance himself. There was no such thing as a fake brother or not; he knew the Cherubim was even more ruthless than him, that guy had directly blocked the gates of Heaven.

"I want to go back to heaven!"

Michael's roar startled the crows in the trees.

A crow defecated on his head.

Fortunately, Gabriel intervened in time, saving the Vice-King of Heaven from a potentially disastrous situation.

"I will not disobey our father for your sake." This was the only help Gabriel could offer; he wouldn't dare help Michael return to Heaven even if he had a thousand lives.

Michael's eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Then go and send Lucifer back to Hell.” He said firmly, making a compromise, but this seemingly normal request made Gabriel’s eyes widen.

Completely dumbfounded.

"Me? Me, fight Lucifer?"

He pointed to his nostrils.

It was as if they had heard some unbelievable joke.

"Are you alright? Or do you have a high fever? Humans can hallucinate when they have a fever." Gabriel reached out to touch Michael's forehead.

However, Michael easily dodged it.

"If you won't help me! I'll find my father myself and clear up the misunderstanding... Then I'll settle the score with you." Michael's personality was still as wicked and domineering as ever.

Seeing that he was about to leave, Gabriel felt helpless.

"Perhaps it's not a misunderstanding at all." Gabriel didn't take Michael's threats to heart. Most angels in Heaven were threatened by Michael more than 366 times a year.

His sudden words made Michael stop in his tracks.

"What do you mean?"

The Archangel King turned around and gazed at his brother with his golden eyes.

Upon hearing this, Gabriel stood up and dusted off non-existent dust: "Go back and fix the screws. I'm just a prankster now and don't want to get involved in this."

He did not reveal any useful information.

"Have you been in contact with your father?"

Michael held on tightly, his eyes filled with accusation.

Gabriel responded by saying something completely different from the question: “You underestimate the human world. It’s extremely dangerous here. If you’re not careful, it won’t just be a matter of dancing for Lucifer.”

He was advising his elder brother.

How did you know what I streamed?

The elder brother, however, was only concerned with Gabriel's information channels.

"..."

Gabriel's expression visibly stiffened, and his tone carried a hint of guilt. "I am an archangel. I have not lost my glory. Of course I know everything."

These words had a strong undertone of trying to cover something up. It was true that Michael had lost his glory, but he hadn't lost his mind, so he immediately realized that something was wrong.

"Was it you who told me to take off my pants in the live stream before?!" Michael grabbed Gabriel by the collar, trying to lift him up but failed.

"I'm worried about you, brother!"

"Look at this dangerous world."

Gabriel chuckled dryly.

He raised his hand and conjured a floating television set in the air.

The screen lights up.

In the scene, a man dressed as a clown is pouring engine oil into Amanadir's mouth while muttering things like, "Fully synthetic engine oil, I love maintaining my mount."

Amanadir remained unmoved, frantically drinking oil with a vacant stare, clearly under mind control. He even conjured several jet engines from his wings.

"..."

Michael knew that Amanadir was in a bad situation, but he didn't expect him to be in such a bad situation.

"I'm not as stupid as him."

After a long time.

Michael swallowed hard before offering his evaluation.

“Amanadir has always been stupid.” Gabriel nodded approvingly, then added meaningfully, “But how can you be sure your father won’t arrange similar trials for you?”

They are now discussing an omniscient and omnipotent God.

Anything is possible.

“What does Father want from us… This isn’t just a trial, it’s a catastrophe.” Michael’s gaze was fixed on Amanadir, whose eyes were empty in the image.

His Adam's apple bobbed again.

Silence spread between the two.

The sounds of biubiubiu, a daily occurrence, drifted from afar.

It's a gang fight.

It seems to be about competing for organs imported from overseas, as well as prostitutes and male prostitutes.

“Not bad, this batch of goods is ours. Do you know how much a pretty boy can sell for on the dark web? Much more than selling parts!” The sounds of gang warfare reached Michael’s ears.

He touched his delicate skin.

There was silence for a few seconds.

“Take me back… I haven’t finished my livestream for today.” As a battle angel, Michael naturally knew how to weigh the pros and cons, so he ultimately chose to back down.

“A wise choice, my brother.” Gabriel smiled, put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and a flash of white light appeared, leaving only a briefcase and half an ice cream on the bench.

A stray cat passing by jumped up, attempting to eat nature's bounty.

"Thump~ thump~ thump~ thump~ thump~"

The cat was startled by the sudden ringing of a cell phone—Gabriel reappeared, picked up his briefcase, and answered his cell phone call.

“I did it. You’re not allowed to come looking for me again… I just want to be alone.” On Gabriel’s phone screen, the caller ID flashed the name [Lucifer].

He didn't see it.

far away.

His image was reflected in the eyes of the homeless old man.

"Hey~"

Sighs echoed through the streets.

Out of sight, out of mind, the old man turned his head to look at the road. An unmanned Hellcat sped past, and the boy inside was talking on a broken cell phone.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be there in a minute… I haven’t broken any traffic laws, and I haven’t been speeding.” Ian reached out and changed the Hellcat’s speedometer needle from 220 to 30.

Although the Hellcat didn't slow down, Ian was now able to justify his actions. By the time he hung up the phone with Officer Beckett, the Hellcat had already stopped in front of the Emerald Lake Apartments.

The red and blue flashing lights of the police car were particularly glaring in the twilight, and several residents were gathered in the lobby whispering to each other.

“This is truly an outcome I didn’t expect.” Ian rushed up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, and met Kate Beckett, who was standing with her arms crossed, in the fifth-floor corridor.

"To be honest, I advise you not to go in. The scene inside is truly terrifying." The policewoman's face was not good; she looked deathly pale, as if she had been subjected to some kind of nauseating stimulus.

"As the son of a journalist, I want to be a journalist in the future, so this is just a necessary step for me. Believe me, no matter how bloody the scene, it can't affect my mind, but not finding the truth will really make me feel terrible - please, I need to know the truth, I need to get the answer."

Ian took advantage of Officer Kate Beckett's weaknesses.

She found empathy in Ian's words, thinking of her own journalist mother who had been tragically murdered. After a moment's hesitation, the policewoman led Ian through the door.

In the living room, a woman in a nightgown was curled up on the sofa, sobbing. The female forensic doctor was gently patting her back, and Ian's gaze swept over the bruises on the woman's neck.

"Miss Misha?"

Ian recognized the woman as Miss Misha from his school, the student counselor who had worried about his mental health and whom he had taught a lot about relationships.

“Ian? Ian Kent?” The woman looked up suddenly when she heard someone call her name. Through her teary eyes, she met Ian’s gaze. She seemed to be very confused as to why Ian was here.

“I’m a crime consultant, the kind of detective like Sherlock Holmes,” Ian explained his identity first, but his impromptu argument was interrupted by Officer Kate.

"He was just the first person to discover the crime scene."

Officer Kate Beckett corrected Ian's statement.

“Then I’m also an eyewitness, just like Sherlock Holmes.” Ian always managed to steer the conversation back in the direction he wanted, and immediately after he finished speaking, he adopted the strategy of changing the subject.

“Miss Misha, what are you doing here? Are you and Dr. Hannibal in a relationship? I knew Dr. Hannibal, like me, would always like twenty-two-year-old girls.”

"Not too big, not too small, just right in every way." Ian was actually quite curious about the answer to this question himself. With his extremely high IQ, he didn't think Miss Misha would be crying here for no reason.

"A detective? Huh?"

Officer Kate shook her head speechlessly.

Miss Misha quickly composed herself.

"No, Hannibal is my brother. Someone killed my brother and almost killed me. They said they were willing to cooperate with the killer's torture in order to spare my life!"

Her emotions began to break down again.

"Will Graham".

Ian narrowed his eyes and uttered a name.

“It’s him! Yes! It’s him! I recognize his eyes! He can’t fool me!” Miss Misha’s voice was very excited, filled with a hysterical hatred.

"??????"

Officer Kate was instantly dumbfounded upon seeing this.

"No, you know the murderer? You just arrived, right? How do you already know who the murderer is?!" She looked Ian up and down with an incredulous and suspicious gaze.

"If the deceased were my psychiatrist, the murderer would certainly be Will Graham... To be honest, I'm a great detective, but even someone as astute as me is somewhat surprised now."

Ian, speaking in a cryptic manner that Kate couldn't make sense of, led the way into the bedroom that the police had sealed off, where Hannibal Lecter's body was hanging from a chandelier on the ceiling, his intestines hanging out of it.

He was also turned into a "work of art," with his chest cavity cut open, his ribs folded outward into the shape of wings, and an open book, "The Art of Cooking," stuffed into the cavity where his heart was.

The most bizarre thing was his expression, a joyful smile stitched together with needle and thread, as if he were enjoying this death feast. He looked like a carefully arranged marionette.

“The killer put a lot of effort into this, much more so than in the previous work. He loved Dr. Hannibal very much, but Dr. Hannibal betrayed him, or at least he felt that Dr. Hannibal had betrayed him.” Ian’s fingertips brushed against the dried bloodstains on the door frame and suddenly noticed Hannibal’s drooping finger, which seemed to be pointing to a spot on the floor.

He rushed over in three strides, prying open the seams of the floorboards with his fingernails.

"What are you doing?! This is destroying evidence!"

Kate Beckett's voice almost lifted the roof off.

"I'm solving a case."

Ian responded without turning his head.

“I called you here not to do our work, but to stop you from texting me every minute.” Officer Kate tried to stop Ian but found that Ian had already dug through the floor.

“That was something my tech assistant did, it has nothing to do with me.” Ian pulled a map out of the floor, which was clearly the clue Hannibal left for the police at the end.

The location of a lakeside cabin is marked inside.

“I think…” Ian had just picked up the map when he suddenly froze.

"Drip—drip—drip"

A faint electronic sound came from the direction of the kitchen.

Ian's pupils contracted sharply, and he rushed into the kitchen—sure enough, there was a C4 bomb lying inside the microwave, counting down, with the display showing 00:07 jumping to 00:06.

"Don't touch any equipment on site! I'll call the bomb squad!" Kate's hand had just reached for her holster when Ian pulled out a bomb with his bare hands, smashed through the French windows, and leaped out.

“Ian!!”

When the policewoman rushed to the window, she only saw a few shards of glass glittering in the setting sun. Twenty stories high in the air, where was anyone? She looked around, but her limited vision prevented her from seeing anything.

There was no explosion.

There was no crashing sound.

A moment later, the policewoman felt a chill run down her spine, as if she had seen a ghost. She heard a belching sound, and then two small hands were pressed against the window.

"Where's the bomb?"

The policewoman stared at the boy in front of her.

"Where is the bomb? Officer Beckett, have you been working too hard and gotten confused? I'm just hanging out here to get some fresh air. People who like fresh air understand me."

Ian, who had climbed into the kitchen, attempted to sexually harass the policewoman, but the crumbs on his lips were quite noticeable, making it difficult for the policewoman to pretend she couldn't see them.

Ian, an ordinary citizen? ×!

An expert in burying one's head in the sand? √!
(End of this chapter)