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

Chapter 159 Who is the person DC absolutely cannot afford to offend?

Thomas Wayne.

Bruce Wayne's father, Martha Wayne's husband.

He was the former patriarch of the Wayne family, a wealthy family in Gotham City, the former CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and a former field medic. He was the unfortunate King of Gotham who was murdered along with his wife in Crime Alley when Bruce was eight years old.

When Bruce was eight years old, his family went to see a Zorro movie. After leaving the theater, he met an ordinary hoodlum named Joe Cher in Crime Alley.

Thus began a spur-of-the-moment robbery.

Two bullets.

They ended the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, the rulers of Gotham's light. It was the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne that led their son, Bruce Wayne, down the path of the Dark Knight.

Become the Batman of Gotham City.

This is a relatively constant event in the DC Universe, so much so that in most parallel universes, Thomas Wayne must die. Of course, there are also some special universes where Thomas Wayne does not die; in the Flashpoint universe and other worlds where Bruce Wayne died, he took on the responsibility of Gotham's vigilante and became Batman.

Therefore, it's accurate to say that he's the true Batman. Compared to Bruce, Thomas is more violent and extreme, preferring to use a handgun and showing no concern for the lives of criminals. Of course, he's not the great Dark Knight like his son, but rather a vengeful knight filled with rage and hatred.

This can be seen from the fact that Old Wayne was able to fight his way to become the king of Hell in this hell with his mortal body; his methods are even more unscrupulous than Bruce Wayne's.

"Thomas! Thomas Wayne!"

Ian could certainly recognize the King of Hell in front of him at a glance. After all, all students visit history museums in elementary school, and the story of Batman's father's murder that led to the change of Gotham has even appeared in high school history textbooks. The photos are very clear, and the textbook writers praise this capitalist to the extreme.

He's obviously the kind of guy who's taken a lot of money from Thomas Wayne... Every educated American knows Batman's father, but who would have thought that the master of this city would be Thomas Wayne?
At least Ian hadn't expected it.

Thomas Wayne's appearance surprised Ian.

The former head of the Wayne family, who should have been lying in his grave, now sat on the throne in the tower, smiling as he watched Ian descend from the human world into hell.

He seemed to have anticipated Ian's arrival.

"It's me, perhaps you should call me..."

Thomas Wayne was about to say something.

“Brother Thomas! I’ve talked to Sister Martha about you!” Ian interrupted, managing to elevate his seniority slightly through his own efforts.

This is strength.

It's also true.

Why didn't Ian get to see his sister Martha in heaven?

He's seen it!

By this time, Ian had already processed the information about meeting Batman's father in Hell.

It's not surprising that a capitalist like Old Wayne would appear in Hell, since this is almost always where capitalists end up.

of course.

This does not mean that Thomas Wayne was a completely bad person.

He's the kind of bad person who isn't really that bad.

He also possesses many good qualities.

"..."

Thomas Wayne was very familiar with Ian's kind of behavior; he had seen countless people trying to get on his good side both in life and after death, but this was the first time he had ever met someone with such a pure motive.

The other party wasn't after his money, nor his power in hell—yes, Thomas Wayne was clever; he could see that Ian only wanted to take advantage of young Master Wayne. This thought was pure and fervent, clearly visible in those yearning eyes.

The boy will turn fifteen in a few days.

He genuinely has a desire to be called "uncle" by Batman!

"Brother Thomas! It's so nice to see you!" Ian felt that his little thoughts were not excessive, but rather quite reasonable, after all, he had been calling Batman "uncle" for fourteen years and several hundred days.

Now, of course, it's time for Batman to call him "Uncle" for fourteen years! Ian was a little surprised to see Thomas before, but now he feels that it is perhaps reasonable.

It's all because God wants Batman to call him "uncle"! Otherwise, why would Ian be here? Since this is God's will, Ian certainly wouldn't dare to disobey!

"..."

Thomas Wayne sensed Ian's emotions.

He fell silent again.

"This city is so beautiful!"

Ian had learned to change the subject himself. He walked to the railing, looked down, and saw Jobs still peddling the transparent iPhone 22 with its many, many screens.

That phone can be opened like a fan.

22 folds.

They look great, and Ian wanted to take one with him when he left.

"It took me many years of hard work to build it, and through that I gained power comparable to many demon lords." Thomas Wayne also liked his new Gotham.

A hell where people can live and work in peace and contentment.

This is what Thomas Wayne once wanted to make Gotham into.

During his tenure, he provided substantial assistance to many of Gotham's poor, not just for show, but genuinely helped the people without needing to ask why they were so poor.

The poverty of the people is at most 30% related to the capitalist king; the remaining 70% is largely related to Gotham's special status in the DC Universe.

At least Thomas Wayne helped the poor not just to get tax breaks, and Bruce Wayne inherited many of his policies to help the poor. However, neither father nor son could eradicate the deep-seated corruption within the city. The DC universe needs a chaotic Gotham, an absolute state that no one can influence.

Many people only know Bruce Wayne, thus overlooking Thomas Wayne's abilities. He was also a very capable and exceptionally intelligent individual. If we were to consider who had the ability and the inclination to build such a magnificent and harmonious city in Hell, then Thomas Wayne, as "King," would definitely be a reasonable candidate.

Ian gradually digested this information.

“It seems you’re similar to Crowley; both of you started as mortals and became demons.” Ian could also sense that this city was the source of Thomas’s power.

"A demon? I have something I want to talk to you about, it's about my reluctance to become the King of Hell... Please have a seat here." After giving Ian a deep look, Thomas led him to the luxurious office behind the tower. He gestured to the leather sofa opposite him, his tone indeed as gentle as if he were entertaining an old friend.

Ian made sure he remembered this, especially the feeling of being an "old friend," and needed to highlight it directly. This would give him the confidence to speak the truth when communicating with Bruce Wayne in the future.

"Your sofas here even have heated seats?" Ian asked curiously, as if he were visiting a grand garden. He plopped down on the sofa and felt a comfort unlike any other sofa he had ever seen.

"Yes, with a sofa like this, you only need to enclose a little devil inside, and it will even give you a massage inside the sofa." Thomas Wayne didn't know if he was joking or not.

He turned and walked toward the wine cabinet, which was even more extravagant than the one in Obadiah's office in Marvel. At that moment, Ian could truly feel something massaging him from under the sofa.

"not bad."

Ian's gaze fell on the liquor cabinet, which contained liquors that could only be found in the human world. It was clearly smuggled goods. He wondered if Commissioner Crowley had played a key role in this.

"What would you like to drink?" Thomas poured himself a drink. The wine cabinet contained Romanée-Conti, Tang San's favorite wine, but most of it was still a hellish wine as red as blood.

"Wine, fine wine."

Ian answered without hesitation.

Thomas Wayne glanced back at him.

"Children shouldn't drink alcohol." Thomas Wayne hadn't expected that after spending so long in Hell, he still retained some humanity and adhered to the rules that human elders should follow.

This made Ian feel a little uncomfortable.

"Are you telling a hellish joke? I'm already in hell, so of course I have to be a bad boy who secretly drinks, otherwise people will think I'm not worthy of wandering around in hell."

Ian knew his mother couldn't catch up to him in Hell to smell if he had alcohol in his mouth, and his father's nose hadn't yet evolved to the point where he could smell him drinking across dimensions.

This was a rare opportunity to taste the forbidden, so Ian didn't want to miss it.

“You actually think you’re just a bad boy.” Thomas paused for a moment, then finally raised his hand slightly to signal, and the Duke of Hell immediately brought over a glass of peach wine.

He was like the new butler that old Wayne had found. With just a glance from old Wayne, the Duke of Hell knew what to do. And the wine that the Duke of Hell gave Ian was very low in alcohol content.

Ian took the glass, pulled a straw from his all-purpose pocket, wiped it on his clothes with a "germaphobe" attitude, and then put the straw into the glass.

"Coo coo coo~"

Ian took a gentle sip through the straw, his cheeks puffing out and then falling back down, as if he were sipping fruit wine like he was drinking juice. The pink liquid swirled slightly in the crystal glass.

Continuously decreasing.

It exuded a sweet, cloying aroma. Ian's cheeks puffed out rhythmically, like a hamster stealing juice, as he visibly emptied the entire glass.

"Continued Cup!"

Ian slammed the empty glass down on the table with a flourish. While Sun Wukong stole peaches in the sky, Ian stole peach wine in hell; Ian felt he was, in a way, a great sage himself.

"Very greedy."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, gesturing for the Duke of Hell to pour more wine. However, Ian this time snatched the bottle, inserted the straw, and began gulping it down again.

"Forehead……"

The Duke of Hell was of good character, so he didn't sigh helplessly until he left the office, his voice so soft that it went unnoticed by Ian's super hearing.

He continued to wait outside, ready to respond to old Wayne at any time.

"It tastes good." Ian quite liked the taste of the wine; who doesn't love peaches? From peaches that cost one yuan each to peaches that cost ten thousand yuan a night.

Everyone loves it.

The atmosphere in the office was harmonious. In the quiet tower, the only sounds were Ian slurping his wine and Thomas gently swirling his wine glass.

“I’m very interested in the Atonement you’ve been proclaiming everywhere,” Thomas finally spoke, his voice deep and magnetic. He clearly had his own informants in the upper levels of Hell.

"really?"

Ian was sucking on a straw.

He gave a vague reply.

“I’m willing to trade everything I’ve built in Hell for your indulgences.” Thomas looked directly at Ian, his eyes deep, his tone more sincere than ever before.

He didn't want to be the king of hell.

“This place is too far from the human world, so I definitely won’t come here often. What I really want is the Wayne family’s business in the human world, which is a tiny bit of the Wayne Group’s shares.”

“I’ve never been greedy since I was a child, so I really only need a tiny bit, to sit back and collect the money, and then use that money to support my business so that it can develop faster and better.”

Ian was telling the truth.

The dirty and hard work should still be done by the big capitalists.

He just needs to be a quiet, innocent figure who quietly distributes the money.

Having grown up several days earlier, Ian had long since stopped coveting the Wayne family's wealth; his only focus was on building his own Ian Greatest Technology Corporation.

This is America, this is Earth, this is the solar system, this is the future of the entire DC universe!
“I’m sorry, I can’t make any decisions for Bruce. He is now the owner of Wayne Enterprises.” Thomas pondered for a moment, then slowly shook his head in refusal.

However, Ian did not understand this rejection.

"I see."

Ian nodded, his eyes gleaming slyly. Unlike most highly intelligent people, Ian could always pick up on the unspoken meaning behind others' words, even anticipating their intended message before they could even react. Sure enough, before Thomas could even grasp the nature of his attitude, Ian had already pulled out—a whip and candles—from his extra dimension.

"??????"

Thomas Wayne looked more bewildered than ever before.

"what are you up to?"

He swallowed.

He wore a confused expression, trying to appear calm.

"Let's test Young Master Wayne's filial piety. Let's create a fake news story with the headline 'Shocking! Wayne Corporation Founder Imprisoned and Exploited by the Queen of Hell!'"

Ian eagerly brandished the whip. With his intelligence enhanced, his thought process became active again, so this idea was quickly replaced by another.

"No! Fake news would require writing other sections of the Hell newspaper, and I don't have time to learn about daily life in Hell, so let's just make a video instead!"

"Western style, island style, Korean style...anything is fine!" Ian became more and more excited as he spoke. It was easy to see from the short videos he posted online that he had the ambition to become a director in all three fields.

"??????!!!!" Thomas Wayne, upon hearing Ian's choice of words, fell into a long silence.

He finally realized a problem—the role that allowed his son to prepare more than 80,000 response documents in a short period of time did indeed have a unique and dangerous aspect.

"Let's make a film! Trust me! I've filmed Justice League: Assemble and The Death of Superman before, so I have a lot of filming experience."

The boy enthusiastically reiterated his proposal to Thomas, the King of Hell, demonstrating his exceptional wisdom. He firmly believed that Bruce Wayne must be a filial son.

Please allow me to refuse!

Thomas Wayne's expression changed repeatedly, but in the end, his reason prevailed over his desire to leave hell, and he still maintained his aristocratic understanding when he spoke.

This response was very decisive.

however.

……

Cold, shaking.

Thomas Wayne got up from the floor, his head throbbing. His suit was covered in dust, his tie was loosely hanging around his neck, and his shoes were stained with some kind of sticky black liquid.

Before I was fully conscious, my body was already enveloped by some invisible chill.

“Where am I? I remember being murdered.” Thomas Wayne rubbed his eyes. Before him lay a gray wasteland, the sky hanging low like a curtain that never cleared. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, and in the distance came the wails of souls and the dragging of chains.

He looked down at himself.

His suit was still impeccably tailored, but the fabric had become thin and light, like some kind of ghostly gauze. The hands of the former king of Gotham began to tremble slightly.

Not because of fear.

Rather, it's because they lost the control over their lives that came with power.

I felt a sense of powerlessness I had never experienced before.

"You... are the best in terms of both quality and ass among this batch of souls coming to hell." A hoarse voice came from the darkness, accompanied by a strange laugh that did not belong to humans.

"Who is there?"

Thomas looked around warily.

In the corner, on a chair that no one knew why had suddenly appeared in the wilderness, he saw a hunched-over hellish imp polishing a Desert Eagle pistol. Its skin was like charred tree bark, its eyes were like two burning embers, and its mouth stretched to its ears, revealing jagged, sharp teeth.

"Where is this place?"

Thomas asked in a low voice, his voice steady, but his knuckles were already slightly white.

"You're in hell." The little devil grinned maliciously, casually tossing the pistol aside. It's unclear why it had been cleaning the pistol, since it looked completely useless.

"This is the end of the lives of all capitalists, and you will be punished here for eternity." The little devil licked his lips, as if he really enjoyed watching others panic.

Thomas's pupils contracted slightly.

"impossible……"

He muttered to himself, his voice filled with despair and an unwillingness to believe the truth, "I still have children, a wife, and a city to take care of..." Thomas paused slightly, then, as if realizing something, a look of panic appeared on his face.

Am I really dead?

Thomas Wayne started anxiously spinning in circles.

"But my son is still so young!"

His tone was very worried.

"Heh—" The brat let out a piercing laugh, flung out a black metal bracelet, and roughly fastened it around Thomas's neck, causing Thomas Wayne's face to flush red instantly.

There were bruises on his neck from being tightly strangled.

"Wear this, and everything in this world will be irrelevant to you."

The little devil grinned and mocked Thomas Wayne, "You're no longer some earthly tycoon; you're just a sinful soul who could trample a whole bunch of people to death if you just took a couple of steps in hell."

The kid's words.

Thomas Wayne was forced to kneel on the ground, unwilling to accept it. The shackles around his neck looked cold and heavy, as if they were constantly draining his will.

"Now, follow me."

The hellish imp dragged it away viciously.

Thomas Wayne was dragged along, the chains tightening around him, making it hard to breathe. He tried to break free, but the chains seemed to be bound to his soul, each struggle feeling like a tearing apart of his own life.

All these subtle psychological states can be seen on Thomas Wayne's face. His expressions are truly rich, like that of the world's best master of facial expression management.

"Where are you taking me?"

Thomas asked through gritted teeth, his throat aching from being constricted.

"Your soul has been sold to the most evil, terrifying, and ruthless Lord Sangu Demon by a mysterious person who is supreme, infinitely great, and possesses ninety thousand layers of light, but who has not yet thought of anyone in hell who has a grudge against him. Lord Sangu Demon wants you to participate in his reincarnation game."

“He wants to extract energy from your suffering.” With that, the hellish imp led Thomas toward a massive volcano surrounded by many “battery”-like crystals.

It contains countless tormented souls.

Their souls are being drained.

Then, it was transported through pipes to the distant city "brightened by soul fire." Huge pools of lava churned, waves of heat washing over you, yet carrying an eerie liveliness.

On the road to the volcano.

Countless souls were dragged forward; some screamed, some begged for mercy, and some were numb, led by chains like walking corpses.

"The air is thick with the smell of sulfur and despair," the Hell Imp explained to itself, looking around. Thomas Wayne also glanced around at his fellow and non-fellow citizens.

Countless little devils, carrying countless pitiful souls, were heading towards the crater. Each of these hellish little devils had a ferocious expression on its face, and even those little devils without faces had the word "ferocious" etched on their faces.

It includes all eighteen mainstream writing systems.

Is this a true display of grotesque ferocity, or merely the grotesqueness of different countries? They laugh maniacally as they brandish whips and candles, relentlessly lashing and torturing one soul after another with wax.

"Hurry up! Not having legs is no excuse! Even a cripple has to move faster!"

"You are all dead, you have all become ghosts, you have all come to hell. Don't even think about cheating or trying to get away with it, because the tricks you're playing are things we've already done before!"

"Your Highness? Your King? Your father is an African chieftain who can conjure up an army of 100,000 to avenge you with a single command? Laughable! The powerful and wealthy of this world are nothing in our hell!"

The little devils furiously reprimanded the unruly souls, especially the one who boasted that his father was an African chief. The soul, tormented by whips and candles, became much thinner.

The wailing continued.

"hurry up!"

The hellish imps escorting Thomas Wayne were also whipping him, and the old Gotham king looked utterly miserable, crawling frantically on the ground trying to escape the lashes.

He ultimately had no choice but to give in and move forward with the long queue. Countless souls formed long lines and, upon reaching the crater, were forged into those battery-like crystals.

These ghosts had different identities and personalities in life. Some shook their heads and sighed, while others wailed and cried. However, there were still some stubborn people who were bewildered and confused.

"My father is Darkseid! Even though I'm a bastard, how dare you hit me?"

"Don't fight! Don't fight!"

"Hey~"

……

When these second-generation ghosts first entered Hell, many of them thought they could return to the human world. As soon as they were whipped by the little devils, they would immediately become angry, shout, and make threats.

but.

A major treatment.

These second-generation ghosts quickly realized their predicament. They were awakened by the beating and knew that they were dead. No matter how glorious they were in life, they had now become commodities.

soon.

Thomas Wayne was also taken to the crater, where lava surged and churned, as if countless faces were breaking open, and one soul after another was forged into batteries of pain within it.

"What are those?"

Thomas Wayne watched as the souls were continuously pulled up and added to the "Battery Mountain" next to him. He trembled, and soon collapsed to the ground as if having an epileptic seizure.

"Playing the fool won't work."

The little devil from hell chuckled as he spoke.

“If you don’t stun my ass, I don’t think I’ll pretend to be crazy.” Thomas Wayne fell to the ground, but he still tried his best to maintain his composure.

“Sorry, that’s not actually a stun gun.” Hell’s Imp said hesitantly, which made Thomas Wayne’s expression change drastically and gave him a chilling response.

However, before Thomas Wayne could ask a question, Hell's Imp kicked him.

very light.

I feel very nervous.

However, Thomas Wayne was still thrown by a great force, spinning more than 5,000 times in the air before finally falling into the volcanic lava.

"Welcome to 'Hell Paradise,' where you will begin your first round of the game." The words had barely left his lips when Thomas's face was engulfed in lava.

His outstretched hand was quickly swallowed up as well.

"I thought I was going to die, but I didn't." A voice, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, rang out, recounting the fact that Thomas had fallen into a bizarre space called "Hell Paradise."

This is a place of endless loops, supposedly created by the Demon King Sangu himself. Every soul that enters it will experience various strange rules, death games, and psychological torment until it breaks down.

"Hellish Paradise, a game of reincarnation, this is the stage where gods and demons toy with all living beings!" Thomas suddenly opened his eyes and found himself standing in the top-floor office of Wayne Tower.

Outside the window is the Gotham City skyline, ablaze with lights.

"Is this... an illusion?"

Welcome to the Tales of Rules.

A cold voice echoed in his mind.

Rule 1: You must complete today's board meeting.

Rule 2: All directors are devils, but they won't admit it.

[Rule 3: If someone offers you coffee, you must drink it.]

Rule 4: Don't look in the mirror.

Thomas took a deep breath and pushed open the office door.

In the boardroom, twelve people in suits turned to look at him in unison. Their smiles were perfectly synchronized, and their eyes gleamed with a red light.

"Thomas, we've been waiting for you for a long time."

One of the directors stood up and handed Thomas a steaming cup of coffee. Thomas stared at the cup; it didn't contain coffee—but wriggling maggots and blood.

But he had to drink.

He took the cup and drank it all in one gulp.

His throat felt like it was being burned by sulfuric acid, and his stomach was churning. But he remained expressionless, merely wiping the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, let's begin the meeting."

The meeting lasted for "ten hours".

During those ten hours, the numbers on the financial statements would writhe and crawl like living creatures, and the directors' faces would occasionally peel off, revealing the rotting flesh beneath.

Whenever Thomas looked at his reflection in the glass window, he would see a charred version of himself staring intently at him, but he knew he couldn't show fear.

Because rule 5 is hidden under the table.

[If you scream, the game is over.] But "game over" here means that the real torture has just begun, and no reincarnator dares to challenge it.

game over.

This means being dismembered while fully conscious and then used to assemble a sex doll, where each part of the body is violated and simultaneously felt by different demons—a terrifying experience.

Thomas knew he couldn't gamble. His inner monologue kept replaying in his mind, eventually settling on "Fortunately, I've seen enough dangerous situations to be able to tolerate this monologue."

at last.

The meeting is "over".

Thomas stood up and walked towards the elevator.

The instant the elevator doors closed.

"Welcome back to Hell, sir."

The elevator plummeted, crashing into the next round of the game. In yet another loop, Thomas found himself sitting on a speeding train, the carriages filled with special "passengers."

It was all him.

Young Thomas, middle-aged Thomas, Thomas on his deathbed... countless "Thomas" turned their heads in unison, staring at him with empty eyes.

[Rule for this round: Find the "one true" version of yourself, or the train will keep going forever.]

Thomas calmly observed each of his "selves".

Suddenly, the train's announcement blared: "Welcome aboard the Last Train to Hell. This train is heading to the stations of 'Fear,' 'Despair,' and 'Madness.' Passengers, please do not disembark, or you will be forever trapped in the 'Blank Land.'"

"Next stop—Criminal Alley." The train began to accelerate, and the scenery outside the window changed rapidly—Upon hearing this, Thomas's breath hitched, and painful memories of the past flooded his mind.

He saw Bruce, standing on the street with his face covered in blood and his eyes vacant. He saw Martha, lying in a pool of blood, still clutching a necklace in her hand.

He saw Gotham engulfed in flames, the city wailing. Every frame was like a knife piercing his heart, and for some reason, it kept appearing on his face.

At last.

In the eerie scene.

The train stopped.

The car door opens.

Outside was nothingness.

He was pushed out.

"Daddy! Daddy! I want milk!"

outside.

Bruce, who was not exactly young, opened his blood-red mouth.

What else can Thomas do?

Offering oneself to the demon is nothing more than this.

……

Thomas dies and is resurrected time and again. He struggles to survive in the "Strange Tales of Rules," suffers the torment of memories on the "Death Train," is surrounded by whispers in the "Silent Library," and is forced to reenact his own death in the "Crimson Theater." With each reincarnation, his appearance becomes more tragic.

After countless cycles of reincarnation, Thomas finally collapsed to the ground, unable to rise again. His soul was shattered, and his will was on the verge of collapse.

But he still didn't give up. He thought of Bruce, he thought of Gotham, he thought of the gunshots that night, and he spoke his thoughts aloud.

In the distance, a pair of eyes were silently watching him. It was the Three Palace Demon, who sat on his high throne, observing coldly, and then laughing loudly with a cacophony of crocodile cries.

“Torture this man severely, make his suffering even greater.” The Demon King Sangoon sat on his throne, sculpted from countless souls, gazing down at the projected image of Hell Paradise. In the image, Thomas Wayne was chained to a rack made of flesh and blood, his limbs stretched to their limits.

Every breath felt like it was tearing his soul apart.

But his gaze remained firm.

“He has endured all the punishments of hell,” the Duke of Hell whispered. “Burning flames, soul stripping, repeated memories, death cycles… he has survived them all.”

"Really? What an interesting mortal."

A cruel smile crept across Sangumo's lips. Not cruel enough, he manually tugged at the corners of his mouth, making them widen and appear somewhat sinister.

“This mortal has successfully piqued my interest. He has thirty-six abs. Interesting. Let him come to see me.” Finally, the Demon King decided to meet Thomas Wayne in person.

The chains rattled as Thomas was dragged onto the main hall. His body was riddled with holes and his soul was broken, but his back remained straight and his eyes were still full of determination.

A cold rage settled in his grey-blue eyes.

"Don't like me? Come and hit me! That's how vicious I, the Three Palace Demon, am!"

The Demon King sat on his throne, his six arms embracing several alluring demonesses. He was like a fallen king, with women on his left and right, looking down at this mortal soul.

"I cannot defeat you, but my son can."

Thomas's voice was hoarse, but his tone was firm.

"Little Bruce Wayne, laughable, laughable. He's like an insect. I could scare him to death with just one glare. If he's so capable, let him come right up to me and face my power!"

The Three Palace Demons laughed loudly, their tone full of disdain, their laughter shaking the hall and causing dust to fall.

“My son doesn’t need to lift a finger. He just needs to live well. The one you need to worry about is me. One day, I will have the power to defeat you.”

Thomas Wayne announced loudly.

“Tell me, you ant, what makes you so hard to swallow, like a moldy biscuit?” Sangu Ma asked, leaning down in a very distinctive translator’s tone.

Lava liquor dripped at Thomas's feet, scorching them and leaving black marks.

“It’s family, it’s kinship.” Thomas Wayne’s eyes flickered, revealing a rare hint of reality. “If I endure all the suffering, my children will not suffer in the future. When I have the power to control the entire hell, my son will be able to feel the familiar warmth if he unfortunately falls there in the future.”

As soon as these words came out.

The three demons clapped their hands simultaneously with all six arms, as if enjoying a good show.

“Excellent! I admire this quality in you!” He slammed his hand on the table and stood up abruptly. “Therefore, I have decided to reward you—I am going to marry you off to the Bat who laughs.”

"That dark god of the multiverse is worth my court. Xiaoqian, no, I mean Tomos, Thors, damn it, this mouth of yours is really hard to use. Anyway, I, San Gong Mo, have been working myself to the bone for you, you should thank me properly."

Sangu Demon spoke earnestly.

"Who are you talking about?"

Thomas's expression changed drastically.

"That's my strategic partner. If you follow him, you'll have endless good fortune, and I can also use this alliance to conquer heaven and drag Gabriel and Michael to clean toilets."

“Yes, that’s how powerful I, Sangu Demon, am.” Sangu Demon rubbed his hands excitedly and started to manipulate Thomas, but Thomas gritted his teeth.

"But I'm just a man!"

Thomas covered his face, but still managed to say those words.

"It's alright. The Bat of Laughter likes men. Only with you can it evolve into the Bat of Laughter." Sangu Demon chuckled, as if discussing something perfectly ordinary.

“Oh, don’t act like some naive Puritan! I love your kind of old-fashioned, weathered gentleman.” Sangu Mako’s words were laced with a forced, affected tone.

"No!"

Thomas finally lost control, and the chains rattled as he struggled against them.

You might as well kill me!

He was roaring and howling.

San Gongmo suddenly turned cold and grabbed his chin.

“Think of your child, Thomas. If you refuse…” His nails dug into the other’s skin, “I’ll drag Bruce to hell and make him marry the Laughing Man in your place.”

Hear the words.

Thomas's pupils contracted violently again.

next second.

This most elegant capitalist in Gotham unleashed the most vulgar insult of his life.

"Go to hell! You disgusting, rotten, son of a bitch, lying worm, the lowest maggot in hell!! You rotten flesh that even the dogs of hell wouldn't want to bite!"

"You'll be torn to shreds by the Emperor of All Laws! I swear to God, I'll kick your ass hard! I'll shove my... my wife's high heels up your ass!"

Thomas didn't know how he could have roared out such words.

The veins on his neck were truly visible, a testament to his deep emotions.

The entire hall fell into a deathly silence.

The wine glass of the Three Palace Demon froze in mid-air, and the succubi collectively gasped in shock.

“Are you done?”

The demon narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Aren't you angry?"

Thomas Wayne asked.

"How could I not be angry? I am the giant baby of hell!" The Three Palaces Demon suddenly sprang up, smashing the throne with all six arms at the same time, and magma gushed out from the crack in the ground like champagne.

"Drag this champagne-spitting bastard to the dressing room!" The demon was furious, jumping around like a clown. "I want to see him in a diamond-studded wedding dress!"

Anyway, his image looks pretty bad.

All the demons trembled in fear.

“I will not agree! I absolutely will not! I love my wife! I will not marry a man!” Thomas Wayne’s neck veins were more than just bulging.

His whole body was covered in bulging veins.

"Go and bring Bruce Wayne to me!"

The demon of the Three Palaces was furious.

Six arms slammed onto the table simultaneously, sending dust flying through the hall once more. His crimson vertical pupils burned with furious flames as he barked orders at the Duke of Hell beside him.

"Ok."

The Duke of Hell bowed slightly and turned to leave.

"and many more!!"

Thomas looked up abruptly, his voice hoarse and dejected.

"I'll marry him!! I'll marry him!"

His fingers gripped the chain so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as if he wanted to crush even this last vestige of dignity in his palm.

A brief silence fell over the hall.

Trigon slowly narrowed his eyes, crossed his six arms in front of his chest, and looked at the former King of Gotham with great interest.

"For your child?"

"Yes."

Thomas's voice was deep and hoarse, as if it had been scorched a thousand times by the flames of hell. His eyes were red, and a single tear slid down his cheek, evaporating into mist on the scorching ground.

"very good."

Sangokuma smiled with satisfaction and gestured for the Duke of Hell to step down.

"Make up our bride! I, the Triple Demon, will personally escort her to her wedding!" He waved his hand, and a little devil stepped forward and led Thomas Wayne directly into the dressing room.

“God! Is this damn corset trying to murder me?” Thomas was pinned down in front of the dressing table, where the devilish tailor was measuring his waist with a barbed tape measure.

“Bear with it, sir,” the tailor sighed. “Master Kuangxiao specifically instructed that it should have a wasp waist design. Master Sangongmo suggested that you put countless needles in this wedding dress to prick your buttocks.”

Feminization occurred in one place.

In the mirror, Thomas Wayne, forced to wear a lace veil, displays a series of changing expressions, revealing an even more desperate look than when he fell into hell.

It started very early.

Thomas Wayne was very sincere.

Just as he was wondering how long this story would continue.

"Click~"

A sudden human voice rang out. From the shadows of the hall, a floating black box slowly descended and landed steadily in the hands of the Three Palace Demons on the throne.

The next second, a shocking scene unfolded—Sangu Ma's enormous demonic body suddenly shrank, his six arms disappeared, and his ferocious face slowly faded away.

Instead, a handsome little boy appeared.

His golden pupils were filled with excitement.

Pinduoduo has put on quite a show.

"The show's over. Don't get so close to me. You can't afford to take advantage of me." He disdainfully pushed away two female succubi who were still trying to get close to him.

Then he pulled a bottle of holy water from his pocket and vigorously wiped the areas touched by the succubi. After cleaning, the boy pulled up the footage he had just recorded and began to examine the finished product with great interest.

"Hmm... the emotions were right, the lines were good, but the tear at the end felt a bit forced..." The boy stroked his chin, like a picky director.

It turns out it was all just filming.

The Great Hall of Hell remains eerie, but the atmosphere has completely changed. The air is thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, but today, this hall, a symbol of fear and torment, is hosting an unprecedented "ritual." Another classic masterpiece by director Ian McKellen was filmed here.

Ian believes this place will definitely become a popular spot for taking photos in the future.

"Everyone has worked hard."

When Thomas Wayne returned to the hall, all the demons in the hall looked at him. The great demons bowed in unison, and the jailer who had dragged him with chains and tortured him with instruments of torture was now prostrate on the ground, his forehead pressed to the ground, apologizing in a trembling voice, clearly terrified.

"Your Majesty! I was not paying attention! I have disturbed you, please forgive me!" The little devil trembled with fear for his negligence, and he had already found a place to cut his stun gun.

Thomas glanced at him.

Subsequently.

He simply waved his hand dismissively.

"Go collect your paycheck."

Thomas's words were also directed at the other demons. The next moment, the demons felt as if they had been granted a pardon and scrambled back, unable to believe that they had just participated in torturing the King of Hell.

"The next part is about you finally getting your revenge and becoming the Dragon King." Ian was clearly not truly satisfied; he already had the outline of the second part's plot in his mind.

This is the imagination and talent possessed by a renowned writer.

It can't be used up, it can't be used up at all.

"..." Thomas Wayne's gaze shifted to the boy in the corner who was engrossed in editing the video—Ian was sitting cross-legged on the ground, a straw from a fruit wine bottle dangling from his mouth, his fingers rapidly gliding across the floating screen, occasionally letting out a strange "hehehe" laugh, looking genuinely focused and absorbed.

To be honest, Thomas didn't want to agree to Ian's so-called "big smart" plan. Well, the boy's original words were "bigbigbig smart," which he thought was ridiculous. But Ian had shown him the picture of Martha and old Kent having afternoon tea together.

A son's wealth and a warm wife.

Which one is more important?

Thomas only had a capitalist's scale in his mind.

“Bruce isn’t someone who’s easily fooled.” Thomas took a deep breath, walked over and sat down beside him, took a silk handkerchief from his suit pocket, and wiped away the remaining “scar makeup” from his face.

he whispered.

There was a hint of helplessness in his tone.

"I'll add billions in special effects, you have to believe me. I can even fool ghosts and gods, so I can easily handle a little Batman." Ian continued operating without looking up.

"The emotions are spot-on, the pacing is tight, and the special effects could use a hundred million more blood and gore... mountains of corpses and seas of blood!"

He traced a dazzling light trail with his finger on the screen, speaking with the ease of discussing tomorrow's breakfast, brimming with confidence—and with an air of extraordinary wisdom.

It's not some kind of unfounded confidence.

“You underestimate Bruce’s intelligence.” Thomas Wayne recalled his previous filming experience and felt that it could definitely be called his embarrassing history.

He didn't think such an absurd story could fool his son.

In this regard.

Ian also gave a crooked smile, becoming more and more skilled.

"Even if Uncle Bruce sees through my plan, it doesn't matter. He'll just think you've fallen into my hands, and he'll be more alarmed than if he thought this movie was a documentary."

Do you know what word-of-mouth is?

"I am reputation! No matter what, it's a win-win situation for both of us." Ian talked about his winning philosophy. He never cared who would lose because he always won.

“Before I even got close to Damian, Uncle Bruce put the whole city on lockdown. He has a deep misunderstanding about me, but that misunderstanding is exactly what we can use.”

It must be said that Ian does have some self-awareness, but not much. His words still reveal that he thinks Batman is making a mountain out of a molehill.

"..."

Thomas opened his mouth.

He found it difficult to refute Ian's logic. However, as a grandfather, he still felt that Bruce Wayne hadn't done enough in preventing Ian from getting close to Damian.

Damian should be sent to an alien school in the Centaurus system to study, so as to ensure that Damian is not led astray by this boy who has already begun to walk the right path.

"When are you going back to Earth?" Thomas Wayne realized that Ian could always find impeccable logic, so he wisely refrained from commenting on Ian's resentment.

Old Wayne changed the subject.

This tactic has always worked well against Ian.

“I came here to see a therapist, but now my car and trash can are gone, and my workload has tripled.” Ian sighed helplessly.

His mouth never stopped; he kept drinking fruit wine. His superhuman physical condition gave him an unparalleled metabolic ability, so even if he secretly added some whiskey to the fruit wine, he wouldn't get drunk.

“I can help you find someone.” Thomas Wayne straightened his suit cuffs, took out a silk handkerchief from his inner pocket, and slowly wiped away the remaining “bruise makeup” on his neck. The carefully designed bruises and bloodstains gradually faded under the holy water-soaked handkerchief, revealing the Gotham King’s signature cold and stern face.

"You still have this ability?"

Ian, who was squatting on the throne editing a video, suddenly looked up, his tone surprised. He had thought Thomas Wayne was just a closed-off, hellish little prince.

I didn't expect there to be so many henchmen outside?
Otherwise, how would you find someone in hell?

Just as Ian was speculating, Thomas Wayne proved him right. A capitalist's smile appeared on Thomas's lips.

He pulled a gold-embossed business card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

The business card gleamed faintly in the sulfurous mist, bearing three lines of text printed in Gothic script.

Hell Human Resources Co., Ltd.

CEO: Thomas Wayne.

Let every soul realize its full potential.

……

"Where do you think I found the souls in those 'pain batteries'?" He tapped the ground lightly with the tip of his leather shoe, and the floor tiles of the entire hall suddenly turned transparent.

below.

Countless networks crisscross the internet, transmitting intelligence and even souls.

“I have a dedicated human resources department that goes to those little houses inhabited by souls to screen for targets, and many other powerful lords in hell also send me commissions.”

"And I can always find the kind of corrupted soul they need." As expected of the old king of Gotham, he once again displayed his divine power, transforming the surrounding space into a warehouse.

Countless neatly arranged crystal cages gathered all around.

The Soul Warehouse.

The souls here are not for "generating electricity".

It's a transaction of souls.

In the end, old Wayne was still in hell, doing the old business his ancestors had built up overseas. Ian never expected that Thomas would take advantage of those prison cells before he did.

Sure enough, capitalists all think in the same way.

“Great minds think alike.” Ian gave old Wayne a slight hand as he stepped forward to examine the place, where he saw all sorts of souls in tens of thousands of small cages.

They are the worst of the worst. These souls, dressed in costumes from different eras, are repeating the sins of their past lives. There is a Victorian miser counting an endless pile of gold coins, a Wall Street stockbroker screaming at a screen that keeps dropping, and even a few figures dressed in superhero costumes pounding on the walls in a cubicle.

They are a bunch of con artists who used superhero costumes to seduce women, resulting in 20,000 people in an island nation contracting HIV. However, Ian thinks they probably shouldn't be in hell.

"Wow! You even categorized them?" Ian's pupils reflected this Soul Matrix warehouse; it seemed old Wayne had even acquired the technology for those hellish cubicles.

It's unclear whether he bribed Commissioner Crowley or curried favor with Lucifer.

"certainly."

Thomas snapped his fingers, and a holographic projection of the operating interface appeared on the ground. "They are divided into zones according to the seven deadly sins. Souls in the Gluttony zone are best suited for driving kitchen equipment, those in the Greed zone are responsible for financial calculations, and the souls in the Pride zone are the most expensive, being the most sought-after souls by other hellish demons to kill Prey Lucifer."

“I’m a businessman, and I don’t usually ask them why they do this kind of thing,” Thomas Wayne said, demonstrating the wisdom of a capitalist.

He's doing really well in hell.

"I dare ask, I dare ask, tell me which great demons bought the Soul of Pride?" Ian's gossip instincts were second only to Madison's, so his eyes shone brightly.

“Sorry, the client’s information is absolutely confidential. Even if Lucifer comes… I usually have to be beaten for ten minutes before I can tell him.” Thomas Wayne was still a respectable man after all.

He didn't boast too much, just made a small boast.

“I don’t believe you unless you let me watch you get beaten next time.” Ian could sense the presence of his own kind, so he felt that old Wayne’s words contained at least three minutes of lies.

"..."

Thomas reluctantly untied his fingers from the tie, trying to get some breathing space. There were no tie pins in Hell, but the demons' fingers were actually quite useful.

"Your room is ready."

He changed the subject again.

"Oh, alright."

Ian reached into his hand and looked at his crayon watch, which was linked to the most accurate time on Earth, so Ian could know exactly when to go to sleep even in hell.

Are you really planning to sleep in hell?

Thomas Wayne looked at Ian with a strange expression. He remembered his first time entering Hell. Although it wasn't as exaggerated as depicted in the "movie," it was still an environment that any normal person would find difficult to endure. Sleeping was impossible; even breathing was painful.

"A good routine will help me grow taller." It's time to travel through time again, and Ian doesn't mind taking a nap anywhere, but having a bed would be great.

See this scene.

Thomas Wayne didn't offer any further advice.

He summoned the Duke's butler and had him take Ian to the guest room.

I saw.

Two dukes of Hell carried a floating chair over. Ian exclaimed in surprise and jumped on it. The chair immediately extended eight spider legs, carrying him towards the palace.

"I also have spider legs, but they're cooler than these."

Faced with Ian's boasting.

The dukes of Hell quickly offered their flattery. Soon, they escorted Ian to a large hotel in the city. The moment the door opened automatically, a strange aroma mixed with sulfur and lavender wafted out.

Ian whistled.

"cool!"

The whole room was like a fairy tale scene crammed into hell.

The walls, which seemed to breathe, were covered with eyeball-shaped wall lamps that blinked in unison whenever Ian passed by; tentacles hanging from the ceiling automatically wove together to form a hammock; and the most amazing thing was the "living massage bed," which was made up of 365 demonic arms, each with its nails polished smooth and rounded, and painted with different colors of nail polish.

It's obviously a woman's hand.

"Dear Guest"

The headless hotel butler speaks using his abdominal cavity.

"These massage therapists have all undergone professional training."

He hasn't finished speaking yet.

Ian leaped onto the bed. Hundreds of hands immediately sprang into action, some massaging his shoulders, others rubbing his legs, while three particularly nimble hands brought him tea and water.

The hotel butler, being quite tactful, quickly took his leave.

"It even has a sleep massage function. Not bad."

Ian is enjoying himself.

He squinted his eyes contentedly, like a cat having its chin stroked.

but.

When the massage reaches below the waist.

Ian seemed to realize something, and suddenly sprang up as if he had been electrocuted, hanging upside down from the ceiling.

"Get away! I don't need a massage down there!"

He let out a panicked sound, truly resembling a cat with its fur standing on end. Ian's mind raced; he realized why the demon butler had given him a knowing look when he left.

Damn massage bed!

They also offer indecent massages!
Seeing Ian's anger, the arms immediately withdrew, as if they were frightened.

"Luckily I reacted quickly, otherwise I would have been thoroughly 'taken care of' by the Hand of Hell tonight." Ian lay back down, issuing a serious warning to the hands.

He wasn't a saint, but he didn't want his first time to be ruined in interspecies interaction. He glanced at the time again and realized the hands had already pointed to that special moment.

"Boom~"

As the bells rang, traversing the Marvel universe, Ian was being lifted up by twenty-seven demonic hands, performing a challenging Pilates exercise. Suddenly, his eyes rolled back, and he instantly entered a dormant state like a robot whose power had been cut off, while his body remained suspended in mid-air in a "flying" yoga pose.

This massage chair is pretty good when things are going well.

As for his less serious moments—well, Ian doesn't like them, but he believes he may have found the most suitable birthday gift for his older brother Jordan.

　Marvel's reopening of a diverse chapter, I'll finish writing it in one chapter tomorrow.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)