New York.
Inside Wonder Woman Diana's home.
She was originally trying to salvage her Lasso of Truth.
Who would have thought that even though she had maintained enough caution in her handling—only making an inquiry call to that boy—she still could not escape the fate of having super high blood pressure.
The Super-Hero Popularity Center.
This forum website, which Batman Bruce Wayne used to collect supernatural information from around the world, now seemed to be infected with a virus. When she opened the site, almost all the top trending topics on the homepage were related to Stocking Superman.
"He is the Grandson of Krypton, Yet He Chose to Betray the Gods!"
""This is not your burden." "But I am willing to bear it." — Stocking Superman's Choice"
"He Exchanged the Entire Universe's Survival for One Line: "I Am the MVP""
"No One Remembers His Funeral, But Everyone Lives Because of His Sacrifice"
...
Various trending topics with different titles were truly emerging endlessly.
It was hard to imagine how one person could fix up his family's house and write so many articles in just a few hours. The more Diana scrolled, the more astonished her expression became.
Even when she searched and entered other threads, the website kept pushing trending topics to the user. It was as if every corner of the site was hiding a boy wearing a stocking mask.
"..."
Diana stared at the video with the highest heat. On the cover, a group of heroes were weeping and beating their chests, and she, Wonder Woman, demonstrated what you would call magical snot.
The snot, which looked dozens of feet long, was so thick and round.
It fell directly onto the ground.
On the ruined ground, it formed the video's title.
The Death of a Hero: Twilight of Justice
Diana could not figure out why such a video had tens of millions of views and was quickly approaching the next milestone. Rubbing her temples, she forced her finger to click the mouse.
And so.
The video began to play.
A voice-over started: A hero does not always need a cape.
Sometimes, a humble, unknown child can light up the entire universe in their own way.
And by the time the world finally realizes this, it is often after he has departed.
May every person who has stood up for the world be remembered.
May every hero who should not be forgotten be truly seen.
...
The narration was very emotional, delivered in the superb, resonant voice of Gotham.
Immediately after, a golden light tore through the night, as if the sun had risen from hell. The background music was deep and tragic, the rhythm gradually accelerating with a heartbeat-like drum pattern.
The scene cut very quickly, yet with extreme precision.
The camera zoomed in from deep space, focusing on a figure that was roaring and mutating—his body swelled, rapidly transforming into a terrifying giant.
Superman flew forward in a rush.
He was stepped on like a ragdoll.
Wonder Woman, Batman, Cyborg, and Green Arrow prepared to rescue him but were instantly defeated one after another. Every one of them was sprawled on the ground, their faces, highlighted by close-up lighting, filled with despair and indignation.
"Is the world going to end? No! I will absolutely not allow it!"
Superman struggled to prop up the giant Doomsday's foot.
His face was flushed.
The feeling of anger was palpable.
"You can't do it! You can't do it! Superman! We're finished!" Batman struggled to his feet from the ground, his Batmobile burning behind him into a charred wreck.
"There's still a chance!"
Superman roared and began to fight the giant Doomsday, darting around him.
The earth tore apart, volcanoes erupted, tsunamis surged high, and cities turned into ruins—even billions in special effects could not surpass this, it was indistinguishable from reality.
"I can't last much longer!"
Superman persisted in his grief.
And just at that moment.
Seven-colored auspicious clouds descended from the sky.
"Don't give up!"
A figure descended from the heavens!
He wore no cape.
He was only wearing a laboratory white coat, his stocking-wrapped hair attempting to flutter wildly, his eyes firm like a torch, stepping onto a fiery lotus as he debuted. Behind him, a 100-meter-long golden peacock tail feather effect suddenly unfolded!
"Oh! Who is he?"
Diana saw her video self gasp in surprise.
"It's Stocking Superman."
Batman's eyes showed shock.
Suddenly, a flashback occurred.
From his own perspective, Batman recalled having once reprimanded the boy, telling him he was unworthy to be a superhero. But now, this boy stood firmly in front of everyone.
"Heroism is never about worthiness, only about doing or not doing." Saying this, the boy took a spear from Batman's hand and resolutely flew towards the giant monster.
"If I go and do not return, then I go and do not return!" With indomitable belief, the boy broke through layer after layer of hardship, incidentally using Doomsday's heat vision to open a bottle cap of soda along the way.
He was utterly dashing.
He faced his fate with composure.
Arriving behind Doomsday, the last bit of soda was poured into the boy's mouth. Afterward, he wiped his thoroughly soaked stocking and violently plunged the spear into the back of Doomsday's neck and spine!
The next second.
Doomsday let out a deafening wail.
His body began to collapse.
And Stocking Superman was engulfed by the surging energy. He burned in the flames, yet still tightly held the spear, only letting go at the very last moment as he fell powerlessly.
The background music suddenly became tragic.
Doomsday let out a sky-shattering roar and crashed to the ground, while the pixelated youth let go, his broken body plummeting towards the ground like a falling leaf. Slow motion captured his final gaze.
Two crystal-clear tears welled up from beneath the stocking.
They were especially noticeable on his fully pixelated face.
As if they were on a different layer.
"I did it."
The voice, filled with exhaustion, dropped.
Superman failed to catch the boy in time.
The pixelated boy's broken body crashed heavily onto the ground.
The screen froze at the moment he closed his eyes.
"Why! Why was I too late to save him!" Superman looked up to the sky and cried, holding the boy's corpse. Wonder Woman knelt on the ground, weeping, and Batman frantically hammered the earth.
Beneath the ragged combat suit.
Twenty-four packs of abs were faintly visible.
"He saved all of us, yet all of us could not save him."
Cyborg even broke his own wrist, just so the hero would have a pillow as he slept. Amidst the cries of hero after hero, the video's background music abruptly stopped.
The video gradually faded to black.
[It is only now that I understand: sacrifice is the most supreme will of a hero.]
At this moment.
Countless bullet comments scrolled across the screen.
[Teary-eyed, the true MVP]
[The Justice League really can't function without him]
[What were the other heroes doing? Only he was serious about saving the world]
[He burned his life! To illuminate humanity's future!]
[This spear pierces the stars!]
[This boy is actually from our Great Han Min-guk (South Korea)!]
...
The website, which originally had no bullet comments, was updated with a bullet comment function by the mysterious person. These were real users flooding the screen. At this time, the video's view count had already surpassed fifty million.
"..."
Diana was silent.
This plot, which was more outrageous than an Indian movie, truly left her speechless. Wonder Woman did feel the talent radiating from that boy.
Except for the final scene of everyone wailing, she seemed to have experienced all the other plot points. However, strung together, she felt as if she had participated in a counterfeit Justice League assembly.
"The magic moment of journalism? Is this the reporter's child?" Diana swallowed, realizing that ninety percent of the video was actual footage.
The remaining special effects and fictional scenes showed no signs of incongruity.
With various insertions, splicing, and AI effects, a boy whose face was pixelated was successfully portrayed as a dying hero, with the other heroes feeling like mere accessories.
There was indeed a reason for the video's immense popularity.
Individual heroism was pushed to its absolute limit.
[MVP, forever remembered.]
[Brothers, I cried, I really broke down... The Earth's only true man! Stocking Superman!]
[I suddenly understand what a hero is! In that moment of facing death, he was more like Superman than Superman himself!]
[The Justice League losing him is like the night losing its starlight. I suggest renaming the Justice League to the Stocking Superman Fan Club!]
...
Almost every time she refreshed.
Diana could see a few hundred new comments in the comment section.
They did not look like bots.
Quite a few people were genuinely moved.
[I also have times when I misjudge. He is the greatest hero. #ForeverMissed# " — Verified Batman Account] Wonder Woman even saw Batman's account commenting below.
Yes.
Batman.
He wasn't just hacked in reality.
His virtual property was not safe either.
The mysterious person had not only infiltrated this website and updated the bullet comment system but also created an identity verification function for the site and used several accounts that had received the identity verification badge to frantically mourn Stocking Superman below.
[The Flash Verified]
"What is the point of a world without Stocking Superman?"
[Cyborg Verified]
"If I could do it over, I would definitely vote for him as the League Leader."
[Aquaman Verified]
"He saved our ancestors for three thousand six hundred generations, it is true."
...
Almost the entire Justice League had their accounts stolen.
The most preposterous thing was that none of the netizens were suspicious. After all, upon seeing the official verification badge, they naturally assumed that the people who arrived were the heroes of the Justice League.
"On Stocking Superman's Contribution to Universal Peace"
"Revisiting Stocking Superman's Top Ten Highlight Moments"
The internet was just like that.
Where there was a hot topic.
People would follow the hot topic and help it spread.
Countless people were joining the mourning.
Regardless of whether they knew Stocking Superman before.
They now seemed to have become ten-year fans of Stocking Superman—since these people had not spotted Diana's comments, there were already posts online criticizing Diana for being ungrateful.
"Wonder Woman Was Just Idling! Did She Only Cry Snot and Not Tears When Stocking Superman Sacrificed Himself?"
"[In-Depth Analysis] Justice League Internal Conflicts Exposed!"
...
Seeing the public opinion evolving further.
It was about to turn into a case of love turning into hate.
What could Diana say?
"Isn't Bruce going to do something about this? This is his website!" She wanted to ignore it, but even after closing the laptop, she could not calm down.
Her hand reached out and then drew back.
She struggled back and forth several times.
Diana still could not resist opening the laptop again.
[Wonder Woman]
"Sorry, everyone, I'm late. I just cried myself unconscious in the restroom over a dozen times."
Information refreshed in the comment section.
It seemed the mysterious person was still working hard.
They had only been delayed by something earlier—although the words spoken by the fraudulent account sounded strange, Diana felt an inexplicable sense of relief.
At least the netizens were not continuing to target her and wildly spread rumors. It was not that Diana cared about public opinion, she was mainly afraid that the mysterious person had ulterior motives by leaving her out.
Fortunately, reality was not as she had imagined, and Diana naturally breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, it still bothered her greatly to see others posting false information under her name.
"No! I have to do something! Otherwise, who knows when he'll change my title to 'Coattail Rider Woman'!" Wonder Woman Diana slumped on the sofa, pondering for a long time.
Ultimately.
She still wanted to reclaim her honor.
"Clark's image seems to be the only one doing well. If you told me this wasn't the monster's doing, I definitely wouldn't believe it." Perhaps the DC Universe also had its own Voldemort.
Diana refused to utter Ian's name. She placed the new laptop back on her lap and, with a flurry of typing, applied for her own verified identity on the website.
It had to be said.
The mysterious hacker's technology was truly powerful, the temporarily embedded system was very comprehensive.
[This certification has already been registered. Would you like to proceed with an account change?]
Diana looked at the prompt that popped up on the website.
She chose [Yes], which was hidden among five thousand tiny, mosquito-sized [No] options, without hesitation—the website did not allow font enlargement, clearly a mechanism to filter out ordinary people.
As Diana made the correct choice.
The page jumped.
The website directly presented an identity verification questionnaire with over five hundred questions.
Diana's pupils slightly contracted.
She could not figure out how Ian was able to produce so much content in such a short time.
Did this guy have a team of assistants?
As suspicion rose in her heart.
The first question came into Diana's sight.
[001: Where does Wonder Woman come from?]
[Option 1: Themyscira.]
[Option 2: Loli Island.]
[Option 3: Skull Island.]
[Option 4: Deep in the Valley]
Faced with this first question, Diana certainly did not need to think. The heroine, determined to reclaim her title, directly chose the most correct answer.
[Themyscira]
However.
[Incorrect Option. Please restart certification in one minute]
The unexpected happened. The damned website actually made an incorrect judgment. Diana's eyes widened, and even her demigod brain felt insufficient.
"I don't even know where I come from?"
She was completely bewildered.
She waited a minute.
She tried selecting the second option.
[Incorrect Option. Please restart certification in five minutes] The knowledgeable Diana still failed to clear the obstacle that was merely the very first question of the identity verification.
"?????"
Diana really wanted to curse.
She felt that Ian did not understand her background information at all.
Perhaps the boy was just haphazardly making up the questionnaire.
"Maybe I should just wait for Bruce to regain control of this website." After choosing the third option and still getting an error prompt, Diana stared at the required half-hour cool-down time.
She chose to give up.
Although her lifespan was infinitely long.
That did not mean she wanted to spend a whole year dealing with a questionnaire, did it?
You should know!
This questionnaire had five hundred questions!
"The cool-down time might even accumulate and lengthen over the five hundred questions. Later on, I'd have to wait decades, centuries. That guy is definitely capable of doing something like that!"
Diana felt an intense headache and sincerely hoped that Bruce could set things right—she believed Bruce was only temporarily unavailable and had never doubted Batman's abilities.
The air quality in New York was not great.
But it was better than Diana's current stifled mood.
She was relying on Batman to take action.
And what was Batman doing?
Three hundred feet below Gotham.
In one of Batman's private, undisclosed laboratories, the cool white light illuminated the metal walls like an ice cellar. The air was filled with a faint smell of burning from the operating electronic equipment.
There was also an indefinable sense of tension.
Outside disturbances could not affect the atmosphere here, as there was no internet connection at all. This was why Batman and the Flash were still so calm.
"Clang, clang, clang~"
They were rebuilding a new dream-detection instrument.
A device capable of delving into the conscious world and reading subconscious signals. Batman felt this device could help him and the Justice League find out what kind of nightmare the Flash was experiencing every night.
Regarding this.
Barry Allen chose to believe.
With the Speed Force enhancement and his several PhDs, completing Batman's blueprint was not difficult, especially since the design and planning of the blueprint had also considered his knowledge level.
That was what having a close teammate was like.
The Flash's hidden vulnerabilities and cards.
Had always been transparent to Batman.
"Seriously, are all these gadgets really necessary? I feel like you're taking advantage of this to collect my Speed Force data." Barry Allen was covered in sensors and electrodes.
Even the clothes he borrowed from the Kent family had several openings cut into them.
Revealing miniature probes flashing on his skin.
Batman did not lift his head, typing a string of code on the holographic keyboard: "No, I'm just collecting Speed Force samples. I already figured out your baseline data three years ago."
He was just as honest as Ian.
After debugging some data.
The man walked up and, from the instruments on Barry Allen's body, removed several test tubes hidden within the devices, now flashing with golden electrical arcs.
A lot of Speed Force reserves had been depleted earlier.
Batman naturally found a way to replenish them.
His frankness and taking the test tubes right in front of him truly made the Flash feel helpless.
"Can't you at least be a little discreet and consider my feelings a tiny bit?" Barry Allen stood with his hands on his hips, holding back for a long time, but ultimately did not dare to make too serious a complaint.
After all, having been a part of the Justice League for so many years, he knew the Dark Knight's style too well. The moment you showed even a shred of dissatisfaction, the next day your personal file would gain an extra red flag for "potential instability factor"—the danger rating would be directly increased by at least three levels.
If a metahuman had no ambition or dark side, why would they be afraid of others making plans against them? The Flash could even visualize Batman's rigorous psychological activities.
Let alone in the Justice League, even minor heroes active in the eighteen-tier cities knew just how severe the Gotham Master's persecution complex was.
And look.
Even though the Flash's emotions were stable.
"Next time I'll be mindful." After giving him a glance, Batman still silently raised the Flash's danger rating by 0.5, based on some unknown consideration or assessment.
"You..."
Barry opened his mouth.
He ultimately did not pursue the question.
In the center of the lab.
A massive device, shaped like an MRI machine, was humming loudly.
Strange liquids flowed in several tubes.
It looked quite eerie.
It was the result of the Flash and Batman's hours of labor.
"Will this thing really help me?" Barry walked to the machine and changed the subject. His finger lightly touched the outer casing, but he instantly drew it back, shocked by some kind of energy reaction.
"Huh?"
Barry was very puzzled.
After all, he only knew the construction principles, not the operational principles.
A PhD.
Was only the starting point in certain fields.
"It will at least let us see what kind of corrosion you are encountering." Batman finally turned around, his black cape billowing behind him, as he performed final adjustments on a tablet.
"Ian said I'm dying." Barry stared at the instrument, his voice suddenly dropping. He was not afraid of death, but he did not want to die pointlessly and without clarity.
"Don't worry, we still have dozens of hours, if that kid's judgment is not wrong." Batman walked to the control panel and began to input the startup sequence.
"Hearing you say that only makes me worry more! That is the opposite of helpful!" Barry scratched his hair. "Usually, the line 'we still have dozens of hours' is followed by the end of the world!"
His expression was quite dramatic.
But Batman showed no intention of appreciating it.
"Finding the problem is the most difficult step. In fact, as long as we figure out the situation you're in, resolving it won't be hard."
Batman continued to manipulate the control panel.
His words were filled with determination.
"Solving the problem is much simpler than finding the problem? Uh... Is that really true?" Barry's expression was stunned. He felt there might truly be a generation gap between him and Batman.
Batman did not answer this.
He simply pointed to the machine's open hatch. Barry pouted and resignedly lay down inside. The metal frame automatically closed, fixing the Flash into a fetal position.
"Starting soon. Get ready, you'll quickly enter a deep state of dreaming." Batman gave a reminder and began to activate the newly built machine.
There were no sparks.
And no failures.
"System initialization complete."
"Neural connection establishing."
"Dream synchronization rate: 87%."
"Target has entered the shallow consciousness phase."
...
Problems rarely occurred with things Batman built.
On the screen, line after line of cold data flickered.
A mechanical voice, devoid of emotion, continuously sounded.
And Barry's breathing rate gradually slowed, his heartbeat stabilizing. His eyes began to move rapidly beneath his eyelids, slowly entering the REM sleep stage.
But this.
Was still not enough.
As a deeper layer of the dream was excavated, activated, and intervened with.
A pale blue beam of light shot out from the top of the instrument, enveloping the entire chamber. Immediately after, Barry's brainwave map began to fluctuate violently, as if he were undergoing an unprecedented conscious storm.
Batman stared intently at the screen, trying to capture any abnormal fluctuations.
Suddenly.
A strange pattern appeared in the brainwave map—a never-before-recorded wave curve, showing a spiraling upward trend, like the projection of some high-dimensional structure.
At the same time, Barry's lips trembled slightly, seemingly murmuring in his dream:
"They are... watching us... it's not an illusion... they really exist..."
Batman's pupils narrowed.
What was this?
Was it an amplification of the Flash's own fear? Or...
A truly existing invader?
"Tap, tap, tap, tap~" Batman's hands continuously operated the control panel. However, the screen, which had already been set up, did not display Barry Allen's dream.
The instrument had not malfunctioned.
The lab was silent.
Only the ticking sound of the instrument operating echoed in the air. Batman sat in front of the main console, his eyes glued to the constantly changing data streams, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. He could not figure out the exact reason why the dream image was not displaying, only vaguely sensing that it might have been blocked in some way.
"Has this invasion progressed so far? It can affect our world?" Batman even activated the backup mode, but he still could not see Barry's dream through the screen.
It had been a long time since he felt such.
Extreme uneasiness.
Batman wanted to attempt other corrections. However, just then, the dream synchronization rate on the screen suddenly soared to 95%, only to plummet immediately to 30%.
"Beep, beep, beep, beep~"
The alarm suddenly went off.
Piercingly shrill.
The dream detector vibrated wildly.
The data streams on the screen, which had been stable, suddenly became chaotic. The waveform curves twisted and jumped, as if the entire system was undergoing a conscious-level storm.
"Warning: Target's conscious fluctuations are abnormal. Termination of the experiment is recommended."
The weak artificial intelligence's alert tone echoed, repeating continuously. Batman did not hesitate and immediately stopped the instrument's operation—he punched the emergency brake button.
The machine let out a death rattle-like hum.
The hatch slowly opened under the action of the hydraulic device. Cold white mist surged out from inside. Barry Allen was soaked in sweat, his chest rising and falling violently.
He looked like he had just woken up from a nightmare.
"Are you okay?" Batman was not a cold-hearted person. He was quite concerned about the lives and safety of his comrades, at least until some crisis required sacrificing a teammate.
"I think I'm still not dead, for now?"
Barry abruptly opened his eyes, gasping for air, his forehead slick with cold sweat.
"We failed." Batman's tone was calm, stating a fact. He reached out to unlock the fixation device on Barry's head, but Barry suddenly grabbed his wrist.
"No, we succeeded."
The Flash's pupils were slightly dilated.
His voice trembled with excitement.
"I haven't forgotten. I remember what I dreamed this time." He swallowed. The memories in his mind were exceptionally clear, and they had not faded with the passage of time.
"They, those outside-universe entities, want you to remember this dream?" Batman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He scrutinized the Flash.
As he spoke.
Batman's hands immediately moved to his utility belt—he was still wearing his combat suit precisely because he was highly vigilant, guarding against accidents caused by the dream detection.
"I wasn't controlled."
Barry turned his head and pointed to the clock hanging in the lab—only four minutes had passed in real-world time, but in his perception, he had spent several hours in the dream.
"I saw a boy,"
Barry's speech sped up unconsciously.
"In a toy room."
He began to recount his dream to Batman.
"In a room, playing with toys. There was Superman, Aquaman, and you and me..." The memories in Barry Allen's mind were very clear.
The space in the dream looked like a patchwork collage randomly assembled by a child.
Superman, Batman, and the Flash's graffiti were crookedly pasted on the walls. Various superhero action figures were scattered on the floor—some Barry recognized, others were completely unfamiliar.
In the center of the room.
A brown-haired boy, about ten years old, was sitting cross-legged on the ground.
He was fiddling with two action figures.
One was the Flash in his red uniform, and the other was a white-haired, sunglasses-wearing boy.
"You shouldn't be afraid of me. In this fragmented universe that I am in, everyone except me is a good person. They do not want to harm your universe."
The boy spoke without lifting his head.
His voice carried a calmness beyond his age.
He gently touched the two action figures, and they strangely floated in the air, beginning a speed-versus-speed chase. The Flash, superior, pinned the white-haired boy down.
In the memory.
Barry remembered this scene especially clearly.
He told Batman what he had encountered and informed Batman that he could not move in the dream, as if fixed in place by an invisible force.
"We have a universe of our own."
"However, we are still looking for it, looking for our home. It's not our choice to be attached to your body, it's because the universe fragment itself is about to fall apart."
"This is related to the crisis our world first encountered."
"Flash, Barry Allen, you can understand it as a massive impact causing a part of the universe to break off, and we are contained within this broken-off part."
These were the boy's exact words.
The Flash repeated them verbatim to Batman.
Even the tone of voice was the same.
It showed just how clear and deeply etched the dream memories were in the Flash's mind. He was also afraid of missing any details, so he tried his best to describe his experience as closely to the memory as possible.
Batman made no comment about this.
He just frowned.
"The invasive lifeform's statement is not credible." Batman interrupted the Flash's recollection, his voice absolutely certain. He did not trust aliens, let alone lifeforms from an outside universe.
God knew if the lifeforms from that universe were even human anymore.
The boy the Flash saw in his dream.
Was, in the end, just the image someone wanted the Flash to see.
"Do you have any more descriptions about his so-called 'home'?" In truth, even the things the Flash said were considered untrustworthy information by Batman.
The reason he asked.
Was nothing more than to use this to find loopholes and uncover the outside universe's lies.
"He said their world still exists, they just can't establish contact with it—at least before our world is destroyed, we will not contaminate you."
Barry Allen repeated the other party's words and tone halfway through.
"Again, the statements of outside-universe lifeforms are most likely lies." Batman's pupils slightly flickered as he spoke in a low voice, continuously sorting through his known information. He silently walked to the control panel, pulling out a set of neural patches and connecting them to Barry's temples: "I need to collect your memories and brain information."
Saying this.
Batman linked several patches to Barry's head.
The Flash did not object.
However.
The result was as weird as ever. Although Barry Allen clearly remembered every detail he saw in the dream, no related information was stored in his brain.
This point.
Made Barry Allen very surprised.
But Batman's face showed no sign of surprise.
"It's not strange. I couldn't read your dream images before, either."
He repeated the procedure, and the result was still the same.
"But I clearly remember it so well." Barry felt confused, scratching his head. His tone was full of disbelief. "But why... does it leave no trace?"
Batman did not answer the Flash's question, perhaps because he did not know how to answer.
He frowned.
Pondering.
The atmosphere in the air instantly became silent.
"What should we do? That kid doesn't seem like a bad guy? At least he seems less bad than the Kent family's youngest son." Barry Allen's uncertain remark made Batman look at him several times.
"Perhaps you have already been corroded or mentally affected." Batman disconnected the scanner, his voice brooking no argument. "You can't go back to Central City until we find a solution."
This was also for the sake of city safety.
The Flash was not a young man.
He could already understand the decision Batman had made.
"I'll call Iris and my friends." Barry Allen pulled out his phone, but it could not receive any signal.
"..."
The Flash looked up at Batman.
"I will inform them. You might need to stay in this place of mine temporarily, it was specifically customized for you." Batman was still the same, making people feel both thoughtful.
The Flash felt his corpse would definitely be warm in the future.
"If this 'boy' truly only wants to go home, as he says, then maybe we can find out where his home is, and then he and the others he mentioned won't continue to corrode our universe... of course, that includes corroding me." Since people all possess a sense of hope, the Flash also hoped to see the best outcome.
He truly did not want to die so carelessly.
"I will ask the Kent family's child once I understand the situation better." Batman did not take the bait, he did not trust outside-universe lifeforms.
"Okay."
The Flash sighed and nodded.
He consciously walked into the special room that Batman had opened.
As the door slowly closed.
"Oh, right, he also said they are called Mutants... perhaps they, like many metahumans I've encountered, gained powers due to some form of genetic mutation?"
The Flash added another piece of information.
Batman nodded.
Without making any judgment.
Mainly, he also did not understand what the name implied.
"His personality hasn't been affected." Separated by a one-way glass, seeing Barry Allen begin to read a book, Batman turned and left the laboratory.
The night was like ink.
Gotham's streets intertwined between neon and shadow into a chaotic painting.
The Batmobile roared past.
The tires screeched against the ground. It did not head towards Wayne Manor but followed a secret underground tunnel, plunging deep into a deserted industrial area on the city's edge.
This was an abandoned military factory, but beneath the factory lay another world. Deep underground, it had been transformed into a brand new, high-tech secret base.
It was deeper and more concealed than the Batcave.
There were no signs at the entrance.
And no signals that could be tracked.
This was Bruce Wayne's "Multiverse Research Facility," personally activated in the past few days, dedicated to investigating abnormal phenomena originating from other universes.
"Multiversal War, outside-universe invasion..."
The Batmobile slowly stopped in front of the underground metal platform. Batman jumped out, walked decisively to the trunk, and dragged out a heavy black box.
The box body scraped against the ground, emitting an abrasive sound.
It echoed in the empty base corridor.
"And another me... more of me."
Batman was clearly thinking the whole way. He dragged the box forward, his footsteps, like a dull heartbeat, stepping on the brand-new alloy floor.
Inside the base, Batman passed through automated identification doors and biological scanning areas, arriving at the core zone. The blue light of technology devices cast a cold shadow on the walls.
On both sides of the corridor.
Holographic projectors ran silently.
They continuously updated abnormal energy readings from all over the world. Batman only glanced briefly and then continued to drag the large box towards the central area.
Since the base had just been established.
All the instruments looked as new as if they had just come out of the factory. The base did not house or customize characteristic props. Only a seemingly ordinary sleeping pod was highly noticeable.
Because it contained a sleeping person—inside the transparent sleeping pod, the bald Lex Luthor lay quietly. His once arrogant face was now skinny and withered, his eye sockets sunken, and his temples affixed with dense neural sensors. His chest faintly rose and fell, like a life-drained puppet.
"You weren't killed, just imprisoned. There must be a reason."
Batman paused briefly in front of the sleeping pod. Clearly, during his solo mission in Metropolis earlier, he had concealed some information he found from Clark—he found the Lex Luthor of this universe, who had been imprisoned by his parallel universe counterpart, and brought him back to this new base, which could block Superman's prying eyes.
Perhaps.
Batman felt that some work or hidden danger left by a counterpart was present on Luthor, or maybe he thought he could use this Luthor to find some news about the Multiversal War.
Batman's gaze was fixed like a knife on Luthor's pale face.
He could not wake the man.
Because the man's state was like a living dead person, unable to wake yet unable to die.
"Maybe Superman needs to kiss him." A ridiculous idea suddenly rose in Batman's mind. He frowned, suppressing his slightly abnormal emotion.
"I'd rather believe there's a real Ian virus in the world than believe a counterpart has inflicted this effect on me... Such a thought is itself a symptom of being influenced."
Batman began his self-diagnosis.
He was just about to continue dragging the large box toward the research instruments.
The communicator on his waist suddenly rang.
"Master Bruce."
It was Alfred.
In Bruce Wayne's life, when he became Batman, very few people could contact him at all times, and Alfred was one of the most important "family members" to him.
"Did Damian run away again? Or is he still planning to attack the Gotham Police Department?" Batman frowned, thinking that Alfred contacting him at this hour meant nothing good.
However.
"No, no, the Young Master is very well-behaved today."
"He even changed his mind about superheroes, saying they are very cool, especially using an enemy's attack to pan-fry a steak right before death, and then because the steak couldn't be cooked medium-rare, fighting desperately to defeat the villain—he says that's exactly what he dreams of being." Alfred's voice came through the earpiece.
His tone carried a hint of amusement.
The temperature in the base lab remained constant, but Batman felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine.
"You shouldn't let him read Ian Kent's comics. Those are not things a living person who wants to live a good life should read." Batman sighed, giving Ian's comics a very high evaluation.
"I assure you I haven't." Alfred paused. "However, the Young Master has recently been browsing a lot of online news regarding the special report on the Kent family's youngest son's sacrifice."
Hearing this.
Bruce rushed to the base computer.
His cape swept down the test tube rack on the table.
"It's that 'Stocking Superman's Death' thing."
Alfred seemed to sense something amiss. "It should just be some kind of publicity or prank? After all, that kid just hacked into the information collection website you created, didn't he?"
Upon hearing this.
The communicator was thrown directly onto the control panel.
"What did he do?" Bruce lunged at the main control terminal, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Twelve screens lit up simultaneously, each displaying a ridiculous emoji—he found the reason why his personally written monitoring and protection program had not given him a warning: all the monitoring programs had become electronic gravestones.
Even the Super-Hero Popularity Center had changed hands.
Upon entering this website.
There was no other information.
The entire thing was filled with stunning sound effects + videos mourning Stocking Superman. A hundred videos, a hundred different versions. The sound effects were booming, the special effects explosive, and the editing was meticulously refined to an outrageous degree.
Every video looked like a personalized heroic epic crafted for that boy, complete with tear-jerking background music and a screen full of bullet comments, making the sense of tragic emotion utterly irresistible.
Of course.
There were also other videos.
For example.
"Shocking! Batman Cries Deep into the Night, Admitting Inferiority to Stocking Superman (HD Restored Version)"
Seeing a title like this, Bruce wisely chose not to click on it. He only opened the real-time data measurement, discovering that 230 million users worldwide had already participated in the discussion topic "Stocking Spirit."
"Master Bruce?"
Alfred's voice came from the floor.
"Should I activate the emergency plan? The one where we tell Superman."
He was asking for instructions.
"..."
Bruce did not answer.
His eyes were fixed on the Darkseid villain verified account.
At this moment.
"Darkseid" was also using a villain's tone to mourn Stocking Superman.
Not many people recognized the name, but, given the verification badge, the number of people liking and reposting the account's comments was naturally not small.
"Impersonating various superheroes is one thing, but this guy even spares no villains?" Even as a master of emotional control, his eye twitched involuntarily at this moment.
"Could it get any more absurd?"
Batman truly did not know how to comment.
He began to pound the keyboard.
Attempting to reclaim control of the Super-Hero Popularity Center.
"Hmm? A different hacking style again?"
After a brief attempt.
Batman was slightly surprised after his failure.
[Permission Denied]
[Website Has Been Upgraded]
[Supreme Administrator: The Great Hero Who Wishes to Remain Anonymous]
After all that effort.
Batman only received this feedback.
Let alone fighting for the supreme permissions.
He would need to fill out a questionnaire just to retrieve his three hundred-plus secondary accounts. This was not a one-time trick, but even using Apokolips technology, Batman could not regain control of the website.
His computer had even been infected with a virus because of this.
It was playing "Little Bat Be Good" on a loop.
"..."
To be honest.
Apart from the mixed feelings, the Gotham Master, who owned dozens of intelligence websites, was not angry about the website being hacked. He had already realized that Ian did these things for a reason.
The boy could draw power from this kind of trending news—it was incredibly bizarre, but a lot of evidence had long since revealed this truth to Bruce.
Staring at the computer screen for a long time, Batman chose to give up.
"The strong artificial intelligence he controls is still continuously evolving." The Gotham Master's eyes were very deep. He made what he felt was the most reasonable judgment in his heart.
Yes.
Batman had already discovered that the hacker was not Ian, but rather some form of strong artificial intelligence that Ian controlled. Even the synthesized and edited videos were likely the work of this AI.
"Fantasy Materialization..."
Recalling his previous speculation about Ian's "superpower," all of Ian's works flashed frantically through Batman's mind. He largely zeroed in on a very suspicious target.
"Jarvis, who appeared in the Iron Man comic." As Batman contemplated, he continuously scrolled through the posts made by normal people on the Super-Hero Popularity Center.
He saw some posts mourning the victims other than Stocking Superman.
[My sister was in Metropolis Square at the time... She only went to buy something, but she never came back.]
[Officials keep emphasizing that God protected Metropolis and the casualty count is low for the sake of votes, but who will tell me, should my father's life just be one of those numbers?]
[We admire the hero's choice, but we must also remember that those innocent people who died deserve to be remembered.]
...
Bruce was somewhat silent.
There was a reason why the Wayne Corporation chose to bear the cost of Metropolis's reconstruction.
Those who died.
That was the reason.
"If I had made a more accurate judgment then..." Bruce couldn't help but think this question. The thought was like a thorn, deeply embedded in his mind.
The more he thought, the more restless his heart became.
Batman could not resist opening the news on television.
Many television stations were reporting on the incident.
Dozens of split screens simultaneously showed programs from different stations.
The families of the victims were crying, questioning.
Some even angrily blamed Superman—though more people chose to forgive. Especially the local Metropolis television station, even the media that was usually very harsh on Superman was now mourning.
The news anchor was broadcasting a special program.
The background music was deep and sorrowful.
"Today, all of Metropolis is in mourning."
The female anchor's red-rimmed eyes showed she had just been crying.
But she maintained her professional demeanor.
"Disaster has once again descended upon our city. Superman was not able to stop it in time, but I want to speak for many citizens and say that we should not blame Superman for not being prompt enough with the rescue."
"Superman must have also given his all. However, like the families of other victims, our city's protector, he, too, lost his child today."
It was obvious.
The reporters in Metropolis had dealt with Stocking Superman more than once.
The Metropolis reporters actually already knew the identity of the recently very active Stocking Superman. Everyone had just been pretending not to know all along.
After all, they were all active in the same city.
Possessing the same abilities.
Even a paternity test institution would not be able to declare them false.
Precisely because of this.
The Metropolis reporters, no matter how harsh and critical they usually were, chose not to blame Superman tonight. They were like the criminals who had directly lowered the crime rate to near zero tonight.
The criminals also did not use the chaos to commit any atrocities tonight—of course, it was not the bad guys comforting Superman in their own way, they were afraid of being beaten to death by the son-less Superman if they committed a crime tonight.
It was the same mindset as the reporters being afraid of being beaten to death.
Yes.
This was not a sign of peace.
But an embodiment of fear.
All because of the trending video on the Super-Hero Popularity Center.
Everyone believed Superman had lost his son tonight, and what would a father who lost his child turn into? Even the most reckless gangs in Metropolis dared not gamble.
This situation was somewhat comical.
However, Batman's mood at this moment was exceptionally heavy.
His attention was more focused on the news interviews with the families of the victims.
This content might not be as popular as the boy's news, but a quick search would reveal many related interviews or family members speaking out online.
"Ian Kent warned us."
Batman's hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, his knuckles white. He knew he was not a god, nor Superman, but he still could not forgive the moment of impulse.
Dozens of windows simultaneously played different news reports.
The voices intersected.
Forming a chaotic symphony.
"Why my Marisa? Why not those damned politicians? Why not those rich people?" A woman's cries echoed through the speakers in this new Batcave.
"She was only sixteen! She just got a scholarship to art school!"
This woman was not an isolated case.
The victim's families were being interviewed, and many were crying, asking: "Why my mother? Why me?" These questions had no answers, only heart-wrenching pain.
Their voices were like sharp blades, piercing Bruce's heart.
He closed his eyes, but closing his eyes could not stop the memories from surging—that was the moment Ian told them to stop, but he still pulled the trigger without hesitation.
At the time.
Bruce truly felt his brain was controlled by emotion.
He only wanted to eliminate Doomsday.
To root out the threat.
Batman never regretted fighting, but this time, Bruce deeply regretted his decision. Now that the dust had settled, the death toll caused by him was finally fixed at 1,487 people.
The price of this mistake was far too high. Even with all the displays turned off, the silence of the Batcave, with only the mechanical operation, made those voices echo even more clearly in his mind.
As his mood grew heavier.
Batman still remembered what he needed to do.
"If my judgment hadn't been interfered with by emotion..."
Thoughts coiled around him like poisonous snakes.
Bruce spun around abruptly, his cape tracing a sharp arc behind him. He needed action, he needed data, he needed to focus his attention on solvable problems.
The metal box was roughly dragged to the main analysis table.
The hydraulic device emitted a dull hum. When the lid opened, a cold mist streamed out like a ghost, revealing the corpse of the Red Death, preserved using special means inside.
This apparent counterpart of Batman was now as quiet as a normal specimen, lying peacefully inside, twisted and eerie, his self-severed head displaying its final solemnity.
Bruce thought of something.
However.
He only hesitated for a moment before directly moving the corpse out, carefully placing the Red Death's head and torso separately into a high-precision analysis instrument.
"Beep, beep, beep, beep~"
The instrument was operating.
However.
[No valid sample detected] Just like analyzing the Flash, and analyzing Luthor, his new instrument still could not detect anything, not even the presence of the Red Death.
It could not even be started.
It simply could not detect it.
Yet the corpse was undeniably there.
"Is it because he doesn't belong to our universe? Or some other reason?"
Batman frowned. He pulled up the holographic panel and manually calibrated it, but all sensor feedback pointed to the same absurd conclusion—the instrument could not "see" the corpse on the table, just as humans cannot see air. At this moment, Batman once again clearly realized that his equipment was outdated in the face of the new crisis.
"If I analyze this corpse from a purely physical perspective, maybe I can gain something." Batman took a miniature sampler from his utility belt. The sharp needle pierced the Red Death's neck skin. But when he pulled it out, the syringe was empty—not even the most basic cellular samples could be extracted.
This was truly bizarre.
And it touched upon a blind spot in Batman's knowledge.
"The blood I collected earlier also disappeared. Is my counterpart having its trace of existence erased?" Bruce's expression grew more puzzled after searching through the metal box.
He rubbed his temples, completely baffled.
"I might need some sleep now." The chaotic thoughts swirling in his head made it impossible for Batman to concentrate. After looking at the Red Death's corpse, he sealed it up again.
"If technology can't analyze it, then perhaps... magic can." Batman was still thinking. He walked into the medical area of the Batcave and approached a cabinet.
After taking a pill bottle from the cabinet, he took a powerful sleeping pill—this medication was cutting-edge technology, capable of putting a person into five minutes of continuous sleep.
During those five minutes of sleep.
Batman would gain a full day's worth of energy.
Ian was not exaggerating when he said Batman used a lot of drugs. The instant the powerful sleeping pill slid down his throat, Batman lay down in the nearby sleep chair and fell into a sleep deeper than an infant's.
Bruce's consciousness sank into darkness.
But the darkness did not grant him peace.
The guilt that plagued him did not dissipate. Those he failed to save, those moments of misjudgment, transformed into a black tide, surging in his dreams.
The emotions of guilt and regret still persisted.
Growing stronger.
They even seemed to trigger a special kind of resonance.
Just as he fell into slumber.
The body of the Red Death, which had been subjected to multiple layers of sealing, suddenly twisted slightly inside the metal cabinet. Its head instantly dented, and the joints of its body emitted a faint "click" sound.
It was a very subtle movement.
It did not trigger any alarms.
After all.
No instrument could monitor it, at least, Batman did not have such an instrument yet—the Batcave lights cast a cold blue glow on the sleeping pod.
Bruce's sleeping posture was like a vampire in a coffin, rigid and tense. His expression was constantly changing, as if his dream was being silently encroached upon by some force.
As the drug took effect, he fell asleep.
Darkness enveloped Bruce's consciousness, but soon, the darkness was torn apart—he clearly felt himself falling, passing through layer after layer of chaotic curtains.
Until a cold, viscous sensation wrapped around his entire body.
Bruce suddenly opened his eyes—only to find the world before him had completely changed.
He stood on a desolate metallic ruin.
The sky above was not Gotham's gloomy clouds but a twisted star sea.
Huge planets hung in the sky.
Their orbits were chaotic, as if torn by some indescribable force.
Further away, ominous red lights flickered in the pitch-black universe, like eyes peering into reality. The air was filled with a pungent metallic smell and the stench of blood.
The deafening sound of artillery fire came from a distance.
"Movement!" Bruce instinctively tensed his body, his fingers subconsciously reaching for his utility belt—but his equipment was gone. He was wearing the Batsuit, but all his weapons, tools, and even his communicator had vanished. Only the most basic armor still covered him, as if some force had deliberately stripped him of his armament.
"Where is this?"
He muttered to himself.
But his voice was swallowed by the roar of the warship engines.
Countless warships were falling.
"This is not human technology..."
Bruce scanned his surroundings.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
A warrior in similar armor rushed over, his voice hoarse and exhausted beneath his mask: "The Chaos Fleet has breached the defenses! They are dismantling our forces!"
Chaos? Bruce frowned, but his body seemed driven by some instinct, quickly following the soldier toward the combat zone.
In the corridor.
Corpses lay strewn everywhere, and blood gathered into small streams on the metal floor.
"Hold the line!"
An officer roared, raising his boltgun and firing at the charging enemy. Bruce followed his muzzle and his pupils immediately contracted—the enemies were not human.
They were twisted, deformed, their skin covered in scales and festering sores, their limbs mutated into sharp claws. The eyes of these monsters flickered with a crazed light.
They let out inhuman shrieks.
"What... is this?"
Bruce gripped the power sword handed to him, but his body rushed forward uncontrollably.
His blade cut down, and flesh and blood splattered. The enemy's blood was not red but a viscous purple, which, when splashed onto his armor, seemed to writhe like a living thing.
The battle continued.
Bruce felt his consciousness gradually blurring, as if being pulled by some force. Every swing of his sword, every evasion, felt like a pre-set program.
Not his own will.
Suddenly.
A blinding light exploded in the distant starlit sky.
Bruce looked up, his pupils contracting sharply————A warship larger than a city slowly emerged from a warp rift. Its exterior resembled some kind of deep-sea leviathan, its hull covered in spikes and twisted statues, and those statues... were moving. Their eyes flashed with an unnatural purple light.
Their mouths stretched into wide grins.
As if silently shrieking.
In the deeper reaches of space, another fleet was engaging this terrifying giant ship. Their spacecraft had rigid, angular designs, and their hulls were branded with the golden double-headed eagle emblem. Artillery fire silently exploded in the vacuum, beams and missiles interwoven into a net of destruction, but the blasphemous giant ships seemed to be enjoying the slaughter.
Their muzzles spewed gorgeous purple-red energy. Every hit could tear a human warship to shreds.
"Is this a cosmic war?"
Bruce immediately sought cover.
He had never witnessed a battle on such a scale. Even when the Kryptonian World Engine descended upon Earth, it was far less insane than a fraction of this war.
"What are those things?" Bruce felt a cold shudder run up his spine. He instinctively wanted to do something, but he wasn't even sure if this was a dream or if he was being encroached upon by an outside universe.
And just at that moment.
A sudden voice helped Bruce confirm the answer.
"What a fascinating soul..."
A voice rang in his ear.
It was not a sound transmitted through the air but one that echoed directly in his mind, like silk sliding over skin, and like a serpent's deadly hiss—sweet and fatal.
Bruce abruptly turned around, but there was no one behind him.
"Who?!"
"You've finally arrived, my dear Dark Knight..." The voice chuckled. Every syllable carried a dizzying pleasure. "I've been watching you for a long time... your pain, your anger, your... repression."
Bruce gritted his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. "A hallucination? Or some kind of mental attack?"
"Oh, don't be so dull~" The owner of the voice seemed amused by his reaction, their tone rising flirtatiously. "You clearly crave release more than anyone, yet you stubbornly bind yourself with that ridiculous sense of responsibility... What a waste."
Suddenly, Bruce's vision was dominated by a dazzling purple-red.
The star sky before him twisted and melted, replaced by a gigantic palace—no, it could not even be called a "palace," but rather a domain constructed by desire itself.
Soaring spires were woven from white bones and silk, the floor was paved with soft, living-like flesh carpets, and the air was filled with a cloyingly sweet scent, making him dizzy.
At the end of the palace, a blurred figure reclined on a throne.
Four-armed, seductive, possessing non-human beauty. Just a single glance sent a tearing pain through Bruce's temples.
The being's form was constantly shifting, sometimes a stunning maiden, sometimes a handsome youth, or both at once, or even more... an undefinable form.
"A god? An Outer God?"
Bruce's still-functional brain, despite seeming to gradually lose function, was still working.
He made a clear judgment.
"Welcome to my domain, Bruce Wayne... another lovely fellow, tsk tsk." Their skin was as lustrous as a pearl, and their eyes flowed with a soul-stirring purple light.
"You are purer than the last one, not some kind of fused hybrid. I like you very much." Their voice sounded like a thousand people whispering simultaneously, a lazy yet dangerous smile playing on their lips.
The outside-universe invasion had already reached Bruce.
Then.
Bruce's mind began to wander.
It was as if some knowledge was being forcibly inserted—the being he faced was called Slaanesh. This was not the being's doing but a residual legacy of the Red Death.
That Batman, who was also perfectly calculating.
Had ultimately accounted for his counterpart's inability to control his possessiveness.
"Why me?" Bruce forced himself to speak.
"Because you are so... delicious." Slaanesh's fingertip gently pointed in his direction. "Your pain, your restraint, your almost self-abusive persistence... what a captivating struggle."
Bruce felt a chill, but more terrifyingly, deep within his heart, there was a flicker of wavering.
"I can give you freedom, Bruce..." Slaanesh's voice was like honey. "Put down your shackles, embrace true ecstasy... you can have everything you desire."
In an instant, countless images flashed before Bruce's eyes.
Gotham, crime-free.
His parents, never having died.
Superman, losing his power.
Alfred, forever young.
—That was his deepest desire.
"No..."
Bruce bit down hard, his fingernails digging deep into his palm, trying to use the pain to clear his mind. The pain had no effect, it only made him realize this was no ordinary dream.
"This is not real."
Bruce closed his eyes.
"Oh? And what is your so-called 'reality'?" Slaanesh's laugh was like silver bells. "What has your supposed persistence earned you? More death? More pain?"
Bruce's breathing became ragged.
"Why not liberate your inner self?"
***
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