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

Chapter 272 You Were Born Satan

this moment.

Lucifer felt that he truly deserved to be called the first genius in history since the birth of the universe.

"How about it? Aren't you surprised?" Lucifer looked at Ian's shocked and almost stunned expression, and his sense of "cleverness" was almost overflowing.

The title of "Three-Year-Old Lu" is indeed very prestigious.

He felt he was the smartest being in the universe since its birth! He easily passed the hot potato of "Satan" to this seemingly troublesome kid in front of him.

Thus.

He, Lucifer Morningstar, could finally escape the drudgery of Hell and peacefully run his bar on Earth, pursuing his beloved Detective Chloe.

Enjoy the "free" life he longs for.

As for what kind of conflict will erupt between Ian and that old guy.

What does that have to do with him, a retiree? All he has to do is sit on a small stool, prepare some popcorn, and occasionally shout "Go Ian, I'm on your side!"

Perfect! What a perfect plan!

The more Lucifer thought about it, the more he felt that his wisdom shone brightly.

His gaze towards Ian even carried a hint of encouragement, as if to say, "I believe in you." He maintained that wicked and arrogant smile, simply raising his glass to Ian once more.

"cheers!"

it is more than words.

"??????"

Ian recovered from his initial shock, and countless thoughts flashed through his mind, eventually converging into a conclusion that almost made him jump out of his skin!
He struggled, pointing at Lucifer, his voice distorted: "Oh! Damn it! You're using me as a tool to whitewash yourself!!! You won't keep this mess all to yourself, will you!"

"That's outrageous!"

He was so angry that he spoke recklessly, forgetting that the other person wasn't even human.

Lucifer remained remarkably composed in the face of Ian's accusations. He gracefully set down his glass, shrugged, and began to recount his "history": "First, let me correct you, my dear... uh, Mr. Pre-Satan. I, Lucifer Morningstar, am merely the second, and possibly the third, Satan."

"Before me, there were undoubtedly other Satans, so this position has always been a meritocratic system from the beginning, and I have not violated any rules."

“I’m just the one who’s been in this position the longest. ‘Satan’ has never been a fixed, hereditary position. It’s more like a… post, a title. Yes, Satan can be anyone, as long as they have ‘ability’ and ‘potential’.”

Lucifer looked at Ian meaningfully, then bowed slightly in an exaggerated, mocking manner, and spoke in an aria-like tone.

"So why can't it be you? My beloved—New Era Satan?" He even struck a pose, holding it for three seconds before slowly straightening up.

Lucifer looked at Ian's face, which was contorted with extreme shock, anger, and absurdity, and kindly reminded him, "Oh, Your Majesty, you might need to manage your facial expressions. As the face of Hell, although we don't strive for a sanctimonious facade, basic facial control is still necessary, otherwise it will scare away... uh, perhaps attract some less-than-ideal customers?"

He began teaching.

Lucifer's words and actions were like rubbing salt into Ian's already burning nerves.

"Aaaaaah!" the groundhog screamed, Ian's facial muscles twitched, and finally all his emotions turned into a furious roar.

He nearly jumped up on the spot: "I knew it was you!!! This devilish outfit! It's your doing! I knew it was you from the very beginning!"

Aside from Lucifer, Ian didn't believe anyone in Hell could taint his soul.

Faced with Ian's accusations, Lucifer actually nodded happily, without any intention of making excuses, and even had an approving smile on his face as if to say, "You finally figured it out."

"That's right, you could say that."

His frank admission made Ian feel powerless, as if he had punched cotton or slapped a diamond in the face.

"..."

Ian was so frustrated he almost suffered internal injuries.

Seeing that his hard approach wasn't working, Ian tried a softer one, forcing a pitiful expression that looked rather comical compared to his earlier contorted face.

"I...I'm so kind! So helpful! I even have seventy-two pure white angel wings! Radiant with light! Righteous and awe-inspiring! I was clearly framed by you, you villain! That's why I've become this wretched sight!" As he spoke, the thought of his failed attempt to show off his impressive seventy-two-winged angel form fueled his anger, and he couldn't help but lash out again, his voice rising: "I am the son of Superman!!"

Superman's son.

To dabble in hell can be described as being a spoiled brat.

He's become the top leader.

What kind of thing is that?

Hearing Ian's indignant and angry words, Lucifer's smile became even more wicked and arrogant. He swirled his wine glass and slowly responded.

"Who isn't?"

Seeing Ian's puzzled look, Lucifer chuckled and continued to enlighten him, as if telling an ancient and familiar story: "Look, are you familiar with this script? The most noble angel, the Morning Star, bearing supreme glory and the Father God's favor, should be the kindest and most perfect being."

"And what happened? Such a good person, or at least someone who thought he was a good person, was framed by a 'villain' for some reason, became a traitor, and was reduced to the lord of hell, the king of all demons—doesn't that sound familiar? I certainly do." Lucifer blinked.

The "villain" he refers to here is, of course, God; he is subtly implying that he himself was the one who received the script of "fallen angel turning into Satan."

Therefore.

Lucifer spoke with utmost seriousness, his eyes even revealing a hint of "sincere" grievance. Yes, he was indeed feeling wronged, a true case of using magic to counter magic.

"You! You're the villain who framed me! What does this have to do with God?!" Ian was furious at Lucifer's twisted logic and his attempt to use "magic" to attack him.

“Sons resemble their fathers, isn’t that normal?” Lucifer readily admitted that he was also a villain, and simply attributed it to a problem of genetics.

It's safe to say it's a genuine old silver coin.

His logic was even more hardcore than when Ian was usually arguing nonsense, leaving Ian speechless and his face flushed red, yet he couldn't find the right words to refute this bastard's logic.

"I don't care! Give me back my holy soul! Give me back my super cool angel wings!!!" Ian was truly furious.

And looking at Ian, he was so angry his head was practically steaming.

Lucifer remained unperturbed, continuing his twisted logic: "Being Satan doesn't prevent you from being an angel. Look at me, don't I often go back to Heaven... for a visit?" He paused, speaking in a tone reminiscing about the past.

"To be honest, when you were a child... well, although I didn't pay much attention to you when you were little, even if I only caught a glimpse of you occasionally, I knew that you had the look of Satan from a young age!"

"That kind of rule-breaking creativity, that potential to turn heaven and hell upside down! If I were a few hundred million years younger, I would definitely follow you around every day, watching you learn how to be a qualified and excellent Satan..." Lucifer's tone was quite sincere and emotional.

"You're talking nonsense!!! You're farting!" Ian finally broke down completely, feeling from the bottom of his heart that he had been slandered and defiled to the extreme by this devil!
He has always considered himself a warrior of light and a partner of justice since childhood. Even if his methods are somewhat different from ordinary people, they are all the crystallization of his wisdom and are difficult for ordinary people to understand.

What a smart and wonderful person!

Now they're actually forcing me to say I have the potential to become Satan?!

This was an absolute insult to his character and ideals! Consumed by rage, Ian lost his mind and disregarded the fact that his opponent was a top-ranking figure in the universe. He lunged forward and reached out to grab Lucifer by the neck! Judging from his posture, he really wanted to test his skills against this primordial fallen one, the king of hell!
Of course, Lucifer was merely a projection at this moment. Ian's hand passed through Lucifer's neck without any resistance, grabbing only empty air.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Your Majesty, be calm."

Lucifer's projection rippled like water.

He re-formed a short distance away, and across the group of bar patrons who were still frozen in place with varying expressions, he spoke helplessly to the exasperated Ian.

"And, to be honest, you can't blame me entirely, Ian. I was just going with the flow." He calmly dropped a crucial piece of information, seeing that Ian was about to get angry again.

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask God. The reason you exhibit the devil’s soul is because your own heart is not firm enough in its choice of ‘pure light’.” Lucifer’s voice carried a profound insight: “Our existence is essentially ‘idealistic’.”

"Our appearance often reflects our deepest, truest choices and desires. External forces are merely triggers; the real decision-making power lies in your own 'free will.'" His words were practically saying: You became who you are because of your subconscious choices, don't blame me!

"Hmm?" Ian's eyes flickered suddenly upon hearing this, and his fighting motion froze. Free will? Inner choice? Was he not resolute enough?

"You're still spouting nonsense!"

Ian immediately and loudly denied it, "I am of pure heart! Helpful! Upright! Righteous! With the world in my heart! How could I not be steadfast?!"

"Hmm? Pure and kind-hearted? See, I told you you're more suited to be Satan than I am." Lucifer smiled at his stubborn refusal to admit it and reiterated his principles.

“I never lie, you know that.”

He said this with complete candor.

After a pause, seeing Ian's skeptical yet increasingly confused expression, Lucifer added, "Of course, this is also related to the fact that 'Hell' itself chose you."

"It sensed some kind of resonance with your soul? Or perhaps it thought you were the most suitable 'manager'—I said I just gave it a push."

That might actually be the truth.

Seeing Ian processing this information, his eyes shifting, and he seemed about to lose his temper again because of the "hellish choice," Lucifer quickly changed the subject and threw out a bait.

“Actually, being Satan isn’t without its advantages; there are many… ‘privileges.’ You’ll experience them soon enough.” He smiled mysteriously.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he said, "Oh, right, I can give you a beginner's guide—soon, an epic soul will come to an end."

“You can’t just let this kind of high-quality soul fall into hell on its own. You need to compete with other beings for it. The location is Gotham. You’ll sense it.” After saying that, before Ian could react, Lucifer, as if afraid of being entangled, quickly put his glass on the bar.

His entire projection vanished like wisps of smoke scattered by the wind at that moment.

As Lucifer left, the solidified force field that had enveloped the bar vanished instantly!
"Bang! Crack! Thud!"

"Go for it! Kill him!"

"My money!"

"Why did that kid run off over there?"

Time resumed its flow, the fighting continued, the noise returned, the wine spilled... Everyone resumed their movements, as if the strange pause had never happened.

Only the sight of several unconscious men lying on the ground, and Ian standing in the center of the bar with a look of lingering anger and utter bewilderment, proved that what had just happened was not a hallucination.

"Gotham? An epic-level soul?" Ian frowned, processing the last information Lucifer had left behind. This old devil, while shifting blame, was actually also issuing missions?

What epic soul could possibly die in Gotham?
Batman and the Joker cannot possibly die.

After all, he hadn't really changed the past. These beings with extremely high status and power in the world would die spectacularly, not quietly.

"Could it be some ancient being hiding?"

Just as Ian was hesitating about whether to go to Gotham to take a look... Meanwhile, in Gotham City, at the Batcave.

Miss Death remained like an invisible ghost, quietly seated in Batman's control chair. Her gaze pierced through the reinforced glass of the laboratory, fixed on Bruce Wayne inside.

at this time.

Bruce had already removed his bat armor and changed into clothes more suitable for research. He was mixing the active, dark golden blood of Ian, which he had carefully collected outside, with various complex chemical reagents, rare isotopes, and some unknown materials that emitted faint energy fluctuations, and was conducting an extremely complex reaction in sophisticated instruments.

The whole process was fraught with uncertainty and danger, but he operated with meticulous care, his eyes focused and obsessive.

After hours of tireless tinkering, failures, adjustments, and more attempts, he finally obtained a vial of an extremely eerie-looking potion—an ominous color resembling molten bronze mixed with eerie green phosphorescence and dark gold streaks. It flowed slowly in the test tube, occasionally rising with a bubble as if it were alive.

"Has the antidote been prepared?"

Bruce didn't hesitate and immediately conducted animal experiments. Clearly, after the animal experiments were successful, he would choose to inject himself with this unregulated product.

of course.

Before deciding to use the eerily colored potion from Ian on himself, Bruce Wayne, with his signature meticulousness and obsession, conducted a series of textbook-level, extremely detailed animal experiments. This state-of-the-art private laboratory deep within the Bat Cave now resembled a biohazard control center.

He first selected standard laboratory mice as the initial model. The highly diluted drug was injected into a group of five healthy mice.

Through subcutaneous microsensors and 24/7 monitoring, he closely tracks their vital signs, neural electrical activity, motor behavior, and even group interactions.

And at the same time.

In Miss Death's eyes.

Batman is getting closer and closer to her.

(End of this chapter)