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

Chapter 263 God and Lucifer
On a park bench that miraculously survived the shockwave and debris.

A kind-faced old man stands alone, seemingly untouched by the world.

He sat there quietly, seemingly isolated from the apocalyptic clamor around him.

In the same area, The Flash, Barry Allen, and Wonder Woman, Diana, anxiously looked up at the sky, trying to catch any clues about the battle in the sky.

However, even Diana's demigod vision, imbued with divine blood, could not penetrate the thick atmosphere and chaotic energy currents to glimpse the scenery of outer space.

After all, she was only a demigod, not a full god, so her gaze could only reach the flickering, aurora-like afterglow of energy above the clouds. As for Barry, his super speed did not enhance his perception, and his vision was completely blocked by the low-lying dust and radiation clouds.

Like a blindfolded moth.

Of everyone present, only the old man on the bench had his deep, star-like eyes clearly reflecting the fierce battle taking place in the distant outer space.

Ian, still carrying Superman who seemed to have given up struggling and whose expression was numb, was engaged in an unimaginable battle with Doomsday, who had evolved to the size of a small planet, covered in dark gold bio-armor, and whose energy fluctuations were enough to disturb gravity. The battle was grand and quite a spectacle.

"Tsk, tsk."

In the old man's eyes, he saw Ian wielding Superman, using him as a humanoid warhammer, repeatedly and rhythmically pounding Doomsday's hardest skull, joints, and energy core. The scene was filled with a kind of absurd and comical sense of "filial piety."

Superman was like a handy blunt weapon, wielded with great force by Ian, each impact sending out distorted patterns of light in the vacuum of outer space.

of course.

This may only be the surface.

Of all those who witnessed this scene, only the old man could see through the meaning behind the absurdity—Ian was not simply humiliating or using Superman as a weapon, but was completing the predetermined historical milestone of "Superman vs. Doomsday" in an extremely cunning way.

Yes.

He did not change the core fact that "Superman was involved and ultimately led to Doomsday's defeat."

Ian only subtly altered the process—turning Superman from an "active and heroic fighter" into a "passive but crucial combat tool."

This "fooling" of history both tests the boundaries of the rules and seems to cleverly maintain a certain balance, full of Ian's unconventional and dangerous "creativity".

This is also the aspect that the elderly appreciate the most.

Watch this scene.

The old man's lips curled into an almost imperceptible smile. He thought the child's imagination was indeed very interesting, always able to find such amusing gaps in rigid rules.

but.

Appreciation is one thing.

Letting things run wild is another matter entirely.

"The profession of writer really can't be too smooth when you're young." The old man seemed to be talking to himself, his voice as soft as a breeze brushing away dust.

He slowly raised one hand, his long, slender fingers tapping lightly.

The movement was as elegant as stroking a lover's cheek, as if painting on an invisible canvas, or as if plucking a vast string that covers the entire universe yet no one can perceive.

There was no radiance, no surge of energy, not even the slightest fluctuation in the air. But in the instant his fingers gently brushed across the surface, something deeper, more fundamental, seemed to be subtly adjusted. It was as if a trivial branch had been added to the course of the story, or as if an insignificant thread had been removed from the fabric of fate.

It seems something has changed.

Yet it seems that everything is still the same as before.

The change was so mysterious that it transcended the boundaries between existence and nothingness.

"Experience it."

After doing all this, the old man calmly stood up from the bench, carefully tidied his inconspicuous clothes, and brushed away non-existent dust.

He glanced one last time at the Flash and Wonder Woman still arguing not far away—Barry was grumbling about Wonder Woman not giving him a live update on the battle in outer space.

"You're such a weak demigod! You can't even see outer space?" To be honest, it wasn't that Barry was being sarcastic, but this really didn't fit the common person's imagination of gods.

"I'm still young! I haven't fully grown up yet!"

Diana instantly became "red-hot" again.

At four-figure age, her knuckles turned white as she gripped the Vulcan sword—to be honest, it wasn't just Barry's low emotional intelligence that annoyed her, but also Diana's pride that was making her very uncomfortable.

Originally, Diana came to this place to resolve the crisis, or at the very least, to fight alongside Superman to resist the disaster. She never imagined that she would be standing there like a nobody.

Not only could she not help in any way, but she also had no idea how the situation had developed. For the first time in many years, Wonder Woman felt her own powerlessness.

"I should go take care of something else too."

The old man withdrew his gaze, seemingly explaining his actions to someone, but he simply tilted his head and smiled slightly as if he could see a non-existent scene.

Subsequently.

He walked forward with steady steps.

"Da da da~"

The old man seemed to be taking a normal step, and he brushed past a Batmobile that was rushing towards Gotham from a distance with its engine roaring, making a passing maneuver that went unnoticed by Batman.

however.

Then he lifted his leg again, and everything was different again.

In those seemingly ordinary few steps, the space beneath his feet was like a folded piece of paper, with the outlines of countless cities, mountains and rivers, and even the light and shadow of continental plates rapidly flowing and collapsing around him.

The next moment, he had left that apocalyptic battlefield and appeared outside a small house in a quiet neighborhood in New York. Another identical bench stood quietly beside the sidewalk, as if it had always been there. The old man sat down leisurely, his gaze fixed on the small house in the distance, its lights shining warmly.

The atmosphere here is completely different from that of the ruins. Apart from the faint smell of fentanyl in the air, it is quiet. The battle in outer space has only changed the night sky.

But in New York.

Nobody cares about the night sky.

Aside from money, people are only concerned with what's hidden beneath their clothes. Of course, the trivialities of life are also an eternal theme in human society.

It's like the Western-style building opposite the old man's house.

At that moment, a fierce argument was breaking out between a young man who looked somewhat scholarly and somewhat comical and his girlfriend.

The emotionally charged man even flung open the window, pointing out to the distant sky where he could still faintly hear a rumbling sound and see strange energy streaks occasionally flashing across the horizon.

"Look at you! Even God can't stand your selfish, self-serving, and greedy mindset!" the man said, criticizing his girlfriend's moral character.

His girlfriend, a beautiful woman with red-rimmed eyes, retorted with a sob in her voice, "I just wanted you to stop being such a pushover! It only makes us suffer and miss opportunities! What did I do wrong?! We're not capitalists, we don't need to do so many good deeds to atone for our sins!"

She was arguing.

"I'm just doing what I can."

The man also retorted.

"You've always been like this! Oh my God! I really can't live like this anymore!" With that, the woman pushed the man away forcefully and ran out of the house crying.

She even slammed the door shut in protest. Wiping away her tears, the woman walked quickly, not even noticing the old man sitting on the bench by the roadside, until he gently spoke: "Take it easy, child. Being a good person and having kind thoughts isn't necessarily a bad thing, is it?"

The woman was startled and stopped in her tracks, realizing that the elderly stranger had overheard their argument. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she choked out a complaint, her voice trembling with grievance.

"Be a good person? What's the point of being a good person?"

In modern society, more than one person will ask themselves this question.

Perhaps needing to vent her emotions, she began to pour out her troubles to the seemingly kind and harmless old woman, telling her that her boyfriend had missed out on a promotion and raise because of his insistence on so-called "principles" and "kindness," had been taken advantage of by his colleagues, and had even had to pay for his own community event but no one remembered to pay him back...

“In this world, good people simply can’t survive! I just want us to have a better life, am I wrong? I’m pregnant! We have to think about the baby and the future!” She became more and more agitated as she spoke.

The old man didn't interrupt, but listened patiently, his eyes calm and tolerant. Only after she had calmed down a little did he speak slowly, comforting her with a voice that carried a strange soothing power. His words were simple yet went straight to the heart, without any grand principles, but simply guiding her to see the truth that had been obscured by anger and grievances.

"Your boyfriend will be a good father, don't worry. He's just a little too idealistic, but that doesn't mean he can't provide a good life for you and the baby."

As he spoke, the old man began to tell the woman that her boyfriend must also have some admirable qualities, and that the rewards of kindness might not be immediately apparent.

"Thank you."

The woman's emotions gradually stabilized.
She felt the knot in her chest loosen a little. Looking at the old man, she asked curiously, "Sir, are you...are you a pastor?"

The woman felt that the old man was very similar to the pastors in the church.

The old man simply smiled slightly, his gaze deep and thoughtful.

Sometimes.

His answer was somewhat ambiguous, but it was actually full of profound meaning.

Ordinary women simply lack the wisdom to comprehend this.

The woman was amused by the answer, laughing even before her tears had dried: "Where can you find someone who works part-time as a pastor? You're obviously joking. But if you really were a pastor, you would definitely be an excellent and very comforting one. I feel much better after talking to you. Thank you."

She finished speaking sincerely, gave a polite bow, and prepared to leave. Just as the woman was about to turn the corner, the old man's gentle voice came again, clearly reaching her ears: "Be more patient, child. Sometimes, what you think is bad may not actually be that bad."

Life always surprises us, perhaps in the next moment.

The old man spoke softly.

Upon hearing this, the woman paused, turned around, gave the old man a grateful smile, and nodded. Although unsure if she had fully understood, she still responded politely.

"Thank you, I will remember that."

Then she disappeared around the street corner.

The old man withdrew his gaze and turned it back to the window of the small villa. Inside, a man was anxiously peering out, his phone clutched in his hand, seemingly dialing repeatedly, his face filled with regret and worry. The bedroom light was still on, and he could faintly hear a low, apologetic voicemail message.

The woman's phone hadn't rung. This could be a problem with the telecommunications company, but it's also possible that some mysterious force was deliberately preventing the man from contacting her temporarily.

Time flowed quietly through the tranquil night of the community. After an unknown amount of time, a man dressed in a well-tailored, expensive black suit, exuding an air of nonchalance and languid charm, silently appeared beside the bench and sat down without any ceremony.

He had a handsome face that could make any man or woman's heart flutter, but at this moment it was filled with resentment.

"So you've come at this boring time, huh?" The newcomer was none other than Lucifer Morningstar, Lord of Hell. He crossed his legs, his tone full of sarcasm. "Back in Hell, you made me lock up Mom. Now that Mom's run off to Earth, you're making me lock her up in the basement of my bar!"

"You're the one who doesn't want to face her! And what's the result? You've left behind a rotten marriage, while you're here living a leisurely life, even acting as a marriage counselor for others?"

Lucifer's tone was full of sarcasm.

The old man, perhaps he should be called the Creator of all things, the Lord of the universe, the eternal and almighty Father, the most holy, the most benevolent, the most merciful, the king of the Kingdom of Heaven whose reign will never end.

Mortals can point fingers and criticize, but the extraordinary can never be described—God.

God, who had changed his appearance, sighed softly, his tone still calm: "I just want you to... protect your mother and avoid some unnecessary trouble."

The trouble he was trying to express was indeed difficult to put into words; those who understand, understand.

"what!"

Lucifer let out a sneer, clearly disdainful.

"Isn't it the same thing? Is there a fundamental difference between locking her up and 'protecting' her? I know your tricks all too well! It's always the same thing. You always want someone else to be the villain, the one carrying out the cold orders, while you yourself are always the loving, forgiving, and detached God, right?"

His voice was filled with long-suppressed resentment, "As the ruler of this world, my laughable father, when will you realize that you are utterly incompetent!"

God remained unmoved by Lucifer's impassioned accusations.

It was as if God was listening to a comment that had nothing to do with Him.

He even turned his gaze from the mansion to the distant lights of New York. "Perhaps. Not good enough... So, I'm now considering letting the person inside the house..."

He pointed to the small villa, then continued in a lighthearted tone, "He might be my part-time God for a few days, and then I can take a few days off."

Lucifer followed his gaze.

His expression instantly turned extremely suspicious.

It was even a bit absurd.

"A mortal? You want him to be your God? That spineless coward who can't even appease his own girlfriend and only knows how to be a nice guy?" He clearly couldn't believe it.

“This is interesting, isn’t it? I’ve named this story ‘Bruce Almighty’…it’ll be very good.” God’s tone carried a hint of enigma.

In this regard.

Lucifer simply scoffed.

He shook his head.

"Come on, Father, stop trying to fool me. I've seen through your tricks. What you're really interested in isn't some joke about a mortal pretending to be God."

"Isn't Ian Kent the one you care about most? You've gone through all this trouble and messed things up, just so you can make him the god?"

"Everyone thinks so, yes, everyone can see that."

At this point, Lucifer suddenly changed the subject, a shrewd glint in his eyes that suggested he had seen through everything. He leaned forward slightly and stared intently at God.

"Yes, that's right! You want us all to have this illusion, to focus all our attention on Ian, and thus overlook your deeper, hidden intentions!"

Lucifer stared intently at God, trying to find a flaw in that expressionless face.

God seemed intrigued by his words. He slowly turned his head, focusing his gaze on Lucifer for the first time. A faint hint of amusement flickered in his eyes, which had seen through eternity. He raised an eyebrow slightly, looking at his most rebellious son, who also most wanted to understand him.

"Oh? Then tell me, what is my true intention?"

God spoke softly, like a night breeze brushing across a lake.

this moment.

Time seemed to freeze.

Lucifer looked at God.

After a long time.

His handsome face shifted in expression, and finally, as if he had made up his mind, he lowered his voice and spoke in an almost whispered, yet resolute tone.

"You're cultivating an opponent..."

"Something that truly makes you feel excited, energetic, and even... threatened..."

"Nemesis".

Lucifer's words, like a stone thrown into a silent pool, echoed silently under the night sky, spreading out in invisible ripples.

God listened quietly.

The smile on his face remained unchanged.

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(End of this chapter)