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

Chapter 192 Belial's Butt and Batman's Mouth!
Ian's will is like a high-dimensional camera.

They watched with great interest everything that was happening inside the library.

He saw Beria holding the book "To Live," his body going from stiff to trembling violently—a spasm of extreme anger, humiliation, and the collapse of faith.

The Dark Lord had never felt such tangible anger.

"Outrageous! Outrageous!!!" Belial slammed the book in his hand to the ground, his sharp claws flailing wildly, tearing apart the quiet bookshelves around him!
"I am Belial! The Lord of Darkness! The Ruler of the Universe! The New King of Ultra! How could I possibly be... some worthless NPC who's been captured and imprisoned?!"

Books fell like snowflakes, the wooden bookshelf was torn to pieces, and he roared incessantly, trying to vent his rage in the most primal way.

Beria instinctively wanted to destroy the place that had humiliated him. However, just as he was getting into the act, a rapid buzzing vibration suddenly came from his left wrist.

Beria paused, looked down, and realized that he had somehow acquired a simple, metallic wristwatch on his wrist.

Lines of text are clearly displayed on the watch face, accompanied by emotionless electronic voice prompts.

[Warning: Citizen [Belial, an ordinary NPC] has been detected vandalizing public property.]

[Damage List: 1 copy of the rare book "To Live" (unique copy, No. 10000874332), 343 oak bookshelves, and several items that disrupted the tranquil atmosphere of the library...]

[According to Article 114514 of the "Super Grateful Ian, the One God, New Utopia, the Best Dimension City Management Penalty Regulations," a fine of 50,000,000 Energy Coins is imposed.]

Your current account balance: 10 Energy Coins (New Resident Gift).

[You have automatically incurred a debt of 49,999,990 Energy Coins. Interest is being calculated...]

……

It's somewhat like the personal terminal of Pinduoduo's God Space watch design, which lists extremely detailed punishment measures. Fortunately, no one here can realize that Pinduoduo is everywhere.

"Fifty million? Debt?" Belial was stunned for a moment, then let out a deafening laugh. He raised his head and roared at the unseen ceiling of the library.

"Hahahaha! Foolish! Boring! You think you can bind me, Belial, with mere debts? Go ask those aliens! When has Belial ever paid back any of his debts?"

"No matter which world, in any world, no one can judge me! No one can do anything to me! This world will ultimately submit to my power—"

Before the last syllable of the word "力" had even finished, his voice abruptly stopped.

"Boo! Hah! Hah!"

Several voices appeared instantly beside Belial.

His power was suppressed by the dimension and sealed to an extremely low level, so before he could react, he was already surrounded by a group of people and made to wear masks!
These people were dressed in uniform blue-black uniforms with an X logo, their movements clean and efficient, their teamwork seamless. The leader was a woman with long red hair.

obviously.

The group that suddenly appeared was the X-Men.

They finally became official law enforcement officers, so they must be incredibly moved every day. And the woman in charge is none other than Jean Grey, known as Phoenix.

Like every woman named Grey in Western countries.

Phoenix Girl is also incredibly charming.

Jean Grey possesses the telepathic ability to read the consciousness of others.

She can control herself according to her own will, and can also read multiple consciousnesses simultaneously. In another personality, she can use her mind control abilities to make her opponents lose consciousness. As the most powerful Omega-level mutant, she is often hailed as "the most powerful telepath and telekinetic in the universe."

Of course, Jean Grey's most famous identity is that of the host of the god-level power "Phoenix Force," and also the mysterious identity of being the top-ranked food on the X Universe's must-eat list.

However, she herself certainly didn't know this.

"The perpetrator has been identified."

Jean Grey's eyes were sharp. With just a slight lift of her hand, Belial felt an invisible and irresistible force twist his hands behind his back!

"Crack! Click!"

Two special shackles, shimmering with energy-suppressing properties, instantly locked his wrists and ankles. The moment the shackles were on, Belial felt the already severely restricted dark power within him completely crushed, unable to even stir a ripple, leaving him weaker than an ordinary person.

"You?! Who are you?! Let me go!" Belial was shocked and furious, struggling desperately, but it was like a crab being pinched by iron pincers, completely futile.

"Destroying public property, huge debts, and resisting arrest?" Another burly man with adamantium claws protruding from between his fingers glanced at him disdainfully while smoking a cigar.

This is a man who needs no introduction. It's hard to imagine that Logan, the Wolverine destined for a life of constant wandering, would one day become a government employee.

"And he's a deformed, hardened criminal... Tsk, with that appearance, did he get the blood of some abyssal troll from the Western Continent? Or did he mutate from radiation?"

Logan leaned closer to Beria and used his nose. Although he was just a wolverine and didn't have the classic dog nose, a wolverine's nose was actually pretty good.

Moreover, their "fight-or-fight" mentality is no less than that of their distant relative, the honey badger.

"The smell is pungent, like a hybrid of a swamp demon and an ogre." Logan quickly pinched his nose and gave his assessment in a seemingly serious manner.

“I think it looks like a two-headed ogre knight charred by hellfire, the kind that’s lost one head.” Another man who can control frost, Bobby the Iceman, the most aggrieved Omega-level mutant in history, has his own thoughts.

He is a top-tier Omega-class, known as Omega Number Two, whose abilities are second only to Omega Number One, Jean Grey. His ability to lower the temperature to absolute zero is enough to shake the very foundations of the universe.

"No matter what, he doesn't seem like a normal human being."

"Perhaps aliens?"

"No, I know about aliens. Most aliens look just like us."

The X-Men law enforcement officers chatted amongst themselves, making "professional" and extremely hurtful racial guesses about Belial's appearance, their tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather.

I'm going to kill you all! I will definitely kill you all!!!

Belial was so enraged that wisps of black smoke actually rose from his head; his lungs felt like they were about to explode. This humiliation was a million times worse than being sealed away by the King of Ultra!
However, no one paid attention to his impotent rage.

"Whatever he is, it has nothing to do with us. He is indeed a citizen." Phoenix Girl simply waved her hand: "Take him away and send him to the citizens' court. Let's see how the judge rules."

And so, the once invincible Dark Lord was dragged out of the library like a little chick by two X-Men, one on each side.

It wasn't until he reached the outside of the library and was bathed in the warm afternoon sun that Belial slightly recovered from his extreme rage. He suddenly seized a moment when a guard was changing hands, and with the last of his strength, he headbutted Wolverine beside him! Clearly, Belial never made the right choice.

"Bang!"

There was a muffled sound.

Belial felt like he'd hit a steel plate; he saw stars and felt dizzy. Wolverine, on the other hand, this truly indomitable man, didn't even flinch.

He simply clicked his tongue impatiently, lifted his foot, and used the heavy sole of his military boot to stomp on Beria's face without any politeness, crushing the other man's entire head onto the cold ground!

"Behave yourself, you scum." Logan's voice was thick with nasal tone. "If you move again, I'll shove you under Colossus's ass as a cushion or some other household item."

These words are chilling to think about.

"That's quite a bit of strength... Looks like he's really a hybrid of those brute races from the Western Continent. I don't know why their aesthetic sense is always so distorted." Phoenix looked down at Belial, who was being trampled on the ground and struggling in vain, and muttered something that sounded a bit racist.

However, it is still relatively realistic.

"..."

Belial gave up struggling, not because he was giving in, but because he was afraid that if he continued to be angry, he might become the first Dark Lord to be literally angered to death by a mere human.

then.

Beria immediately became obedient and was roughly dragged and escorted across the street.

"Damn it! What the hell is that guy who plotted against me?!" Another certification has been collected, and the achievement has increased. This complaint is mainly because Belial is desperately observing this bizarre world.

The buildings in the distance are bizarre and fantastical.

Some look like they were randomly stacked blocks, floating against gravity.

Some are transparent soap bubbles, with blurry and distorted silhouettes of people working inside. The tallest tower is entirely constructed from a giant deck of cards that is constantly shuffling automatically, with the card designs changing in an instant.

"Is this...is this a madman's dream?!" Belial felt dizzy; his dark aesthetics seemed so pale and powerless at this moment.

The "vehicles" are not made of metal, but rather huge, round, and fluffy dandelion balls. Driven by clusters of fireflies inside, they drift silently along fixed airflow tracks. Occasionally, a "passenger" is thrown out, landing lightly on the ground, then grumbling and chasing after another dandelion.

Do not know why.

All the big trucks are like cotton candy.

It's as if my whole body is a buffer zone.

There wasn't a single hard spot on the vehicle's body, subtly revealing the creators' enigmatic feelings towards large trucks.

Not only that, the streetlights on the roadside look normal, but if you get closer you will find that they are actually giant lollipops, emitting a soft halo.

The streets are not paved with asphalt or flagstones, but rather with huge, smooth, colorful crayon shavings that have been compacted, giving them a slightly soft feel and a waxy aroma when stepped on.

It's like a fairy tale.

Weird.

A bizarre fairy tale.

Ian's understanding of utopia is clearly different from that of ordinary people.

Even Belial, who was also extraordinary, found it difficult to accept.

The X-Men escorting him were used to it.

Colossus swept past like a gust of wind, casually breaking off a lollipop from a tree and popping it into his mouth. Iceman snapped his fingers, freezing a drop of syrup that was about to fall onto Jean Grey's hair. Wolverine impatiently kicked aside a whining, whining cloud of emotion blocking his way.

The clouds immediately turned from white to black, and rain that smelled like vinegar began to fall.

"What the hell is this place?!"

Beria felt like he was about to have a mental breakdown. Finally, he was escorted into a seemingly normal, grand building—the Citizens' Court.

The building resembles a collection of enormous, crooked, three-dimensional fairy tale books stacked together, with gold dust shimmering on the edges of the pages, and a badge of "justice" woven from crooked yarn hanging above the door.

Inside the courtroom, the judge's high-backed chair is a huge, dozing teddy bear.

The clerk's seat was occupied by a fox wearing a wig and holding a pen with its tail, while the jury consisted of twelve clay dolls with different expressions.

Beria was pinned to the dock.

A spring bed that keeps trying to bounce him up.

He stared intently at the judge's bench, waiting for the sinister boy to appear. However, the side door opened, and the person who stepped out surprised Beria once again.

A boy did indeed sit in the judge's dock, but he wasn't that cunning, sly, vicious, insidious, despicable, shameless... drama queen boy whose true nature should be omitted.

It was a smaller boy whom Belial had met in the library before.

They look exactly alike, but they feel... slightly different. The one in the library has deep, calm eyes, while the one in front of me is cracking sunflower seeds, idly swinging his legs, and glancing occasionally at a floating screen next to me playing "Tom and Jerry," making him seem particularly unreliable.

"It can create clones?" This thought flashed through Belial's mind instantly.

Just then, the judge, who was eating sunflower seeds, seemed to finally notice the new face in the dock.

Franklin raised his eyelids.

He glanced at Belial lazily.

His gaze lingered for a moment, particularly on his dark skin and exoskeleton. Then, he spat out the sunflower seed shells and spoke in a casual tone, as if deciding what to eat for dinner.

"Oh, you have dark skin."

He scratched his head.

It seems that some kind of "rigorous" judicial thinking is being conducted.

Then slap the lollipop armrest.

"Alright, the labor reform for dark-skinned people will definitely be sent to 'Southern Siberia' to grow cotton! No doubt about it! I heard they're very good at it."

This was clearly a tool created by Franklin to better understand Ian's thinking and to better grasp the "Sacred Heart," and the verdict was also a direct result of Ian's teachings.

It's true what they say, those who know how to flatter always seem to do well. Ian, witnessing this, was delighted and decided to bring Franklin under his wing once he came of age, making him his personal favorite. As for why he had to wait until adulthood, it was because the position of Grand Eunuch would be difficult to approve if a minor were used.

"It's such a happy decision!"

Ian had a plan in mind.

The kid was completely unaware of this.

Having said that, without giving Beria any chance to defend himself, the child judge picked up a chocolate gavel and banged it down.

"This case is adjourned! Courtroom adjourned!"

He announced this, then immediately lowered his head again and continued to eat sunflower seeds and watch his "Tom and Jerry" with great relish, muttering things like, "Jerry, run! Tom's so stupid!"

Two X-Men law enforcement officers stepped forward expressionlessly, dragged the completely bewildered and blank-minded Belial from the dock, and headed towards the portal at the back of the courtroom.

Beria was being dragged along like a puppet.

The absurd verdict still echoed in my ears—"South Siberia," "growing cotton," "very good at it"... No, of course my skin is a bit dark!

But I still have so many red areas on my skin!
Beria protested loudly, but in such a solemn place as the courtroom, even if he shouted, "Who does the presiding judge think he is? I'm not afraid of you, presiding judge!" it was still more effective than silence.

Nobody paid any attention to them.

And so, Belial was brought to the portal, a vortex composed of countless spinning penitent emoticons and dried paint residue, at the center of which was the bottomless cry of "Labor is the most glorious."

"No! You can't—" Belial's roar was swallowed by the vortex. He felt as if he had been thrown into a passageway made of faded dreams and forgotten fairy tales.

The world is spinning.

Finally, the Dark King crashed heavily to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

"Damn it! What kind of torture are they trying to inflict on me?!"

He shook his dizzy head and struggled to open his eyes. Before him stretched an endless, desolate, greyish-white field. The sky was a low-hanging, oppressive grey velvet cloth, with a few non-shining stars sewn onto it, made of buttons. The air was dry, filled with the smell of old newspapers and dust.

In the distance, a few figures were scattered about, all mechanically and numbly bending over to work. They held various strange tools in their hands: some were using huge combs to groom the ground; some were using sieves to scoop something up from the ground; and others were using air pumps to "inflate" grayish-white plants that looked like giant dandelions.

A man who looked like a foreman walked over.

He was a man wearing a tattered suit, whose head was a huge, ticking alarm clock.

"Newcomer? Black model?" The alarm clock emitted a shrill, bell-like sound and poked Belial with its cold, metallic pointer.

"Come and get your tools! Your task today is to grow one million cotton plants."

The alarm clock's cold, metallic pointer almost poked Belial's enormous eyeballs, a sight even among Ultraman, the ticking of gears carrying an undeniable command.

"The inspection will be completed before sunset. If you miss even one flower, you'll have to eat one less bite of dinner—according to the rules, if you're missing too many, you'll owe us dinner too."

The alarm clock's sound was like a rusty saw cutting through the air.

That's heartbreaking.

"?????"

Belial's狰狞 (zhengning, meaning ferocious or hideous) face froze instantly. He even wondered if his powerful hearing had also been malfunctioning due to assimilation into this bizarre world.

"How...how much?" he asked almost instinctively, his voice trembling with disbelief. "How much cotton do you think I need to plant today?!"

"One! Million! Fluffy! Clouds! Are your hearing receivers glued shut with earwax?! Do you need me to clean them out with a cleaning rod?! Blackie 114514!" On the glass face of the alarm clock, the red second hand, representing "anger," suddenly jumped to its highest point.
It emitted a piercing "ding" sound! The entire alarm clock seemed to vibrate due to overload, and the sound suddenly rose eight octaves like a long whistle.

The supervisor was furious.

After confirming that he hadn't misheard, Belial also felt a surge of blood rushing to his head, and his long-suppressed rage and humiliation erupted like a volcano!
"Damn it!!!" He slammed the rusty, broken comb in his hand onto the gray-white ground, his sharp claws pointing at the smiling sun in the sky.

"When I enslaved an entire planet! When I enslaved the Giant of Light! When I enslaved the monster army of the Dark Nebula! I wasn't this outrageous! A million cotton balls?! Why the hell didn't you let me polish the stars?! Why didn't you let me comb the black hole's hair in the middle?!" Belial roared deafeningly.

The voice was filled with a sense of absurdity and extreme resentment.

His roar echoed across the plains, drawing the attention of a few abstract figures toiling numbly in the distance. They quickly lowered their heads and resumed their planting work with even greater effort.

"hehe."

The alarm clock overseer seemed accustomed to such reactions. Far from being intimidated, it brought the metal case closer to Beria, and the ticking became increasingly rapid and loud, almost like a roar, its shrill sound piercing eardrums.

"Outrageous?! Who are you calling outrageous?! Huh?! Don't forget that the One God created Rainbow Pony for you, and not just one, but one for each of you!"

"Ingratitude coupled with crime—whose fault is that?"

"I'm an alarm clock! I absolutely will not allow anyone to ignore the facts when speaking to me!"

"You criminals, instead of producing more low-grade materials, where does the factory of the One God get its raw materials to produce intermediate-grade products in another universe?"

"Without raw materials for production, what will the millions of hungry angels eat and drink?! The angels will starve to death! They will grow thin! They will lose their radiance! How can the One God possibly have the mind to spread His grace?! How can He possibly have the energy to maintain the fairy tales and fantasies of this world?!"

"Tell me! Can you take responsibility for this?!"

A series of soul-searching questions, interspersed with incredibly "noble" reasons and utterly absurd logic, slammed down on Belial's already crumbling understanding like a series of heavy hammer blows.

"??????"

Beria opened his mouth.

I found myself unable to utter a single word in rebuttal.

He discovered that the once-silent King of Ultra was wrong; he was definitely not the most insane person in the world. Every life form in this universe seemed to be much more insane than him.

Beria's chest heaved violently a few times, and finally, as if all the bones had been removed, his shoulders slumped. He bent down with difficulty to pick up the planting tool that had been knocked to the ground.

When you're under someone's roof, you have to bow your head... Endure humiliation and bear heavy burdens... Sleep on firewood and taste gall... It's never too late for the Great Emperor to take revenge... As the Emperor of the Universe, my greatest skill is forbearance.

Belial nodded to himself, his resolve strengthened, but he still tried to regain some of the rhythm of the negotiations.

“Overseer… sir, if I… after working for three years… will my debt of fifty million be wiped clean?” Belial raised his wrist, revealing that damned watch.

Hear the words.

The alarm clock emitted an extremely grating, metallic, sneer.

"Cancel it? Dream on! Listen up, you little black-skinned brat!" Its hands slammed into the watch screen. "Debt is debt! Labor reform is labor reform! Keep them separate! They're two different things!"

"Your food and lodging here." It pointed to a "canteen" in the distance, made up of broken teapots and straws, emitting eerie green smoke. Then, it pointed to a low "shantytown" that looked like it was made of stacks of flattened cardboard boxes.

"And breathing the air here! Stepping on the ground here! Receiving the light of the One God! What's free?! Huh?! All of these are charged extra!"

The alarm clock revealed a rule that Beria had never imagined.

The Emperor of the Universe was utterly shocked.

He was stunned, and then a new, purer rage ignited within him!

"Paying your way into jail?! I've roamed the universe for tens of thousands of years! I've never heard of such a rule before!! This is extortion! This is blackmail!"

Belial was furious. He was an expert at imprisonment and had never heard of such a thing as paying to go to jail. The person who set up this rule was beyond the realm of darkness in terms of mentality.

"hehe."

The alarm clock shrugged indifferently, tilting its entire body and creaking as its metal casing groaned. "Oh? Now you've seen it for yourself. Welcome to 'South Siberia,' kid. Here, the rules are ordained by the One God. If he says there's a fee, that's the truth, the harshest punishment for criminals."

“Those citizens who don’t break the law live very, very well.” It seemed to remember something, and added, its tone carrying a very serious feel.

"Oh, right, what did you just say? Three years?" It tapped Belial's wristwatch screen with its pointer. "Are you blind? Look again, is that really three years?"

Beria was taken aback and quickly looked down to examine it closely.

The small print on the wristwatch screen regarding the duration of labor reform had changed at some point, or perhaps it was always like that and I was just too angry to see it clearly?

It was clearly written there.

[The term of labor reform for serious offenders: three years plus another three years.]

See this handwriting.

Beria was completely dumbfounded.

A chilling despair shot from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head.

"Three...three years and another three years?!" The Dark King could no longer maintain his darkness; his voice was hoarse, filled with a final struggle, "How...how many years is it?!"

The alarm clock didn't answer his foolish question. It simply tapped impatiently on the tattered comb in Beria's hand with its hands, making a clattering sound to urge him on.

"How many years? Let's talk about it when your 'fluffy cotton' production can keep up with the rate of increase in your debt interest! Now, immediately, right now! Start brainstorming! Go plant your cotton!"

The alarm clock gave the order.

"Brainstorming?"

Beria had not yet recovered from the blow of "three years after three years".

"It's about getting your rusty brain working and unleashing your abstract imagination!"

The alarm clock roared, "Think of 'Grow cotton! Grow lots of cotton!' The harder you think, the faster it will grow! This is the only blessing God has given to this land! Don't waste it! Think now!"

Beria held the broken comb.

Looking at the endless gray wasteland before him, feeling the absurd task in his mind of "imagining" a million cotton balls, and seeing the desperate "three years after three years" on his wristwatch and the ever-increasing interest on his debts... For a moment, the Dark King felt desolate and still couldn't understand how he had fallen to such a state in the blink of an eye.

no way.

We still have to work.

After all, one must be patient and patient.

He angrily raised the comb and faced the barren ground, beginning his first day in "Southern Siberia." It's estimated that no Ultraman in the Ultraman world could have imagined such a scene.

Belial, the former Dark Lord, is now wielding a giant, rusty comb with crooked teeth, engaging in "mental labor" on the barren, gray land. He needs to simultaneously visualize cotton growing vigorously in his mind while physically combing the ground.

It's as if this can catalyze abstract "imagination" into tangible gains. This is nothing short of double torture! The mental humiliation and physical exhaustion are like two venomous snakes!

"Damn false god! Damn alarm clock! Damn broken comb!" He mechanically brandished the comb while muttering curses in his own universe, his voice hoarse and filled with malice. "When I get out... when I regain my power... I'll turn this place... that brat's god kingdom... into scorched earth!!"

"I'll make all of you kneel on the ground and plant dark spores in me for ten thousand years!" His curses drifted across the plains, like pebbles thrown into stagnant water, not even causing a ripple. The diverse figures around him continued their labor numbly, as if they had long since lost the ability to receive any complaints.

The more you work.

Beria realized more and more that he was a complete waste.

The efficiency is too slow.

"Damn it! I was destined not to do this kind of thing from the moment I was born!" Belial's alien, enormous eyes rolled irritably, flashing with resentment and calculation.

This is not the way to go!

He needs allies, he needs to create chaos!
Beria abruptly stopped, took a deep breath of the air thick with the smell of cotton and sweat, and used his last bit of strength to try to make his voice sound inspiring.

“Hey! You guys!!”

He roared at the nearby laborers.

“Look at yourselves! Enslaved like livestock! Toiling like machines! All for that bullshit ‘fluffy clouds’ and an everlasting debt! Are you content with this?! Where is your dignity?! Where is your spirit of resistance?! Arise! With me! Overthrow this absurd rule!”

Beria awaited a response.

Even the faintest agreement. However, all around remained deathly silent, save for the howling wind sweeping across the wasteland and the rustling of tools hitting the ground.

"What a bunch of hopeless humans!" Belial was so angry he almost snapped the comb in two. "Cowards! You humans are all cowards! You deserve to be enslaved forever!"

He cursed loudly.

I hate that iron cannot become steel.

Just then, a slightly hoarse voice with a cynical tone rang out from behind him.

"No, friend, you're wrong."

Upon hearing this, Beria turned around abruptly and saw a man who had temporarily stopped what he was doing—he was using a huge, chipped glass cutter to painstakingly cut a huge, transparent crystal of sorrow.

“We are not cowards, nor are we enslaved. We are just a group of criminals atoning for their sins and who have seen the reality clearly.” The man wore a tattered leather jacket, his muscles were bulging, his face was covered with several scars, and his eyes had a wild and untamed look like that of a beast that had weathered many storms.

Of course, deep down there was a hint of resigned weariness. He deliberately emphasized the words "criminal" and "atonement," his tone carrying a clear sarcasm.

Belial looked at the human who had finally spoken and seemed to have the air of a leader with curiosity. "Atony? Hmph, I'm innocent! I was tricked into this by that cunning brat! I'm not one of you, and I'll find a way to escape! Either join me, or stay here until you're completely rotten!"

He tried to bewitch the other party.

It displays the domineering aura of the former Dark Lord.

Unfortunately, it had little effect.

"That's how it is during the beginner phase."

Upon hearing this, the man merely chuckled, seemingly finding Beria's boastful words utterly naive. He leisurely pulled a thick, seemingly high-quality cigar from the inside pocket of his tattered jacket, then skillfully lit it with a vintage brass lighter, took a deep drag, and exhaled a perfect smoke ring.

"You...you still have spare money to buy this kind of thing?" Belial was stunned. He was quick to learn, so he knew that it was no easy feat to get such a luxury item in this godforsaken place.

"Of course I don't have any money."

The man smiled smugly, revealing his sharp canines: "My brother... he's kind of a 'civil servant' here, with a bit of authority. He brings me supplies regularly."

He waved the cigar in his hand. "How about it? Want one?"

"No, human, use your brain! Do I look like someone who can smoke?!" Belial looked at the burning cigar, then pointed to his grotesque face covered in exoskeletons and lacking normal lips and oral cavity structure, and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"...Uh...sorry, I wasn't looking." The man stared at Beria's face, which was indeed devoid of any pleasure, chuckled awkwardly, and put his cigar away.

This wasn't a social interaction Beria cared about; eagerly, he steered the conversation back on track: "So? Join me? Together, we're sure to find a way!"

He suppressed his disdain for humanity.

He feigned his emotions once again.

"About this matter."

The man didn't answer directly. Instead, he pointed with the hand holding the cigar to a young boy not far away who was diligently, even meticulously, watering a grayish-white plant with some kind of iridescent oil using a strainer. The boy's expression was focused to the point of piety, and his movements were as precise as if he were performing some kind of sacred ritual.

"See that kid?" the man said, exhaling a smoke ring. "When he first came, he caused even more trouble than you. People called him Big Group. He was an extremely dangerous mental patient."

talking.

He also showed a hint of lingering fear.

"Ok?"

However, upon hearing this, Belial's enormous eyes immediately lit up! A psychopath? Highly capable? Extremely destructive? This is practically the perfect seed of rebellion!
They are easily swayed and have high exploitability!

"Oh? Mental illness?" Beria immediately became interested, lowering his voice to ask, "What kind of mental illness is it? Paranoia? Mania? Antisocial behavior? What exactly are his abilities?"

He had already begun to plot another scheme in his mind.

however.

The man once again acted unpredictably.

"None of that matters anymore."

He interrupted Beria, his tone carrying a strange sense of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a complex emotion encompassing both admiration and reflection).

"Not important?" Belial asked, puzzled.

“Hmm,” the man took a deep drag on his cigar, slowly exhaled, and looked at the boy named Daqun with a complicated expression, “because he’s only been here for three months.”

"guess what?"

The man turned to look at Beria and said, word by word, "His mental illness is cured. Completely cured. He's as gentle as a sheep, works harder than anyone else, and hasn't had an 'episode' since. I heard that the thousands of personalities within him are now holding meetings every day to discuss how to increase cotton yields."

This statement came out.

Beria was struck dumb.

"……………………" One sentence, like the ultimate annihilation ray, instantly blasted all of Belial's seduction, scheming, and rebellious passion into dust.

He was rendered silent.

There was a long silence.

The Dark King opened his mouth, only to find that all his words seemed utterly pale and powerless at this moment. In the end, he could only manage to utter a dry, lifeless sentence.

"I...I think you're fucking sick too."

This was Beria's heartfelt assessment. The man, far from being angry, burst into laughter, his voice carrying far across the wasteland.

“My brother often praises me like that too.” He finished laughing, wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes, and then stretched out a rough, powerful, scarred hand toward Beria.

"Let me introduce myself. My name is Victor Creed, but people here call me—Sabertooth Tiger." The man was weak, but that was only in the eyes of the former Belial.

The current Belial is the type who, upon seeing anyone, will mentally assess how many of him could defeat them.

"Forehead……"

Belial hesitated for a moment, then extended his exoskeleton-covered claws and shook hands with the other. The saber-toothed tiger's grip was so strong that it hurt Belial's claws a little.

"I am Belial! The ruler of darkness! Once the master of..." Belial habitually began rattling off his long, glorious, and outdated titles, trying to overwhelm his opponent with his imposing presence. However, before he could finish his self-introduction, his voice abruptly stopped, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat.

no way.

Who told him to see the saber-toothed tiger suddenly approach?

The other party's beast-like pupils were fixed on his arms and claws covered in dark scales, his nostrils twitched slightly, and an extremely strange expression appeared on his face.

"Your...claws are so beautiful, the lines, the texture...and you...smell so good..." The saber-toothed tiger's voice became somewhat deep.

It carried a somewhat ambiguous feeling.

"???????"

Belial was struck dumb, his entire body instantly petrified, his enormous eyes wide open as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. An indescribable, bone-chilling cold, mixed with an extreme sense of absurdity and physical discomfort, instantly swept over his entire body!

At this moment, for the first time in his life, the Dark God Belial had an incredibly profound, painful, and abstract understanding of the word "living."

Yes, the Dark Demon God Belial finally understood completely and profoundly why the book called "Living" could be considered a source of spiritual comfort, something he could enjoy as a lighthearted read.

to be frank.

Belial would rather fight the King of Ultra for another 30,000 rounds than stay here for even a second longer and be praised by a man who looks like a beast for his "beautiful claws" and "smells good"!
I miss Ultraman so much.

After all, there's no Ultraman male Kirito in Ultraman!
……

"Wonderful!"

Ian's will, like an audience member who has just watched a thoroughly enjoyable comedy, slowly and contentedly withdrew from Black Adam's consciousness, which was filled with "joy."

In the real world, that eerie silence was broken.

Ian and Black Adam, who were lying side by side, began to convulse violently at the same time!

"Hehehe~" Ian's twitches were rhythmic, like an electric dancer, and a silent, extremely satisfied smile would occasionally appear on his lips.

"Gluck cluck~"

Black Adam's convulsions were even more unrestrained, his limbs flailing wildly, making strange "hoarse" sounds in his throat, as if he was about to laugh himself to death at any moment, just like a fool who had suddenly been possessed—as mentioned before, Ian's pleasure filled Black Adam's mind.

That won't be something without impact.

of course.

It's just a temporary effect.

This sudden turn of events made the Justice League members who were watching feel uneasy.

Wonder Woman gripped the Lasso of Truth tightly, watching Black Adam warily, ready to pounce at any moment. Superman, however, was more concerned about his son, his brow furrowed, prepared to check on him at any moment.

"Looks like it's almost over."

Batman's wheelchair slid forward half a meter silently. His gaze behind the white goggles remained sharp as ever, but the fingers gripping the armrests tightened slightly, revealing a hint of barely perceptible tension.

Ian's convulsions stopped first.

He suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze still lingering with joy. With fluid movements, he did a sit-up, sitting up straight and brushing off non-existent dust from his body.

He looked radiant.

Almost at the same instant he sat up, Black Adam beside him also suddenly opened his eyes! But unlike Ian's clear-headedness, Black Adam's pupils were unfocused, his mouth stretched into an exaggerated arc, and he let out a deafening, meaningless laugh. He drooled as he laughed.

Clearly, the "pollution trauma" suffered by the spiritual world is not insignificant.

"Is the matter resolved?"

After assessing Black Adam's condition, everyone's attention instantly shifted from the crazed Black Adam to Ian, who appeared perfectly normal.

Ian looked around at the Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman who had gathered around him, and his face displayed a standard, commercialized expression, as if he had just completed a highly complex surgery.

He cleared his throat and spoke in a serious tone, as if announcing something important.

"Ladies and gentlemen, regarding the issue of the 'extraterrestrial parasite' in the body of this ancient emperor, I have completed the preliminary diagnosis and... well, very proper handling." He paused deliberately, whetting everyone's appetite, before slowly extending two fingers, and then spoke with a slightly cautious tone.

"Now, I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to pay to hear?" Ian asked, adding an extra word to his usual lines. Even so, his eyes were fixed on Batman like the most precise laser-guided missiles.

Almost the instant Ian's voice faded.

"Shh!"

As if by magic, Batman's hand handed Ian a specially made bank card that was pure black and matte, without any bank logo, except for a tiny bat symbol printed in the corner.

The movements were fluid and without the slightest hesitation, clearly demonstrating experience and prior preparation.

"Uncle Bruce, you're as insightful as ever, a prophet who foresaw my prediction." Ian grinned, took the card without ceremony, pulled out a uniquely shaped POS machine from somewhere, and skillfully swiped it—a soft beep followed by the completion of the transaction.

Retrieving his card, Batman's voice, transmitted through his mask, betrayed no emotion, but his choice was consistent with his usual style: "Let's start with the good news."

His voice was deep.

"Yeah, I guessed it."

Ian raised his chin smugly.

He pointed with his thumb to Black Adam, who was still grinning and drooling next to him.

"The good news is that he was indeed invaded by something dirty from outer space, and it was quite powerful; it almost opened a chain of stores in his brain."

At this point, Ian paused, puffed out his chest, and gave me a "praise me" look: "But! You're lucky to have me! Ian Kent, a cosmic-level expert in handling complex cases, casually helped him uproot the entire threat and completely purify it! He kept his achievements to himself, so there's no need to thank him too much."

Superman breathed a slight sigh of relief upon hearing this, and Wonder Woman's wary gaze also softened somewhat.

But Batman's brow furrowed even more.

He knows this little rascal too well.

"Where's the bad news?"

Batman pressed on, his voice lowering slightly.

"The bad news is, you paid ten thousand dollars for every single word I just spoke." The words fell silent as the ruins receded into stillness.

Only Black Adam's silly laughter drifted in the distance on the wind. Superman raised his hand to his forehead. Wonder Woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end only sighed helplessly.

And Batman.

Batman is still alive.

Everyone clearly heard a heavy, suppressed sound coming from beneath the cold metal mask, as if it had been barely contained by the exertion of all his strength.

"call………………"

Shock!

Batman was breathing heavily in public, a clear sign that he was about to ascend to a steroid planet!
(End of this chapter)