American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 142 Gotham? Vice City? Just background scenery.

Gotham:

It was transformed into a gladiatorial arena.

Innocent citizens cried and fled amidst the ruins, while the Gotham Police Department cordoned off the area from a distance and futilely shouted through loudspeakers.

Their weapons, in the face of such a clash of forces, are no different from children's toys.

Occasionally, daring reporters risk their lives to broadcast live, their cameras trembling wildly, in order to capture these terrifying scenes that resemble mythical warfare for the public.

"These damned monsters...!"

"Asshole!!!"

Seeing this unbelievable scene, the man in the police uniform roared hysterically in his heart.

Compared to the gangsters and madmen he knew in the past...

Superhuman.
This is making this city, which has long been accustomed to crime, taste true and unimaginable despair for the first time!

"Gordon."

The hooded detective patted him on the shoulder and exhaled a smoke ring. "You're new to Chicago, so you probably don't know this city yet."

"But Gotham knows you. The moment you have the opposite thought, the moment you feel too comfortable, that's when it stabs you in the back."

"After all, Gotham itself is a mystery, isn't it?"

The words had barely finished
"boom--!!!"

The piercing alarms, people's screams and cries, and the groans of buildings struggling to bear the weight intertwined to create a symphony of despair.

The neon sign was torn apart, and the power cord was broken and lying on the ground.

An electric spark flew out and ignited the leaking gasoline.

Thick smoke billowed upwards, obscuring the already gloomy sky.

At the heart of that chaos, two inhuman beings are colliding violently.

One of them wore a helmet, his eyes burning with a frenzied crimson light.

The power of the red kryptonite reacted with the power within him in a terrifying way, amplifying all his hidden destructive and domineering desires to an infinite degree!

It made him seem like a god of destruction out of control.

Each wave of his hand creates a terrifying sonic boom and shockwave!

"Hahahaha! Did you see that?! This is true power! Dio!"

He laughed wildly, his burning gaze sweeping across the street like the Grim Reaper's scythe, instantly igniting a row of cars!
"boom!"

A fireball exploded and shot into the sky, scattering debris everywhere!
But Clark ignored the shockwave, simply picked up an overturned bus and slammed it into a bank building on the street corner like a toy!

"Boom——!!!"

The reinforced concrete walls were easily pierced as if made of paper, and the glass curtain wall shattered in pieces, turning into a crystal-clear and deadly downpour.

"Fool! Control your power! Do you want to tear the whole city apart?!" Dio's voice came through the stone mask, cold and suppressing violence.

He darted away, narrowly avoiding a scorching ray of light.

But the ground where they had been standing was instantly melted into a boiling, red crater.

"asshole."

Dio shattered the ground, using the momentum to dash forward!

The fist, imbued with an invisible force field, slammed into Clark's abdomen!
"Boom!"

The loud noise was like thunder.

"You stole my power again, Dio!" Clark was sent sliding backward for more than ten meters, his feet carving two deep furrows in the ground, but he seemed unharmed and became even more excited: "You're a thief too!"

"Even so, your strength is only good enough to bully livestock on the farm! Hahahaha!"

Dior's eyes turned completely cold, his last bit of patience exhausted.

Words are no longer of any use.

"THE WORLD!"

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

All the flying debris, exploding fireballs, running crowds, even shards of glass falling from the sky…

Everything froze in mid-air!

It turned the world into a deathly gray!
"Clark, you really are a bastard."

The city behind them was in ruins, and the Iceberg Club was billowing smoke.

A flash of violence crossed Dior's eyes.

If I had known this would happen, I should have just stayed home and waited.

He waited for himself to come to him, and then he went with his father...

Beat him until he comes to his senses!
Six hours ago.

The kitchen at Kent Farm is filled with the rich aroma of roasted turkey and blueberry pie.

Martha was wearing an apron and busily preparing for tonight's birthday dinner.

Outside, Jonathan and Salafir were busy hanging up streamers and Halloween decorations.

Dior leaned against the doorframe, watching this heartwarming scene with a blank expression on his face.

But those usually indifferent eyes reflected the lights inside the room and the playful noise outside the window.

The uncle decorating the party, the aunt making pastries, and Salafir laughing without a care in the world.
Clark is an idiot.
Does he even understand what he so easily abandoned?
He longed for the neon lights of the metropolis and envied the readily available, superficial power and adoration.

But he simply didn't understand that this kind of unguarded trust and acceptance...
That is the hardest thing to obtain in the world!
he.
They actually kicked it away like trash just for a laughable appearance and a few compliments.

What a ridiculous waste.

Even his easy departure was like a rat dropping that almost spoiled the soup where he was temporarily staying!

That night
I shouldn't have gone to train by the river; I should have stayed home and stopped that big, crazy guy.

It's not done with language.

It's with your fist.

Beat him until he can't get up, keep him from going anywhere, until the damn kryptonite effect fades and he turns back into that indecisive but good kid who won't disrupt this awkward balance.
That complete bastard…

The rare glimmer in Dior's eyes vanished completely, replaced by a layer of cold ice.

As the last rays of the setting sun faded, the shadow of the doorway stretched long, swallowing his half-reclining figure into the deepening twilight.

"Dudu——!"

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

"?"

Dior frowned slightly and walked to a relatively quiet corner to answer the call.

“Mr. Diego”.

A respectful but slightly hurried voice came from the other end of the phone, "Ms. Elana Falcone has arrived. She said she brought what you wanted."

"She's here?" Dio frowned slightly, glancing instinctively at Aunt Martha bustling in the kitchen behind him, and lowered his voice. "How long can she stay?"

"how long?"

Rocman seemed taken aback for a moment, remaining silent for what appeared to be a question to the person next to him, before finally replying:
"Ms. Elana said... she only has three hours at most. Three hours later, her father's men will likely find the place."

Three hours?

Dior quickly calculated the time.

I'm heading to Gotham now. After I finish this business, a round trip within three hours is tight, but not impossible. I should be back just before the birthday party starts around nine o'clock.

"it is good."

Dior made a decision: "Tell her I'll be there soon."

"Okay, sir."

Rocman agreed, but then, as if remembering something, added:
"By the way, sir, there's a Halloween costume party at the club tonight, with all sorts of people. Your current identity might make you an easy target. Perhaps... you could wear a mask?"

"it is good."

Dio responded absentmindedly, his gaze sweeping across the living room before finally settling on the antique-looking stone mask with its eerie expression hanging on the wall.

According to his father, Locke, this was a mysterious old object passed down from their ancestors.

Without hesitation, he picked it off.

The cold, stoney texture against his palm made him subconsciously hold the mask up to his face.

The outline perfectly matched his face shape, as if it were tailor-made for him.

“Auntie,” Dio said to Martha as he walked to the kitchen doorway, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible, “I’m going out to run some errands. I’ll be back as soon as possible, and I’ll try to make it in time for dinner.”

Martha looked up and forced a smile:
"Be careful on the road, Dior. Don't stay out too late; today is an important day for your father."

Dior nodded, said nothing more, and turned to go upstairs.

Soon, he carried his two black suitcases downstairs, his figure disappearing into the night, and strode quickly towards the Sebrello auto repair shop in town. "Ding~"

Accompanied by the urgent tinkling of the old wind chimes at the door, the glass door opened and closed.

Dior arrived at the Cebrelo store.

As soon as the old mechanic saw him arrive, he proudly patted a brand-new, gleaming silver Harley:

"Kid! Your treasure has arrived! It was just shipped from Gotham, and almost got lost in that godforsaken place!"

Dior didn't waste any words and simply threw the two briefcases he was carrying onto the greasy workbench next to him and opened them.

Inside were neatly stacked, bright green US dollar bills.

"Seventy thousand, the final payment."

He spoke succinctly, picked up his keys, and prepared to leave.

"Wait, Dior!"

Sebrello quickly took stock, then called him back, his brow furrowed:
"Kid, this number...something's not right. Three thousand dollars are missing?"

"few?"

Dior paused, his brow furrowed.

He hasn't touched those two boxes much lately, so the money should be just right.

He quickly checked the count himself. Indeed, three thousand dollars were inexplicably missing.

“Cebrero, you know me…” Dio’s voice turned cold.

"Okay, okay,"

The usually stingy Cebrello surprisingly waved his hand, exhaled a smoke ring, and smiled as he watched Dio's eager departure.
"You seem to be in a real hurry. You didn't even ride your usual Harley over. Something important must have happened. Take it with you. We can talk about the three thousand dollars later."

Dio glanced at Cebrello with some surprise, nodded, and a rare, grateful smile appeared on his lips.

"Thanks, old man."

Without further hesitation, he turned and stepped onto the brand-new Harley, which was supposed to be a birthday surprise for his father.

The engine roared with a deep, powerful sound. He twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle shot off like a black lightning bolt, speeding towards Interstate 70 leading to Gotham.

But shortly after he sped away along the highway...

Another slightly old, dusty Harley was parked on the side of the road.

A man wearing a full-face helmet and carrying an equally heavy suitcase took off his helmet, revealing a face filled with suppressed anger.

He had just caught a glimpse of a very familiar blond figure speeding past on a cool new motorcycle on the other side of the road.

direction
Pointing straight at Gotham!

An unnamed anger suddenly surged in Clark's heart.

"This guy…"

Looking in the direction Dio disappeared, Clark unconsciously clenched his fist, the ruby ring on his finger gleaming ominously. "Today is Uncle's birthday! How dare he run to that godforsaken place?!"

Uncle Locke was so good to him, so tolerant…

How could he be so unfilial! So reckless! So ungrateful!

The flames of jealousy, mixed with the controlling desire and irritability amplified by the red kryptonite, instantly ignited Clark's heart.

He has to go! He has to bring this hopeless, unfilial son back!
immediately! immediately!
He didn't even consider going home first; he simply turned the car around.

They chased after Dio at an astonishing speed in the direction he had left!

The two brothers, one after the other, with different purposes but equally fiery tempers, drove toward Gotham City, a place destined to be anything but peaceful today.
-
iceberg.

Today, this place has been completely transformed into a grand masquerade carnival in the shadow world of Gotham.

The air was permeated with the bubbles of expensive champagne, the allure of perfume, and desire.

The powerful and wealthy, wearing masks or hoods, conversed in hushed tones, their insincere laughter drifting between the music's pauses, but only for a moment, before almost everyone's gaze...

Everyone was involuntarily drawn to the entrance.

Roccoman, the increasingly powerful manager of the club who usually only needed to strategize behind the scenes, was now personally leading a new guest into the noisy dance floor with a respectful demeanor.

The man was tall and slender, dressed in a perfect black suit.

What is most striking is the strange and ancient stone mask on his face, and the dazzling blond hair beneath it.

This distinctive feature almost announces his identity to everyone.

The legend of the Iceberg Club today, that mysterious king—

Diego.

However.
The allure of a masquerade ball lies in this veil of unspoken mystery.

just in case
Is this just yet another audacious and meticulously crafted imposter?

Whispers and burning speculation spread rapidly among the crowd like a virus, with eyes intertwined with intense curiosity, cautious awe, and undisguised inquiry.

Yes, this unexpected incident only made the already heated atmosphere of the ball even more intense.

Ignoring the stares of those around him, Dio, guided by Roccoman, walked straight through the crowd to the third floor, to his familiar private room.

"Click."

The heavy soundproof door was pushed open and closed again, instantly shutting out the noise and revelry from the outside world.

It was like two different worlds.

The lighting was soft, and the atmosphere was so quiet it was almost oppressive.

Elana Falcone sat alone on the large sofa.

She wore a deep purple dress that accentuated her snow-white skin, but her usual languid expression was gone. She only looked up abruptly when she heard the door open.

When that iconic blonde hair and eerie stone mask came into view, the coldness and wariness on her face instantly melted away like ice meeting the sun.

It radiates a dazzling light that blends hope, dependence, and relief.

"You've come..."

She almost instinctively wanted to get up and go to greet him.

But Dior paid no attention to her change in mood, and without even exchanging pleasantries, he went straight to the sofa opposite her and sat down, getting straight to the point. His voice sounded somewhat muffled through the mask:

"Tell me. What did you bring?"

Elana took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down from her rescued state. She knew that the man in front of her didn't like nonsense or unnecessary emotions.

So he quickly organized his thoughts and said:
"It's the Luther family."

“Lonnell Luther…he’s been making huge moves lately, using all available resources to invade and infiltrate the traditional spheres of influence in various cities in a… a near-mad and radical way. And in Gotham…”

Her voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“Our Falcone family is his primary and top priority! He wants to completely replace us and take control here…”

Before she could finish speaking, Dior's brows furrowed tightly beneath his mask.

Uncle Lionel?

this matter.
How did this get involved with him?

Dior fell silent and leaned back into the sofa.

This was completely beyond his expectations.

He had initially thought it was just a power struggle within the Falcone family or a routine clash with other local bullies, but he never expected that the spearhead would be aimed directly at Lionel Luther, who was closely associated with his father.

This made what was originally a clear plan complicated.

"."

Seeing Dio remain silent, Elana assumed he wasn't satisfied with the value of the information and panicked, quickly adding, "I have more specifics! I know some of the family's financial channels, and my father might..."

"boom!!!"

Elana's words were abruptly interrupted by a deafening roar!

The heavy solid wood door of the private room was kicked open from the outside with terrifying force!

The door slammed against the wall, groaning in pain!

Rocman was lying unconscious on the carpet outside the door.

At the entrance stood a tall, uninvited guest wearing a motorcycle helmet.

His gaze, through the mask, was fixed intently on Dio.

He shouted in a suppressed, muffled voice:

"Go back with me!"

Dior slowly stood up from the sofa.

Despite the distorted sound, he recognized the intruder almost instantly.

“You…” Dio’s voice was filled with disbelief and utter disgust. “How dare you come here? Who gave you the audacity to trespass on my property?!”