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

Chapter 157 Hell Admission Ticket! Lucifer, Don't Love Me!

Perhaps for most people, hell is a place that makes them turn pale at the mere mention of it, but in Ian's eyes, there isn't much difference between hell and heaven.

Hell is a reflection of Heaven.

Therefore, having been to heaven, one should naturally go to hell as well. This is the kind of experience a mature human being should gain. Treating it as a trip abroad wouldn't feel strange at all.

"MacArthur once said that going to hell is like going home, and even Dumbledore once said that going to hell is just a greater adventure."

Ian still loves quoting famous sayings, and he can't wait to travel abroad.

“Since I’m going abroad for tourism, I should definitely bring back some local specialties.” Ian held Miss Death’s compass, but he didn’t immediately choose to activate Hellcat.

There are still some pre-trip preparations to be made.

Where can I find local specialties?

Ian sat in the driver's seat of the Hellcat sports car, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. The dim interior lights illuminated the unassuming little black box in his hand—a black box that looked like an old-fashioned MP3 player, but was actually a top-tier hacking tool capable of hacking into the US military's satellite systems.

An unsolved mystery from the Marvel Universe. Ian simply entered his request, and a complex stream of code immediately appeared on the black box screen. Three seconds later, a holographic map of New York City unfolded on the windshield, with a dozen flashing red dots marking the locations of Officer Beckett and her team.

"I think I could create a new account called 'Tech Emperor' too! The kind where someone was bullied by thugs since childhood and then becomes cynical!" Ian made a phone call while weaving a backstory for his new account.

He dialed Beckett's number. The background noise on the other end was chaotic—sirens, static from the walkie-talkie, and the hurried footsteps of officers.

"Has the murderer been caught?"

Ian got straight to the point.

“Are you always hiding somewhere spying on me?” Beckett’s voice was weary. “You timed it perfectly. We just found someone who looks exactly like Will Graham.”

"Someone who looks exactly like Will Graham?"

Ian blinked. He knew Officer Beckett couldn't see, but that didn't mean he didn't need to blink. Good habits aren't only shown when others are watching.

"Yes, he looks and is as tall as Will Graham, but he shot himself when we came in. The prosecutor wants to close the case by saying the suspect committed suicide out of guilt, but my gut feeling tells me that this guy is definitely not the real Will Graham. He's just a scapegoat."

Officer Beckett didn't know why she was telling Ian all this; perhaps it was because, besides crime novels, Ian was also curious about superhumans.

The boy on the other end of the phone was strange; he wasn't a normal person, nor was he an ordinary one. Officer Beckett was quite certain of this, and she knew perfectly well that she had seen him take the bomb out of the microwave.

“As expected, you have to trust your intuition. The scapegoat you caught must have undergone plastic surgery, and perhaps their identity information in the police DNA database has also been switched.” Ian nodded in agreement with Officer Beckett’s intuition. It seemed that Miss Misha’s guess was wrong, but not entirely wrong either.

Will had already prepared a scapegoat.

“Could you come to the police station to help identify him? You mentioned before that you had spoken with Will.” Beckett sighed; she couldn’t understand why the prosecutor in America was acting like a child.

"Sorry, I have other things to attend to today." After thinking for a moment, Ian declined. He still needed to pack up local specialties to take to hell to be a superhero.

"You're so busy, how do you have time to call me and chat?" Beckett's tone immediately became suspicious, and her intuition once again made her feel uneasy.

Upon hearing this, Ian grinned and said, "I just wanted to confirm with Officer Beckett before I went abroad for my trip. I'm going to get busy catching lab rats now."

His tone was eager to try.

"?????"

Beckett clearly didn't understand the brilliant analogy.

But Ian had already hung up the phone.

He turned to the black box.

His fingers flew across the virtual keyboard, bringing up several encrypted databases. A few minutes later, he used his mimicry ability to create a mask over his handsome face.

Osama bin Laden's iconic look.

It will never go out of style.

"Hellcat, autopilot mode, destination: St. Mary's Cemetery," Ian commanded the vehicle-mounted demon, his controversial mask looking quite menacing.

The self-propelled Bubble Cart glided silently through the night, eventually coming to a stop at the entrance of a desolate cemetery. A dim light shone from the gravedigger's hut.

“Visitor registration!” Ian swaggered toward the gravedigger’s hut and knocked on the window. An old man with a wrinkled face opened the door and eyed him warily.

"Sir, it's so late, whose grave are you visiting to pay your respects to?" the gravedigger asked, his gaze lingering on Ian's Osama bin Laden mask for several seconds.

Ian did not give a direct answer.

He countered with a question.

"You've been guarding this grave for so many years, have you ever seen terrorists?" Ian's voice used Batman's bubble voice, his tone could be adjusted at any time according to the environment.

That's the power of the evil god.

"Of course not, what would terrorists be doing here?" The gravedigger was clearly taken aback. He looked at Ian with a strange expression, and the mask seemed even more conspicuous to him.

“Alright.” Ian shrugged, his tone carrying a hint of blessing. “Then you’re going to learn something today. Don’t let my mask fool you; I’m actually a very socially awkward terrorist.”

The voice just fell.

He pulled two miniature bombs out of his pocket.

It was thrown precisely at two adjacent tombstones deep within the cemetery.

"boom!"

The shockwave from the explosion shattered the windows of the gravedigger's hut. When the smoke cleared, the two tombstones had been reduced to dust, leaving two charred craters in the ground.

"No!!! Damn it! What are you doing!" The gravedigger's expression twisted instantly. He pulled out an old-fashioned revolver and fired six shots at Ian.

"Bang bang bang!"

The bullet struck Ian's cheek, but it was as if it had hit rubber, only creating strange ripples on the surface of his skin before falling limply to the ground.

"How can this be!"

The gravedigger stared wide-eyed at the scene in disbelief.

Ian touched the spot where he had been hit.

“I have a super brain inside my head,” he explained, at least in his opinion, as he was patiently explaining science. “So of course the body would evolve super defenses to protect it.”

This was clearly an explanation only a highly intelligent person could understand. Surprisingly, the gravedigger suddenly calmed down. He slowly lowered his gun and stared at Ian outside the house.

The anger in the "old man's" eyes was gradually replaced by an eerie calm.

"How did you find out?" he asked in a low voice, his voice completely changed—no longer that of the old gravedigger, but a much younger male voice.

"What did you find?"

Ian grinned.

"They discovered I was hiding here."

The gravedigger's expression was extremely gloomy.

Ian paused for a moment, then removed his mask, revealing a victorious smile: "I know your situation; you used to have a wife and children."

“And the 'Ripper's' activity only occurred after their deaths.” He took a step forward, closer to the window. “This proves that their deaths hit you hard—you cared about them a lot.”

"very smart."

The gravedigger remained silent for a moment.

He then reached out and grabbed his own face, slowly tearing off a perfectly realistic mask. Beneath the mask was a handsome but gloomy and menacing young face.

It was Will the Ripper, the serial killer who had been hunted by the police for a long time.

"It seems you're pretty sure I'll be hiding here, so you're trying to provoke me." He threw down his pistol and, instead of running away, climbed out of the window.

Seeing this, Ian did not stop him; he simply tilted his head slightly.

"I just tend to believe that if you blow your wife and kids up into the sky, you'll show up," he added with a touch of emotion. "Finding you right away is a pleasant surprise."

Mr. Ian was actually being infuriating. He truly possessed extraordinary wisdom; with his intelligence and a tiny bit of help from the black box, he had already determined that Will Graham was the gravedigger here.

"Damn it! It's all your fault! It's all your fault!" As soon as Ian finished speaking, Will's pupils suddenly contracted, and his long-suppressed anger erupted like a volcano.

His originally elegant and gloomy face was twisted into a ferocious appearance.

"boom!"

Will swung his fist at Ian with a vengeance, tearing the air apart with a deafening bang. Before crawling out, he had secretly injected something into his body. Now, the drug was taking effect; his muscles swelled visibly, veins bulged under his skin, and blood vessels protruded like writhing snakes.

however.

"Snapped."

Ian caught the punch, which was powerful enough to pierce a steel plate, with ease.

He didn't even move his feet.

“There are differences between superhumans.” Ian’s smile still held a sinister edge. “You can’t just throw together some [Luther-made] stuff and you’ll have the power to defeat me.”

This is the truth.

Last night he was involved in a cosmic-level event, but now he's just facing an enhanced human. This is quite boring for Ian, and he doesn't want to show off in front of the other person.

"Do you know what a Metropolitan Vice-President is? Even the Heavenly Vice-President is working for me!" Of course, telling the truth isn't bragging. After saying that, Ian also punched Will in return.

Even a seemingly light punch can be quite powerful.

"puff--!"

Will's chest caved in, blood gushed from his mouth, and he flew backward like a rag doll, crashing heavily onto the tombstone in a parabolic arc.

Debris flew.

His spine was almost broken, but he still struggled to get up.

"Got you." Ian's teeth were dazzlingly white in the moonlight, and there were still black remnants of the bomb he had swallowed at the corner of his mouth, but he hadn't noticed it until now.

A classic case of the darkest place being under the lamp.

“I haven’t lost. Even if you kill me, I can still achieve my goal, and you can no longer bother me and Hannibal.” Will stared directly at the superhuman before him.

There was a madness in his eyes.

"Kill me, kill me, and you will become me." Will, who was still coughing up blood, actually laughed. He struggled to sit up and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Don't worry, I won't kill you. I have a principle of not killing, so I'm going to put you in a real prison—Miss Misha hopes you can endure a hundred times more torture than Dr. Hannibal."

“Ian is kind-hearted, how about I upgrade your package for free, ten thousand times better?” Ian didn’t understand the other’s inexplicable confidence, so he punched Will unconscious again.

The hand chop didn't work.

But the hand hammer... it's simply wonderful.

"Local specialties harvested! The first batch of the Hell Transformation Camp project is ready for internal testing!" Ian, staring at the large bump on the back of Will's head, who had fainted and whose genes were beginning to collapse, immediately started packing as well. Yes.

The local specialty is Will.

What is there in the human world that hell doesn't have?

Of course, only humans!

Living, breathing human beings!

"Don't die from overdosing on drugs." Ian contributed a gene-stabilizing agent made by bats, which saved Will from the brink of death, despite his lack of fitness experience and reckless drug use.

He stuffed the unconscious Will into a burlap sack printed with "Happy Holidays" and swaggered back to Hellcat like Santa Claus carrying gifts.

The police cars attracted by the explosion arrived right on time, and the sirens grew closer in the distance, with the red and blue police lights already faintly visible on the street.

"It's really a bit of a scandal if this level of punctuality doesn't qualify as a superpower." Ian roughly tossed the "local specialty" into the trunk, and the Hellcat's engine roared like a beast.

It disappeared into the night with Ian before the police arrived. Ian went home first and took out a sleeping demon head with bull horns from the refrigerator.

He patted the head's cheek.

"Great God Ian, forgive me, it's just too hot, and your refrigerator is too cool." The demon's eyelids trembled before it slowly opened its scarlet eyes.

"We demons all love summer hibernation."

It finally learned its true skills from Ian.

"I'm taking you back to my hometown to visit relatives!" Ian returned to Hellcat, threw the demon head onto the driver's seat, and then excitedly announced the demon head.

The demon's brain instantly regained consciousness at that moment.

Its CPU is running at high speed.

“I... I don’t want to go back to hell. I just want to stay by your side.” The demon’s head carefully observed Ian’s expression, clearly suspecting that this was some kind of loyalty test.

The god Ian, who wields perverse power, is absolutely capable of pulling off such tricks.

Just as the demon's head was wildly imagining things...

"boom!"

Ian punched it in the head.

“You have to want to go home, because I want to visit your house, escort the most wicked criminals, save innocent souls, and help underage demons who want to go home… All three reasons are indispensable.” Ian always had a plan for the future, after all, he didn’t know he would be “run away from home” for a few days.

Although Ian sent his mom a text message saying he was going to a classmate's house and locked her phone so she couldn't call him, it was still the first time he had stayed out all night.

It's still necessary to take precautions. Ian has always been a dutiful son, so he can't let his mother think of him as a child who has become a bad boy before he's even fifteen.

"boom!"

Ian punched the silent demon head again, making it see stars, but it finally snapped out of its struggle to figure out the "Emperor's Heart".

"Ah! So that's how it is! Is God Ian finally going to rule Hell? I will definitely stand firmly on your side!" It believed that, given Ian's character, he could at least become a Grand Duke in Hell.

A bright future ahead.

“Tch, I’m a friendly visitor, I’ll definitely be mindful of my manners.” Ian pointed out the direction to Hellcat and corrected the incorrect term “demon’s head”.

He is a pacifist.

Only when one can no longer be a pacifist will one switch to being a nuclear philanthropist.

"Really? You won't cause a huge scene?" The demon head's tone was skeptical, after all, it had learned a lot about Ian over the past few days.

Have you read about the history of us American people?

Ian suddenly asked.

"Ugh, I hate history."

The demon head was unwilling to reveal the fact that it was a hellish academic failure.

It's so hesitant and awkward.

It's obviously a cow that's not a very aggressive breed.

“If you don’t understand, then what I’m saying is true.” Ian nodded seriously and made a guarantee and promise. “I am a very traditional American, and I am much more virtuous than other Americans—believe me, I would never cut off the demons’ scalps.”

Hear the words.

The demon head felt a chill creeping up its spine, and Kakuzu was terrified, realizing that Ian's words were absolutely chilling.

It suddenly felt a surge of relief that it was the guide, rather than the unfortunate victim about to be "friendly visited." The atmosphere was quiet as the Hellcat sped through the night, guided by its brass compass.

It flew out of the metropolis.

We arrived in Los Angeles.

The pointer kept pointing southeast, as if drawn by some mysterious force. Finally, the Hellcat stopped on an abandoned forest path.

Ahead stood a gloomy Victorian-style building, its dilapidated exterior walls covered in vines, its crooked doorway resembling a gaping maw, and its windows like empty, hollow eyes.

He gazed at the visitor.

"This is actually a super haunted house, built in 1922 by Charles Montgomery for his wife Nora, and later became the scene of several murders."

"Oh, there's also the Frankenstein's monster. Someone tried to assemble a 'monster son' using biological experiments. It really does feel like the entrance to hell." Ian searched for information about the house online.

Only those who are willing to seek it out.

You can find any information online.

"How can such a place exist... I sense a lot of hellish energy leaking out. Is there actually a door connecting this place to hell?"

The demon's head was clearly also somewhat shocked.

"Murder House!"

As Ian went through his memories from before he traveled through time, he finally realized where this place was: a famous location from the first season of American Horror Story!
There truly is a gate to hell here. Although the "murder house" itself is not a direct entrance to hell, there is indeed a passage to hell connecting to this mansion.

That's why.

The mansion itself was also affected by the power of hell. It not only showed signs of being revitalized, but was also afflicted with a curse that would trap the soul of anyone who died inside the house in this space.

They cannot leave the house's boundaries. This means that while these souls can move freely within the house, they cannot enter the outside world or return to the underworld or heaven.

“I bet Lucifer entered the human world from here too!” Ian pressed his face against the car window, examining the murder house with great interest. Through the dusty windows, he could see countless souls trapped inside, their faces contorted, their empty eyes staring intently out the window, as if screaming silently.

"Why use the verb 'drill'?!" The demon's head was so frightened that its tongue was tied in knots; it had never seen anyone dare to offend the Lord of Hell like this.

"Because I love to tell the truth."

Ian pushed open the car door, shouldered the sack, carried the demon's head, and swaggered towards the mansion. The spirits wandering inside immediately stirred upon seeing him.

"The Witcher! It must be the Witcher!" An old woman dressed in 20s clothing backed away in terror.

"No, I am the Supreme Being of the Golden Palace of the Heavenly Emperor, the Natural Wonderful Being, the True One, Ian." Ian made up a story on the spot, completely ignoring the ghosts who were running away in terror.

He started ransacking the house, turning everything upside down. Amidst the chaos of the spirits, they first ripped off floorboards, then smashed walls, and Ian even dismantled the toilet.

however.

But he could never find the entrance to hell.

"Where's the entrance?!"

Ian kicked the bathtub in a fit of rage.

The tiles shattered all over the floor.

at this time.

A cold female voice came from behind.

"Kid, don't you know that to get to hell, you need a key?"

The voice was filled with displeasure.

Ian turned around abruptly and saw a tall woman leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing a tight leather outfit, her eyes were sharp as knives, and she was tossing an old coin in her hand—the very one Lucifer often played with.

"Mazeg?"

Ian's eyes lit up.

"Would you like to go home and sit for a while together?"

He extended an invitation to the female devil bartender he had met once before, but his enthusiasm was met with indifference, and the female devil bartender simply rolled her eyes and tossed him a coin.

"Don't flatter yourself, kid."

Done.

The possibly narcissistic female demon then turned and disappeared into the shadows.

"Oh, so this is the power of God Ian! Someone is actually waiting here to deliver the key to you! And it's none other than the Hell Vice-Lord who once annihilated me!"

The demon's head was so excited that it became incoherent.

"His Holiness Lucifer and you two are indeed quite close!"

It tried to fawn over Ian, but little did it know that its words would immediately trigger a reaction in Ian.

"Lucifer, you're not allowed to have a crush on me!" He rushed to the window and yelled at the Los Angeles night sky, "Did you hear me! I don't like to shower! I have a bad temper! I also like to be violent at home—"

The words are not finished yet.

The coin in my hand suddenly started to glow.

"Vroom vroom vroom—" The Hellcat's engine started without warning, smashing through the door and crashing into the house. Ian reacted quickly, flipping onto the roof of the car.

"Let's go!"

He laughed and grabbed the roof rack.

The Hellcat roared and charged toward the wooden door that had suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor. In the instant it smashed open, what lay behind the door was not the original bedroom, but a thick darkness.

There.

It was the road to hell. The next second, the eager Hellcat, carrying Ian, Will in the sack, and the terrified screaming demon head, rushed into the entrance to hell.

[P.S.: I still owe another 10,000, which will come at the end of the month.]

(End of this chapter)