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

Chapter 199 Ian's Scapegoat Log

Metropolitan Plaza at night.

The shadow cast by the Superman statue seemed to carry a hint of helplessness.

It enveloped the two people who were staring at each other in bewilderment.

Sam Winchester, only fourteen or fifteen years old, is used to fighting supernatural creatures, but at this moment he feels a sense of bewilderment he has never felt before.

He looked at the tall, thin boy in front of him who called himself "Ian Kent," but anyone with a brain would know he was Jordan Kent, and didn't know how to make a sarcastic remark.

Now that I think about it, that bastard Ian only gave me photocopies! And only ten copies at that! How many times did he intend to use that to order his own brother around?!

"But that's so mean. He really is the bad boy everyone in school knows." Sam couldn't help but sigh. Compared to Dean, he suddenly realized that although he was always getting tricked by Dean, he was at most just stealing Dean's beer and occasionally breaking his precious Impala windshield wipers. He was definitely a super good younger brother!
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" Jordan urged Sam again when he saw that Sam hadn't moved for a while and was just looking at him with complicated eyes. His voice was very weak.

Despite his outwardly aloof demeanor, he's actually a mental patient with social anxiety disorder, so much so that he's practically digging three bedrooms and a living room out of his shoes with his toes.

no way.

It's because Ian came to him for help.

"Okay, sure." Sam took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Now that things have come to this, what else can he do? He can no longer count on the help of the real Ian; he can only accept the arrangement made by Ian, that middleman.

“Okay… ‘Ian’…”

Sam deliberately emphasized the title, and Jordan's face showed another moment of embarrassment.

"It's over 4,000 kilometers from here to Seattle, so the fastest way is by plane. Let me check the nearest flights and fares..."

This was Sam's first time planning a long trip on his own. He took out his phone and started checking, his brows gradually furrowing. Plane tickets were no small sum for him; after all, hunters were always strapped for cash, and he and Dean's wallets were usually emptier than their faces. If it weren't for the forged credit card his father had given him, he wouldn't have been able to make this trip.

Although it wasn't his own money, Sam was still young, so a little hesitation was understandable. Just then, when Jordan heard the word "money," his eyes suddenly lit up slightly—a strange gleam that Ian only showed when talking about money, a trait passed down in the Kent family.

“Perhaps…” Jordan pushed up his mismatched glasses, his voice gaining a little more confidence, “I can save you half the cost of your plane ticket.”

Sam looked up in surprise.

"Save half? Does your family have super VIP discounts from airlines?" He wondered if the Kent family might have some kind of ultimate frequent flyer VIP card.

Jordan simply shook his head and mysteriously held out his hand: "No, you'll know once you give me the money. Cash, no credit cards, thank you."

Upon hearing this, Sam was skeptical, but with a "what the heck" attitude, he still counted out the equivalent of an economy class ticket from his already meager wallet and handed it to Jordan.

This was Dean's secret stash of money, which he hid to prevent his mistresses from getting pregnant.

“Not bad, not bad, this money looks pretty new. I can deposit it directly at the ATM.” Jordan took the money, quickly counted it, and stuffed it into his pocket with satisfaction. Then, after looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, he said to Sam, “Wait here for a moment, I’ll go get the transportation ready.”

Jordan's words surprised Sam.

He found it hard to believe; did the Kent family really own a private jet? And was it true that Ian had won a five-hundred-billion-dollar lottery at school?
Under Sam's watchful eye.

Jordan turned and ran toward a large recycling bin in the corner of the square.

He seemed to be looking for something, but he didn't find it.

"?????"

A bewildered Sam was pulled into an alley by Jordan, who returned a few minutes later carrying a huge, seemingly unpacked corrugated cardboard box.

The box also had the logo of a certain brand of washing machine printed on it.

"Alright! Come on up!"

Jordan patted the cardboard box, his tone even carrying a hint of... pride?
Sam looked at the cardboard box, then at Jordan, and felt like he might really be going crazy: "Get...get up? Get where? This cardboard box?"

“Yeah, right!” Jordan said matter-of-factly. “This is our ‘airplane’! Come on in, don’t waste time!” Without waiting for a reply, he lifted the lid of the cardboard box and gestured for Sam to crawl inside.

"???????"

Sam was devastated. He felt that placing his hopes on the Kent family was perhaps the most foolish decision he had ever made in his demon-hunting career, even more foolish than trying to bathe a vampire with holy water. This family, including his parents, probably didn't have a single sane person!

But the money had already been given... and he really didn't have a better solution.

"So this is going to make me hitch a ride in the cargo hold of this plane?" Sam gritted his teeth, feeling as if he were going to his execution, and humiliatingly crawled into the corrugated cardboard box that still smelled of pulp.

The space was cramped, and he could only sit huddled up. Jordan closed the lid, leaving only a small gap for ventilation. Then Sam felt the cardboard box suddenly lighten.

My whole being started to rise rapidly!
"Damn it! What's going on!"

He peered out and discovered that Jordan was lifting him up and flying him away.

“Whoosh——!!”

A strong feeling of weightlessness washed over him, and a cold wind instantly rushed in through the crack, making Sam shiver. He looked out through the crack and saw the lights on the ground rapidly shrinking.

The surrounding clouds swept by rapidly.

"What the hell!"

Sam was so scared he almost fainted.

He... he really did fly into the sky from inside a cardboard box!

We're on the plane.

But it was just a paper airplane!

Who can bear this!

Sam trembled.

Meanwhile, the "pilot" Jordan was holding up the bottom of the cardboard box with both hands, flying in the air in a posture that looked extremely leisurely and aerodynamically incompatible with airflow.

There was a layer of white frost on the other person's glasses.

The temperature was extremely low high up, and the wind was biting cold. Sam shivered uncontrollably inside the cardboard box, his teeth chattering. He stopped worrying about Jordan's superpowers and instead roared in exasperation.

"Is your family all such bloodsuckers? You've completely ripped off the plane ticket! What kind of transportation is this?!" Sam never dreamed that Ian's second brother could actually fly.

Moreover, they lack martial ethics and use this superpower to profit from price differences.

Outside, the sound of Jordan's voice could be heard, broken and intermittent, as if blown by the wind.

"Flying is flying no matter what... I... I even prepared a 'flying meal' for you... This... This is a privilege only available in first class..."

Jordan spoke with absolute certainty.

A flight meal? Sam paused, then noticed a small paper bag with the fast-food restaurant's logo tucked into the corner of the cardboard box. His hands trembled as he opened it. Inside was a cold, dry-looking hamburger and a small bag of fries—a typical "nigger meal" costing no more than ten dollars.

"Dad, Dad, where did you go! This world is so dangerous!" Sam looked at the "first-class flight meal," then felt the drafty "paper airplane" that looked like it could fall apart at any moment, and the "pilot" outside whose flying skills seemed even worse than Dean's driving skills.

He was truly heartbroken.

Helpless, the teenage exorcist could only desperately comfort himself: At least... at least Jordan is not an ordinary person, he can fly... it's faster than taking a long-distance bus, right?
and.

In Metropolis, there's a possibility that someone who can fly might be related to Superman. Thinking about it this way, and considering Superman's reputation in Metropolis, Sam calmed down a bit.

However, he simply didn't understand, he truly didn't understand. Ian's family seemed like a typical middle-class family, living on a farm with a barn, and Jordan himself was a superhuman with such incredible power, so why were they so obsessed with money? "Money-grubbing" didn't even begin to describe it!

Amidst the howling wind, Sam couldn't help but shout, "Damn it, you've been trying to swindle me out of my money. Does your family... use all your money to support your youngest brother?"

Sam didn't mention Ian's name because the other person was impersonating him.

Jordan outside was silent for a few seconds, as if gathering his strength to fight the wind resistance, before answering breathlessly: "On the contrary... In our family, except for Mom, we all owe my brother money... Ever since Dad's secret stash of money was blown up in an accident, he has also owed Ian a lot of money to buy the latest farm tools."

“Although family loans don’t have much interest, I still have to save up to pay him back.” Jordan’s voice was filled with endless bitterness; he did indeed owe Ian a large sum of money.

"You seem to be a high school student. Do you really need that much money?" Sam was even more puzzled. He couldn't imagine what kind of huge expenses a high school student could have.

Does the other party's superpower require spending money?
Jordan, standing outside the cardboard box, let out a meaningful, world-weary "heh," his tone carrying a hint of criticism for the declining morals of contemporary society.

"What do you know, you're just a kid? You have no idea how much it costs to support a wife, at least... it starts at 648... and there's no guarantee you'll get one..."

Jordan's voice, carrying a heavy sigh as if bearing the weight of the entire world, drifted into the cardboard box, leaving Sam, who wasn't into secondhand games, completely bewildered.

The only thing he could think of was that Jordan used 648 to find those paid girlfriends. The still naive Sam didn't know that Jordan's love had already gone beyond the realm of reality.

"648? What did I get?"

Sam didn't understand at all. What was all this about?
But Jordan seemed lost in some sad memory, no longer answering, just flying with his head down, his flight path erratic, as if his heart was bleeding.

Sam wrapped his thin coat tighter around himself, shivering in the cold cardboard box, his mind filled with countless questions about the mysterious Kent family.

The journey was filled with absurdity and... poverty from the very beginning. After several hours of freezing, nauseating "paper airplane" travel at high altitude, the corrugated cardboard box finally began to descend slowly. When Jordan pulled the almost frozen Sam out of the box, the two were already standing in a damp, dark alley on the outskirts of Seattle.

"I... I'm still alive?" Sam's face turned pale and his lips turned purple. He hugged his arms and kept stamping his feet to keep warm, feeling like his blood was about to freeze.

"Your physical condition isn't as good as Ian's when he was a kid. I remember when I was twelve, I was racing with Ian, and I almost crashed my head off, but Ian was still jumping around."

Jordan stopped pretending and laid his cards on the table. He had already provided the service and no longer needed to impersonate Ian as Ian had requested. He didn't believe Ian's super hearing could have heard this far.

"..."

Sam's teeth chattered, unwilling to dwell on what was wrong with this family. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to discern directions. "According to the last information... the last place my dad and the others were seen was an abandoned church nearby called St. Caesar's."

Jordan carefully folded the slightly deformed corrugated cardboard box, stuffed it into the nearby trash can, then pushed up his glasses, a hint of eagerness on his face.

"Then...where do we go to look for clues now?" As a rookie superhero, he was not very familiar with the process, so for a moment he was like a headless superhero.

Sam rubbed his hands together and breathed on them, trying to warm himself up.

"This kind of place... is a mixed bag, and the most well-informed places are usually the nearby bars or motels. Let's go find a bar and ask around first."

After all, he had participated in many demon-hunting operations with his father and brother, so he had a deep impression of similar procedures, and he felt that his father and brother must have been to similar places.

The two walked out of the alley and soon found a bar that looked quite old, with dim lighting and a sign that was missing a few letters – “The Lost Angel’s Home”.

These days, roadside bars love to pull these kinds of gimmicks. They're almost all run by the older generation of motorcycle gangs with their chuunibyou tendencies, and you can hear loud music and muffled conversations coming from inside.

Sam straightened his clothes, trying to look more mature, even though he still looked like a child among a group of adults, though the children didn't see it that way.

“You… wait for me outside. I’ll go in and ask. You don’t seem… quite right for this kind of occasion.” Sam was a little afraid that Jordan would start talking nonsense once he went in.

He simply couldn't imagine what it would be like for someone with Jordan's charisma to enter a bar like this.

"Okay, I don't like crowded places either." Jordan seemed relieved and nodded quickly, then leaned against a nearby lamppost, pretending to look at the scenery.

Sam took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy, greasy wooden door.

The bar was filled with smoke and the air was thick with the mingled smells of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume. A motley crew of people, all looking suspicious, gathered there: burly men in leather jackets covered in tattoos, mysterious figures whispering amongst themselves, and several scantily clad, heavily made-up women moving through the crowd.

Sam's heart was racing, but he forced himself to calm down, walked to the bar, and spoke to the burly, menacing-looking bartender who was wiping glasses.

"A Cuba Libre, no alcohol, just Coke, with a fan on top and thinly sliced ​​lemon." Sam tried his best to comb his hair into an adult-like style.

The bartender glanced at him, said nothing, and handed him a bottle of Coke.

Sam paid, took a sip, and then asked in a low voice, as if casually.

"Excuse me, I'd like to ask about something. I heard there's an old church nearby called St. Caesar's. Has anything strange happened there lately? Or... have two out-of-town men been here? One was older and very serious, and the other was taller than me and liked to wear denim jackets..."

This seemed to be a taboo in the small town.

The bartender paused for a moment while wiping the glasses.

His cloudy eyes swept sharply over Sam, his voice low and threatening: "Kid, don't ask questions you shouldn't ask. Finish your drink and get out of here."

Sam's heart skipped a beat; he knew he'd found the right place, but the other person was clearly unwilling to say more. Somewhat unwilling to give up, he tentatively asked again, mentioning that he'd heard the place was haunted.

That was the sentence that really infuriated the bartender.

Who would want someone to declare their hometown?
Clearly, Sam's inquiries were rather clumsy.

"Bang!"

The bartender slammed his glass down on the bar with a loud bang, silencing the entire bar instantly and drawing all eyes to Sam.

“I’ll say it one last time, kid,” the bartender’s voice was icy cold, “get out. Or I’ll throw you out.”

Several burly men stood up from their seats and surrounded them with ill intent.

Sam's heart leaped into his throat. His hand stealthily reached for the dagger at his back waist, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. He realized he might have been too hasty and gotten himself into trouble.

At this tense moment—

"I...I'm so sorry! Everyone, I'm so sorry!" A figure rushed in in a panic—it was Jordan!
He had clearly heard the commotion outside, and now his face was full of apology as he kept bowing to those around him.

He grabbed Sam's arm and apologized repeatedly to the bartender and the people who had gathered around: "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! My brother... he has a problem here!"

Jordan pointed to his head and made a "you know" expression.

"He watches too many movies and fantasizes about being a Witcher all the time! He's causing you trouble! We're leaving now! We're leaving now!" With that, he practically dragged the still-dazed Sam out of the bar without another word. As soon as they stepped out of the bar, the cold air hit them, and Sam snapped back to reality, filled with lingering fear.

"I'm sorry, I was too hasty. I just... I just really wanted to find them." Sam realized he had been too impulsive, and his tone was tinged with regret.

Jordan looked at Sam's face, a mixture of anxiety, fear, and stubbornness, and suddenly sighed. His tone softened, even carrying a hint of...commonplace.

“It’s alright, I’ve been saying these lines for years, they come right out of my mouth. Compared to Ian, you’re not that bad.” Jordan pushed up his crooked glasses, his gaze fixed on the dark street in the distance, as if recalling some unbearable past. His tone carried a profound sense of vicissitude that only those who have truly weathered storms could understand.

The "storm" here specifically refers to the Ian brand storm.

"I see."

Sam recalled his impression of Ian, who was notoriously infuriating, and nodded understandingly. It was hard to imagine the chaotic scene that would ensue if Ian got into trouble. Clearly, the fact that Ian could remain so unconventional all his life suggested that he had some kind of family protection behind him.

The two stood on the cold, damp streets of Seattle, speechless for a moment.

After failed inquiries, confusing clues, and a temporary teammate who seemed somewhat reliable, Sam pulled out his phone, unsure of where to begin.

"Let's go. If the bar isn't working, let's think of something else. This place is so small, it's not hard to find a church. We can just search all the churches."

The small town outside Seattle was shrouded in a damp mist, the air thick with the scents of moss, seawater, and a faint, almost imperceptible decay. Sam Winchester and Jordan Kent walked the rather deserted streets, trying to find out about the Church of St. Caesar.

Their inquiries didn't go smoothly. The townspeople seemed to be very reluctant to discuss the name. The grocer's face changed drastically upon hearing the church's name; she hurriedly waved her hands, saying she didn't know, and then quickly closed the shop door.

The old man mowing the lawn by the roadside would stop what he was doing, stare at them with his cloudy eyes, and mutter some warnings that sounded like they were copied from a cheap horror movie.

"The moonlight can't reach the stones there... the soil there breathes..."

"Don't turn around when you hear the bell, it's for the dead..."

"Curiosity will gouge out your eyes and fill them with worms... Young man, in some places, even God has turned his back on you."

……

In this regard.

Jordan, deeply involved in the idol-making project, naturally didn't care. He had an American dream: to elevate Ian to the status of God, make himself the Pope, and then have Ian perform miracles to bring fictional characters to life.

These cryptic remarks didn't scare Jordan at all; instead, they made him even more certain that there was something wrong with the church. Only Sam felt a chill run down his spine and moved closer to Jordan.

"Sorry, this is a new era, I really don't like little boys." Jordan, who considered himself the future Pope, frowned and pushed away Sam, who was "throwing himself into his arms."

"..."

Sam still couldn't understand the nonsense the Kent family was spouting.

"This place... has such a great atmosphere... you wouldn't even need to build a set to film a horror movie..." He could only offer a diversionary comment about the desolate town's style.

Just when the two were at their wits' end and were about to give up on asking around and were about to sneak over, a middle-aged man wearing overalls and a baseball cap, who looked quite kind, approached them.

"Hey guys, I heard you're looking for the Church of St. Caesar?" The man had a warm smile on his face, but his eyes quickly and imperceptibly swept over the two men.

Sam immediately became alert, but still nodded: "Yes, sir. Do you know how to get there?"

"Of course I know!" The man slapped his thigh. "That place is really remote; you can't find it without someone who knows the way. I happen to be going there on my way to take care of some business, so how about I give you a ride?"

Sam and Jordan exchanged a glance, both hesitant. This sudden "helpful stranger" seemed a bit odd. But there didn't seem to be a better option at the moment. To avoid embarrassment on the way, or perhaps to bolster his courage, Jordan broke the silence first.

"Did you know? I'm actually quite famous."

He was certainly not referring to his identity as Walmart Shopping Bag Superman.

"I can tell you're very handsome. Are you an actor?"

The uncle kindly took over the conversation and actually guessed what Jordan was thinking.

"Of course, remember to support my new TV series next week! It's about to premiere on CW!" Jordan smiled proudly.

Sam turned his head in surprise and looked at the flying boy beside him.

"You? Starring in a TV series? You're a Hollywood actor?" It wasn't that Sam was looking down on him, but he couldn't quite believe that a superhuman would choose a profession that required him to be in the public eye.

How vain can someone be?

Is being a superhero no longer enough for Jordan?
"Don't let my usual gentle demeanor fool you, my acting is actually incredibly wild and explosive! Directors have all praised my talent, saying I'm the next Marlon Brando!" Jordan smiled confidently, pushing up his glasses. Although this gesture diminished his imposing presence, his voice was filled with an enigmatic confidence.

Sam had a "I don't believe you" look on his face.

However, the middle-aged man who was leading the way suddenly brightened up, and his smile became even more enthusiastic, even a little... eerie?
"Being a celebrity is great! Being a celebrity is really awesome!" He rubbed his hands together, his tone a little too excited. "I mean, being a celebrity...it's easy to make money, right? It's fast money!"

His reaction was a bit strange, but Sam, eager to find the church, and Jordan, lost in his "star dreams," didn't pay much attention. After many twists and turns, the group finally stopped in a desolate clearing in the woods.

In the distance, a dilapidated Gothic church stood in the darkness, like a lurking beast. Most of the stained glass windows were broken, and the spire was somewhat crooked, exuding an aura of decay and unease. Strangely, however, the area outside the church wasn't deserted; instead, twenty or thirty people had gathered!
They stood in small groups, talking in hushed tones, as if waiting for something.

Sam's heart leaped into his throat. Had the other witchers received the news and gathered here to prepare for action? He instinctively touched the weapon on his back.

"How is this going?"

Sam asked the guide.

“Are those people…witchers? Could they be with my father…” Before he could finish speaking, the middle-aged man, who had been behaving very kindly, suddenly let out a sharp and strange laugh.

"Hahaha! I knew it! I knew you were witchers! You couldn't hide your scent!" He laughed loudly, striding towards the group in front of the church, as if returning to his companions. The group stopped talking and turned to look at Sam and Jordan.

Everyone wore the same strange and greedy smile.

Sam instantly realized something was wrong, and cold sweat poured down his back.

However, before he could fully react, Jordan suddenly ripped off his glasses, revealing eyes that were now gleaming with an excited, scarlet light!
“I knew it, I knew they weren’t human. They couldn’t be fooled by my super sense of smell. Ian was right, I have a real talent for being a superhero.”

Once his glasses were off, he seemed indifferent to everyone. Jordan's voice was no longer its previous calm; his entire demeanor had changed, now filled with the ecstatic joy of discovering prey!

only.

It seems that only Sam noticed this.

Upon hearing this, the group of "people" laughed even more wildly, revealing their hideous true forms—pale skin, sharp fangs, and blood-red pupils!

They are vampires!
"That's right! We are the demons!"

The lead vampire scoffed, "You damned witchers, can you even hunt us? Tonight's a perfect treat! These delicate little creatures!"

Startled, Sam retreated hastily, frantically pulling a silver-plated dagger and a holy water bottle from his backpack, and instinctively reaching out to hand a weapon to Jordan.

However, when he turned his head, he saw Jordan standing there, his face beaming with an expression more excited and ferocious than a vampire's! It was a state of near-madness, a complete unleashing of his true nature!
"Not human...not human is good!" Jordan licked his lips, his voice trembling slightly with excitement. "I love that you're not human...that way I don't have to hold back anymore..."

Sam was completely bewildered and stammered, "Jordan... what happened to you?"

Where did your gentle and refined manners go?!
This is even scarier than Ian when he goes crazy!

Jordan suddenly turned his head, and Sam was startled by his scarlet eyes!
"I was just getting into character!" Jordan yelled, and then he ripped off his hoodie, revealing a Homelander costume that he had never taken off even after leaving Hollywood.

I saw.

Homelander Jordan floated directly into the air, the night wind blowing his slightly messy hair, his red eyes like two hellfires in the darkness!
"Perfect timing! Next week we're filming a scene where I massacre ignorant people! Today's a good opportunity for me to practice my acting! Look me in the eyes! Don't ask why! Because I can do whatever I want!"

"Just because I can!" Before he finished speaking, two blazing red rays of heat shot out from his eyes, like the scythe of death, instantly sweeping across the vampire horde!

"Ahhh!"

"He's not human either!!"

"Run!"

The vampires' initial arrogance was instantly replaced by fear, and they fled in all directions, crying and screaming. Wherever the high-temperature heat rays passed, the vampires turned to ashes.

There wasn't even time to let out a scream!
Sam watched in stunned silence, nearly dropping the holy water bottle in his hand.

As he watched Jordan hunt down the vampires like a whack-a-mole, he realized that his classmate Ian Kent's family was probably more than just distant relatives of Superman.

"Keep it down! Keep it down! Leave one alive! We still need to gather information!!" Sam was starting to doubt whether Jordan's so-called acting was just him being himself.

He quickly and loudly reminded Jordan. Fortunately, Jordan wasn't really crazy. Because he hadn't been suppressing his emotions lately, and because he had released most of his negative feelings through acting, much of the darkness in his heart had been cleared away. So he was the type to listen to advice from others.

“You’re right, we need to keep a few more alive and sell them to Ian.” The heat beam in Jordan’s eyes paused slightly, and the crimson light began to fade.

The surviving vampires were just about to breathe a sigh of relief.

However, at this moment.

"boom!"

A tremendous explosion, indescribable and seemingly shaking the entire universe, suddenly resounded from the depths of the distant night sky!
Immediately afterwards, the entire night sky was as bright as day! An indescribable energy wave, carrying an aura of destruction, swept across like a tsunami!

The vampires who were still fleeing didn't even have time to scream before they were thrown into a steel furnace by the sudden, pure, and terrifying light.

It vaporized instantly, turning to ashes completely!
The churchyard, which had just been bustling with shouts and cries of violence, suddenly became deathly silent, leaving only the charred ground and a strange smell in the air, similar to ozone and ash.

Jordan hovered in mid-air, the red light in his eyes completely extinguished, replaced by a look of bewilderment and horror.

He was also frightened.

Looking up at the night sky, which was still eerily bright, as if an extra sun had appeared.

"Did the sun explode?"

The once arrogant "self-proclaimed patriot" even began to tremble in his voice. There was no way around it; the light and heat from the explosion, no matter how far away, illuminated the Earth as bright as day.

Many people realized that something was wrong.

Meanwhile, beneath Gotham City, in the Batcave.

Clark Kent, the Superman, was carefully handing a glass of warm water to Injustice, who was lying on a medical bed, pale-faced and with a noticeably protruding belly.

Batman, played by Bruce Wayne, stood at the control panel, monitoring various vital signs data with a furrowed brow.

“Relax. According to the fragments of information that Ian previously… uh… ‘accidentally’ leaked, and Bruce’s analysis, this ‘gestation’ based on the power of higher heavens and idealistic concepts probably won’t last long. Perhaps… like God’s creation of the world, a seven-day gestation?”

Clark tried to comfort his alternate self, his tone dry and guilty. Injustice Superman glared at him weakly, his eyes filled with resentment that said, "If you can't comfort people, shut up."

"I'm afraid Ian has set up the concept of descendants and endless generations."

Batman knows Ian even better than Clark, and he's now investigating the possibility that Injustice Superman is pregnant again and again, and that one person can create a race and a civilization.

at this time.

The effects of the explosion were also detected by the instruments.

Beep beep beep beep beep—! ! !
Inside the bat cave, all the main monitoring instruments suddenly sounded the highest-level, piercing alarms simultaneously! Red lights flashed wildly, and data streams on the screens refreshed like a waterfall.

It's almost crashing!
"What's going on?!" Clark instantly straightened up, his superhuman vision piercing through layers of rock and concrete, peering out of the cave and into the sky. His expression froze, filled with disbelief and astonishment. "Bruce! Outside... the light in the sky... something's wrong!"

Batman's fingers flew across the control panel, retrieving data from all his satellites and deep-space monitoring stations. His expression grew increasingly grave.

There was even a rare... hint of bewilderment?
Even Batman has moments of being stunned. He stared intently at the spectral analysis chart and energy level reading on the main screen, which represented an unimaginable burst of massive energy. He remained silent for a full ten seconds before finally uttering a single sentence in an extremely dry, machine-like voice.

"Apokolips exploded."

His voice was hoarse and almost dry.

"What?!" Clark couldn't help but exclaim in shock, nearly dropping his water glass. "Apokolips exploded?! How is this possible?!"

Apokolips, Darkseid's stronghold, is a mobile war fortress planet forged by super technology and dark divine power, and its sturdiness ranks among the best in the universe!
Even when he fought against the Golden Superman, he couldn't find a suitable opportunity to completely destroy that planet. How could such a cosmic fortress just disappear like that?

who!
What kind of terrifying being passed by there?!
After the initial shock, Clark's first reaction was surprisingly one of excitement.

“Perhaps…this isn’t entirely a bad thing?” He looked at Bruce, composed himself, and immediately considered the potential cosmic-scale impact of the Apokolips explosion. “The radiation there…especially the residual energy after the explosion…do I need to go to outer space to deal with it? Absorb those harmful substances?”

Batman whirled around, his eyes behind his white goggles filled with astonishment: "Absorbing the radiation from the Apokolips explosion? You have that ability?"

He knew that Kryptonians could absorb yellow solar radiation to become stronger, but directly dealing with the energy aftershocks of a planet's explosion? That was beyond the scope of his information gathering.

“Recently… it seems I’ve evolved quite a bit… I feel like I can do it.” Clark frowned uncertainly, as he was proactively reporting his information to Batman.

Clark himself couldn't explain where this change came from; it was as if his body was instinctively adapting to the stronger energy. This change actually made him somewhat uneasy.

Not everyone craves limitless power. Clark remembers how many times he's been controlled, more than he could count with Ian's mimicry hands.

Therefore.

Revealing his own situation to Batman and having Batman find weaknesses that even his super brain couldn't figure out was something Clark valued more and more.

"What a 'a bit too much'? Is this just a bit too much?" Batman was silent for a few seconds before finally letting out a heartfelt rant under immense pressure.

of course.

The current situation is quite unexpected, so Batman knows he must prioritize his duties. "According to calculations, the main shockwave and harmful radiation from the explosion will be blocked by interstellar dust and a special force field, so they will not affect the solar system, let alone Earth. I have activated the filtering program of the global monitoring network to ensure that nothing goes wrong."

This means that we don't need Superman to step in.

Upon hearing this, Clark breathed a slight sigh of relief.

But Batman's expression became even more serious. He turned around, looking at the data that was still jumping wildly on the main screen, his voice low and terrifying.

"Clark, what we should be worried about has never been the explosion of Apokolips itself..."

His tone was filled with deep concern.

Superman paused for a moment, then instead of using his super brain to calculate all the possibilities, he took the quickest shortcut and asked directly, "Why?"

It is indeed the fastest shortcut.

It also requires the least physical exertion.

Batman took a deep breath, as if recounting an impending nightmare: "You guys just caused trouble on Apokolips, and not long after, this devastating explosion happened on Apokolips."

"Given Darkseid's suspicious, ruthless, and vindictive nature, what do you think he would think?" Batman looked at Clark with a very serious expression.

"He will come after you."

Even the Unjust Superman, who suffers from "pregnancy brain" for seven days, could see through this. Of course, Superman Clark couldn't have failed to understand Batman's meaning, and his expression became somewhat serious.

"But we didn't blow up Apokolips! It was perfectly fine when we left!" Superman's tone was regretful, but that didn't stop him from feeling a little aggrieved at the same time.

"I know."

Batman's voice was icy. "I know it's not you, and it's not Ian. Darkseid wouldn't think that way. Because all he has to do is look through Ian Kent's past 'records of conduct'... and he'll make what he considers the clearest, most reasonable, and most logical judgment."

Bruce's mind flashed back to Ian's epic feat of blowing up Heaven. Clark opened his mouth, trying to refute, but found that any words were powerless in the face of Ian's glorious "achievements." Even he himself couldn't help but have an absurd yet incredibly "reasonable" thought at that moment.

"So, could it really be that Ian blew up Apokolips?"

My father's love is boundless, but his trust has its limits.

If even Superman subconsciously thinks this way, then it's easy to imagine what conclusion Darkseid, who has just suffered a major blow and whose lair has been destroyed, will come to.

The Dark Lord's boundless rage and vengeance will not be confined to any single individual. It will unleash the remaining power of Apokolips, and may even unite with other dark forces, against Earth, against the Kent family, and especially against the "culprit," Ian Kent—that will be the real deal.

Infinite War.

Inside the bat cave, a deathly silence reigned, broken only by the cold hum of the instruments, as if setting the stage for an impending storm that would sweep across the universe.

……

Ian is of course innocent.

At the time of the incident.

He has always bathed in his own "Devil's Manor," and countless demons can attest to that.

Berserker Experience +7

Berserker Experience +6

Berserker Experience +7

The main reason was that Rick's farts were so smelly that Ian washed for a long time, scrubbing until his skin started to turn red and bleed, before he felt that the smell was completely gone.

of course.

Taking a bath at the Devil's Manor was a pleasant experience for Ian, a feeling that even the most extravagant bathers outside had never experienced.

As soon as you step into the bathroom.

The enormous "bathtub," forged from the keratinous layer of some dark creature, would emit a satisfied groan. It was not a static container; its edges undulated gently, like the breathing of a living being. Ian dipped his toes into the water, the temperature just right, carrying a faint scent of sulfur mixed with potion.

This water was not stagnant; it seemed to possess life. As he fully immersed himself in it, the water flowed like countless soft, boneless yet precise little hands, automatically enveloping and caressing his body.

A clever vortex of water was directed at his sore neck and shoulders, with a force powerful enough to shatter human bones, yet it made Ian roll his eyes in comfort.

The "shower" came from an outlet above, carved into the face of a demon groaning in agony. With a glance from Ian, the demon's eyes glowed red, and instead of just spraying water, it spewed out a warm and powerful jet of water that even twisted in the air like a transparent tentacle, precisely washing his hair.

The bone tray holding his toiletries would follow him like a loyal dog, carrying his soap in its mouth. Even the drain would occasionally make a gurgling sound as if it were extremely satisfied with the powerful yet filthy bathwater.

The actual "scrubbing" part is even more enjoyable.

Ian didn't need to lift a finger. He simply raised his arm to a dark red, rough-grained oval boulder embedded in the wall beside the bathtub.

It is called "Lava Tongue" and extends slowly. The lava tongue has a warm and elastic texture, like the tongue of some huge creature.

The hellish massage product gently and thoroughly scraped across Ian's back, arms, and chest, removing all dead skin and dirt, which was instantly absorbed by the surface.

It turned into a wisp of green smoke and disappeared.

When it tried to slide towards Ian's more sensitive lower body, Ian lazily raised his hand and gently patted it.

“That’s not needed, little one.”

The lava tongue seemed to tremble with dissatisfaction, then obediently retreated into the wall, turning back into an inconspicuous decorative stone, as if waiting for the next service.

Even the so-called "bath towels" were hung nearby, waiting to be used.

It was a long scarf of peculiar material, seemingly woven from shadows, with faint black mist drifting along its edges. As Ian finally stood up from the water, it automatically flew up and diligently wrapped around him, not wiping him, but rather, in a wondrous way, instantly drawing all the moisture from his skin.

It leaves the skin feeling dry, refreshed, and slightly cool.

The entire bathing process lasted seven or eight hours, filled with these subtle and heartwarming interactions. In fact, Ian was already lying on his massage bed, which he had imported from hell, when the planet Apocalypse exploded that day.

Hundreds of soft little hands were massaging him, relieving his fatigue. Because the Demon Manor was so wonderful, he kept his eyes closed, completely unaware that countless light-years away, the lair of the Dark Lord Darkseid—Apokolips—had been reduced to cosmic dust in a cataclysmic explosion.

[Experience points for the Mutant Overlord have been calculated.]

Based on the current vitality of your allies, you gain +9 Mutant Overlord experience points.

[You have leveled up, gaining 1 job skill point and 1 more available companion.]

Even as he was enjoying a comfortable massage and quietly fell asleep, Ian was unaware that he had crossed that imperceptible boundary and stepped into the Marvel Universe.

He might unknowingly become a genuine DC film star.

(End of this chapter)