American comic book: Transmigrated into Dior and adopted by the Wayne family

Chapter 120 Bruce: Dad, you're still alive!

"Wait! You're Dior! That Dior!"

The thin man seemed to wake from a dream, pointing at the hat on Dior's head, his voice trembling.

"That Wayne adopted son with his name on his hat!"

"You're the only one in all of Gotham who's this arrogant!"

Dior frowned.

Didn't I just introduce myself?

What did those two guys do before they came? Were they out of their minds?

"Are you guys having a blast?"

"No, sir, you don't understand what we mean."

The fat man quickly pulled his companion forward, pointed to his chest, and said, "We are Wayne's men, we are from Wayne Memorial Hospital."

"We're in this together."

As he spoke, he quietly stuck his toes into the mud.

The fog was so thick that only he could see this little movement.

"There's no way to change your fate."

Dior gave a cold laugh, his eyes filled with threat.

Pushing a person in a vegetative state into a swamp makes room for the next "patient".

Ha ha.

Even a villain like him wouldn't do something like that; it's disgusting.

Bruce remained expressionless.

He merely glanced at the increasingly thick fog and silently blocked their other escape route.

The fog enveloped the four people tightly, and no one could escape until a result was determined.

Lost in the swamp, one step into the mud, and the chance of survival is practically zero.

So the situation is clear.

"Look, a certain great sage didn't stop me. Do you know why?"

Dio pulled a revolver from his pocket, snapped the hammer open, aimed it at the two men, and smiled brightly. "Give yourselves some dignity."

The thin man and the fat man exchanged a glance, and the latter suddenly kicked his foot, which was stuck in the mud, forward!

A shower of petals rained down, and countless specks of mud flew straight toward Dior's new coat!

Are you also an iron-legged water walker?

"You damned bastard, how dare you!"

Anger ignited in Dior's eyes.

The foul-smelling sludge was crystal clear in the field of vision.

He glanced at the two men rushing towards Bruce, then at the mud in front of him, his expression twisting for a moment.

"Damn it! It's all because of this damn fog!"

"Gold Eperience!"

With the golden experience in front of him, he faced the oncoming mud, his hands waving in a blur.

At the same time, sparks flew from the revolver in Dio's hand, and a bullet flew out of the muzzle.

"oh!"

A scream rang out, and a corpse fell to the ground.

The silt was also completely blocked by the golden experience, slipping through their fingers.

On the other side, Bruce calmly straightened his collar, with another person lying at his feet, constantly groaning.

"You owe me one, Dio."

Dio rolled his eyes, glanced at the skinny man at Bruce's feet, and sneered, "Aren't you going to stop me from harming these two young lives?"

"In fact, I did want to stop you, but..."

Bruce looked at the thick fog that had reached his waist, turned his body, and faced away from Dio.

"I'm not a pedantic person, so I'll pretend I didn't see it."

"You'd better hurry, I have a feeling this swamp is going to swallow us all up."

"You don't need to tell me."

Dio grabbed the two men by their collars and threw them forcefully into the swamp.

The surging swamp water eagerly climbed onto their bodies, turning into tentacles and dragging them into the depths.

A gust of wind blew by, and the fog, which was just moments before so thick that visibility was less than five meters, dissipated at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Just as Bruce guessed, if these two scumbags aren't dealt with, they themselves will be swallowed up by this swamp.

"Every time you choose this method, it reinforces my belief that we are not on the same path."

Bruce's calm voice came from behind Dior.

"Every time I try to accept you, you always kill the idea in this way."

He vowed that if he could stop all of this one day, he would never allow anyone around him to become someone who could take another's life at will.

Even if the person being killed deserves to die, it's still unacceptable.

Dior did not answer.

Why isn't there any mockery?

Bruce paused for a moment, a hint of reluctance flashing across his face.

Was I too harsh?

After all, Dior was also...

He turned around, wanting to say something, but found that Dior was nowhere to be seen behind him.

Instead, the fog grew thicker and deeper, making visibility even lower than before.

"Dio? You went back?"

Bruce tentatively took a step forward, through the thick fog.

After passing through the thick fog, the view suddenly opened up.

Before me was neither a swamp nor a forest, but a dark and damp alley.

The brick walls were covered in graffiti, the streetlights were dim, and the ground was littered with trash and broken glass.

Bruce's heart skipped a beat.

He knew this place all too well.

Crime Alley.

His breathing quickened, and his clenched fists trembled slightly.

No, that's not right, it's an illusion.

The toxicity of biogas.

I'm poisoned.

Bruce frowned, just as he was about to punch himself—

"...Thomas, slow down, wait for me."

A gentle female voice came from behind, carrying a familiar sound that I would never hear again in this lifetime.

"Martha, you're too slow."

The man's voice was very steady, yet it carried a hint of amusement.

Bruce froze, his pupils suddenly contracting.

"Father...Mother?"

He knew it was fake.

The marsh gas was gnawing at his nerves; everything before him was nothing but an illusion caused by the stimulation of toxins.

But that voice, that laughter, was all too familiar.

Bruce desperately told himself:

This is an illusion, not real, he must tell Dio!

at the same time.

"What are you yelling about, Bruce?"

Dio looked at Bruce in front of him, his brows furrowing slightly.

Bruce's lips parted slightly, his voice soft and indistinct.

"What are you saying? Are you trying to whisper something to me?"

Dio gave a strange look and leaned closer to listen.

"...Father?" Bruce murmured.

Dior's expression shifted from strange to astonished in an instant.

"What did you say?"

Before he could react, Bruce's gaze had already passed over his shoulder and was fixed on something further away.

"Mother..

""

Father? Mother?

Dior paused for a moment, then suddenly realized.

He held Bruce's chin, turned his face, and carefully examined his unfocused pupils.

Is that really the case?

The pupils are dilated, and there is no response to external stimuli.

"Methane poisoning."

Dio released his grip, letting out a disdainful sneer. "Your physical condition is too weak. Fortunately, I'm much stronger than you."

He grabbed Bruce's arm and pulled him outwards with force.

"Walk."

Bruce staggered a couple of steps, his eyes still fixed on the air behind him.

Dio, beaming with pride, prepared to drag him through the thick fog.

"Much swamp gas is utterly useless against the great Dio Brando!"

Before he could finish speaking, his temple suddenly throbbed.

Dio frowned, but didn't take it seriously, and continued walking with Bruce in his arms.

The thin mist was dispersed by the two boys.

Then, Dior's steps suddenly froze.

Golden waves of wheat rippled in the breeze, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The air was filled with the scent of hay and sunshine, a scene of vibrant life.

A woman in a blue dress stood at the edge of a wheat field, her long, black hair blowing in the wind, her face full of worry.

She quickly ran over and gently touched Dior's face with her hand: "...Have you lost weight, Dior?"

The familiar scent of laundry soap and sunshine wafted into my nostrils.

Dior froze for a moment.

His lips opened and closed, but no sound came out.

That hand was warm and real.

He could even feel the calluses on his fingertips, the result of his mother's years of sewing.

"This...this...how...is this possible?"