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

midair.

The wind howled and rushed into my ears.

A whistling sound filled the air.

Damn.

The spider sensed it, but its body couldn't keep up.

Dio gritted his teeth, his blond hair flying wildly in front of his eyes.

He squinted and, through the gaps in his hair, finally saw the person's face clearly.

Do not!

It has no face.

It was an ancient suit of armor, with a huge red cross embedded in its chest.

He wore a red and white robe over the armor, and his facial features were completely hidden behind a mask, with only his eyes showing.

Indifferent, irritable.

A scarlet, tattered cloak fluttered behind him.

Angel of Death.

The true angel of death, Azrael.

The true trump card of the St. Dumas Order.

A perfect product of genetic modification and mind control, combining peak human combat skills with equipment enhanced by mysterious powers.

Without a doubt—this is an enemy he is far from being able to deal with at present.

The odds of winning are probably close to zero.

Dio's pupils contracted slightly, his heart tightened, and the silver chariot blocked his way.

The guy in front of me isn't the fake one at home, but the real deal.

With armored silver chariots blocking the way, even with damage sharing, a large portion of the damage can be reduced.

But there was no time to think about it further.

While he's in the air, he needs to think about how to land first, rather than considering the other party's purpose.

Fortunately, Gotham, this gloomy city, never lacks rain.

In the alley directly below, puddles of water reflected the dim yellow light of the streetlights, making them particularly noticeable.

Dior glanced down, then immediately adjusted his breathing, letting the ripples surge within his body.

The moment it landed, ripples traveled from the tip of the silver chariot's rapier into the pool of water—

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"Ripple Dash!"

The water surface seemed to have been pressed into a dent by an invisible hand, then bounced back up, transforming into a tough water cushion.

At the same time, the ripples flow into the bones and muscles of the whole body, dissipating the impact like a precise spring.

tread.

With both feet on the water mat, golden lightning bolts shot from the ankles up to the calves.

The water cushion was compressed to its limit and then exploded with a loud bang.

Dio spun halfway around, releasing the remaining force onto the ground, and landed steadily.

"You're quite good, son of Gotham."

A hoarse voice came from the other end of the alley.

tread.

tread.

tread.

Azrael emerged from the darkness, his knight's boots treading on the wet stone slabs, step by step.

Unlike when he was in mid-air, he now had two longswords wrapped in bandages at his waist, one on his left and one on his right.

Dio's gaze, however, fell on a scratch on the man's gauntlet.

That was left behind by the silver chariot.

In his haste, his sword strike only left a tiny mark on the opponent's armor.

And that power—

Dior's fingers curled slightly, and his fingertips were a little cold.

This was the first time he had encountered an enemy with superhuman strength.

wrong!

and many more?

What did he just call me?

Son of Gotham?

Dior frowned, subtly reaching for the pistol at his waist, and asked without making a sound:

"What did you just call me?"

"A futile struggle, son of Gotham."

Azrael's voice was hoarse as he continued walking forward, the air around him seeming to freeze.

Dior knew it was psychological, but there was nothing he could do; the other person's pressure was just too intense.

Furthermore, if even the Silver Chariot's rapier couldn't penetrate that magical armor, then Gold Experience's fist would be even less likely to succeed.

"Son of Gotham"

The Angel of Death halted, its eyes beneath the mask growing increasingly frenzied.

"This city lives in sin—and so do you."

Is Bruce not the Son of Gotham?

But it was me?

Dior frowned slightly; the spiraling situation had plunged his spirits to rock bottom.

It seems a battle is inevitable—I just don't know if the other side's mask is bulletproof.

"Son of Gotham, I can sense your strength. As a knight, I give you a choice: a fair duel."

Azrael's hands rested on the two swords at his waist.

Both the left and right sides were wrapped in bandages.

"One of them is the sword of redemption. Those pierced by it will see all the tragedies in their lives."

He patted the left side of the sword hilt with his left hand, then patted the right side.

"The other one is just an ordinary flaming sword. Left or right?"

Dio stared at the two swords and remained silent for two seconds.

"I haven't offended you, have I?"

Azrael didn't speak; he just stood there, his eyes behind the mask unmoving.

There is no room for negotiation.

Looks like I have no choice but to pick one.

Dio quietly opened the saint's left eye.

The world has changed in my left eye.

Both swords were wrapped in bandages that glowed with a dark light.

They're exactly the same; it's impossible to tell which one is Redemption and which one is Flame.

Damn.

"Then I'll choose the right side."

Dior made a casual remark, his eyes narrowing.

Just as Azrael reached to unfasten the clasp on his right sword—

Dior's right hand was instantly pulled out from behind his waist.

A revolver.

Their wolfish ambitions were instantly exposed.

Logically, he should choose a sword and have a proper battle with the Angel of Death, resulting in mutual destruction, mutual respect, and perhaps even turning the other side against him.

But I'm sorry.

He is a villain.

He is Dio.

It is well known that he is untrustworthy.

Bang bang bang bang!

Six gunshots rang out in quick succession.

After being fine-tuned by the [Doppelganger - Sexy Pistol], the bullets drew six straight trajectories in the night, precisely heading towards the same target - the mask of the Angel of Death.

Dior's lips hadn't even had a chance to curl into a smile.

Ding ding ding ding ding.

The bullet struck the mask, scattering six sparks. The bullet deformed, bounced off, and rolled into the puddles.

There wasn't even a scratch on the mask.

Dior's expression froze on his face, his pupils dilated.

It's actually bulletproof?

The armor is bulletproof, fine, but how come even the mask is bulletproof?

This is outrageous!

【Great villainous savior, your actions have not only shocked the Angel of Death, but also enraged him. Points +200】

Azrael paused for a moment as he unsheathed his sword.

Behind the mask, the restlessness in the eyes gradually gave way to annoyance.

He was indeed enraged, just as the panel indicated.

Azrael didn't speak, but simply took off the sword on his right and tossed it aside.

The longsword spun through the alley and landed with a clang on the stone slab at Dio's feet, trembling slightly.

"Pick it up."

The hoarse voice, neither loud nor soft, pressed down on Dior's chest like a lead weight.

Azrael took a step forward, his knight's boots landing in a puddle, and another sword was gripped in his hand.

"Son of Gotham"

With each step he took, it felt like he was measuring the distance between Dio and death.

"Face your destiny."

Dio looked down at the sword at his feet.

The hilt of the sword was wrapped in bandages, leaving only a section of dark red metal exposed.

He raised his head.

The Angel of Death stood ten paces away, its eyes behind the mask coldly fixed on him.

Dior's fingers were still cold.

His own substitute, his sneak attack, and even everything he was proud of were crushed to pieces by the opponent's magical armor in this moment.

Indestructible, incredibly strong, with super endurance, and also possesses a magical weapon.

Fear mixed with the stinging sensation of spider-sense began to climb up my spine.

But Dior did not back down.

It wasn't because of courage, nor for any other reason.

Rather, it was because there was a wall behind him, leaving him nowhere to unleash Joestar's ancestral techniques.

This dead-end alley was a duel location deliberately chosen by the opponent!

It started to rain.

Dio took a deep breath, letting the damp, cold air of Gotham fill his lungs.

I may be afraid, but fear won't solve the problem.

His experience living in Gotham's East Side taught him that in every battle, the one who survives is not the strongest, but the last one to give up.

At this moment, he seemed less afraid than before, but his heart was beating even faster.

Bang bang, bang bang.

Then use ripples!

Dio slowly crouched down, gripped the hilt of the sword with his fingers, and raised it.

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His back was straight, his blond hair was wet from the rain and stuck to his forehead, but his eyes no longer darted away.

A large ruby ​​with a red cross—the Perfect Aja Red Stone—dangles from her waist.

When it rains, the ripples operate at full capacity!

This is the perfect battlefield for Ripple Messenger!

"I've made my selection."

Dio's physical abilities were improving rapidly. He stared at the other person and slowly wiped the rain from his cheeks.

Azrael looked at the blond boy who resolutely raised his sword, and a change finally appeared in his eyes behind the mask.

That was an acknowledgment; he acknowledged the other person's courage.

Azrael, holding his longsword, performed a knightly salute, his voice deep and solemn:

"Your opponent is the Church of Saint Duma, the executor of God's will, the judge of sins, and the angel of death, Azrael."

Dio didn't speak, but silently gripped the hilt of his sword.

boom!

A surge of flames rose from the sword.

Under the flames, his emerald-like left eye subtly turned dark gold.

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