Odinforce.
One of the most revered and feared powers in the Marvel Universe.
It is wielded by the King of Asgard and can accomplish incredible feats—one of its abilities is to distort the dimensions where reality and illusion intersect.
Just as Odin's single eye can pierce all illusion, Ian using it to blast the King in Yellow, who seemed to exist and not exist simultaneously, was a perfectly justifiable action.
Especially after changing its name to the Ultra Power, at least Ian himself found it quite reasonable. And this must have had nothing to do with the fact that the King in Yellow was blown off God's throne.
"Tiga Bomb!"
[Body severely damaged, Berserker EXP +33]
"Solar Soup resupply!"
[Your body has gained energy replenishment, Entropy Lord EXP +46]
"Here comes the Tiga Bomb again!"
[Body severely damaged, Berserker EXP +33]
...
Ian's Ultra Power was unusually fierce, carrying the immense power to influence illusion and reality.
It did more than just blow the entire Holy City sky-high. White light appeared again and again. In between explosions, it eventually consumed the entire sacred domain where the angels dwelled.
It even swallowed the angels' garden.
Had it not been for an invisible barrier, it might have consumed the area where Dean and Sam stood. The explosions were relentless, and the blazing white columns of light shot straight into the sky.
The King in Yellow's body began to burn.
The perpetually unchanging yellow fabric now bore scorch marks.
"Why don't you give up? I'm running out of light!" Ian shouted, yet the light emanating from his body grew brighter. The King in Yellow tried to break free, but the spider legs clung to Him as if welded on, completely immobile.
In the midst of the searing explosion, Ian was vaguely visible, wrapped around the tentacled, yellow-robed "tentacle monster" like an octopus. Perhaps, only one of them was the truly unspeakable entity.
"Damn it! Why are you still resisting! I lied! I still have plenty of light! Super Tiga Bomb!" The thirteenth explosion caused Dean and Sam to feel the ground shake.
It was hard to imagine a person sounding so excited while self-detonating, as if the evil creature He was tightly embracing was not an enemy but a sweet, innocent girl He was cuddling with.
The King in Yellow, who was being charred all over but still made no sound, tried to tear Ian off.
However, He did not succeed.
His tentacles, like abyssal chains, whipped and tore frantically at Ian, but failed to stop Ian's "cuddly" adhesion. In its own way, this could be considered an external contamination.
[Berserker EXP +3]
[Error data, cannot be absorbed.]
[Berserker EXP +2]
[Error data, cannot be absorbed.]
...
In fact, the King in Yellow's attacks not only failed to contaminate Ian but provided Him with small rewards. The inability to absorb error data naturally meant Ian could not be contaminated.
He couldn't become Cthulhu Ian.
"Solar Soup resupply!"
Ian did not take out his thermos, but he could open an extra dimension in his mouth. The Kryptonian Ancient God thermos, stored in that extra dimension, provided energy that was absorbed in a unique way.
The energy of a genuine Kryptonian Sun God re-enveloped His damaged body, healing His wounds and reigniting His fighting spirit.
Boom—!
The entire space shuddered in the explosion.
Impure substances surged from the King in Yellow's body, trying to engulf Ian. He tried to break free, but Ian clung to Him like a curse, impossible to shake off.
"I can still detonate even without light! Actually, I not only have light in my heart, but also... Fel Tiga Bomb!" Ian had been infected with Fel Energy and had been secretly storing and nourishing it in his liver.
Now, it burst forth, mixing with the Odinforce.
Boom—!
Another violent explosion. The white and green light illuminated nearly everything. As the King in Yellow's form twisted continuously, the black mist around Him began to dissipate.
"The explosions won't stop! My light is inexhaustible! This is the power of the King of Angels!" This final wave of explosions was the most terrifying. Green and white energy intertwined, forming a massive energy vortex.
The entire Heaven was engulfed in blinding light.
When the light faded, only a slowly dissipating mushroom cloud remained in the sky. Two small black dots were faintly visible streaking across the heavens, eventually turning into two shining stars.
"Say, what is in the sky of Heaven?"
Dean and Sam were craning their necks, studying the structure of Heaven's firmament.
"What are you looking at?" A cold voice came from beside them.
The two brothers spun around. A man, handsome to the point of being sharp, stood beside them. He had flowing golden hair, and scorching white flames danced in his eyes.
The most terrifying thing was his expression—it was as if someone owed him several thousand years of back pay.
Before the Winchester brothers could speak, the man drew a circle in the sky. A golden halo expanded, encircling Ian and the King in Yellow, who had turned into stars.
They were removed from Heaven.
"Who are you?!" Dean instinctively reached for his waist—but his demon-hunting gun was long gone. The older brother likely thought the sudden appearance was an enemy, perhaps a demon who had invaded Heaven.
"Shut your mouth, I need silence." The man didn't spare them a glance, staring intently at the ruins of the Holy City in the distance. The flame in his eyes danced even more fiercely.
"He is the true King of Angels, Michael."
Another voice sounded.
The two brothers turned to see a black-haired angel in a neat robe walking slowly toward them. He wore a gentle smile, and his demeanor was scholarly and refined.
"Are you all angels?" Sam's voice was slightly trembling.
"Yes."
The black-haired angel nodded slightly.
"I am Uriel, tasked with restricting the area of influence under the Lord's will."
He introduced himself.
At this moment, Michael finally turned his head, his fiery gaze fixed on Uriel.
"Restricting? That fellow blew up the Holy City." His tone was terrifyingly calm, like the dead silence before a storm, as if questioning Uriel's possible dereliction of duty.
Uriel's smile froze.
"Uh..."
He touched his nose.
"I suppose even I cannot anticipate everything."
The kind of wry smile Ian often failed to display was clearly visible on Uriel's face.
Michael's eyes did not leave him. He continued to stare intently at Archangel Uriel.
Facing the strongest angel, Uriel was somewhat intimidated. He quickly offered an explanation.
"Mainly, I failed to foresee that Amanadiel, who should have been guarding the Holy City, would believe that the other angels had been contaminated, and thus he couldn't escape the Lord's punishment."
"His faith in the Lord was too devout, so he... fell to the mortal realm along with the other angels." His expression was highly peculiar, clearly indicating that the Cherub had lost his mind.
His wisdom had failed to predict that Amanadiel truly lacked wisdom. Originally, the contamination couldn't affect Amanadiel, but Amanadiel chose "self-deception."
Upon hearing this, Michael couldn't help but rub his temples.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have let that fellow in. His audacity is greater than I anticipated." Michael's tone was full of regret. He truly found it hard to imagine anyone daring to blow up God's residence.
Uriel stood to the side, his hands folded within his robe's sleeves, his expression calm.
"If you hadn't opened the door, he would have found a way in anyway." He tilted his head slightly, looking toward the area where Ian had walked. "We all saw how dazzling the glory radiating from him was."
"It surpasses even yours and mine."
Uriel was clearly implying something.
"What is the meaning of your words?" Michael spun his head around sharply, his blazing white pupils filled with scrutiny. His voice was low, carrying a dangerous undertone.
"No one dares to blow up God's residence, unless that person..." Uriel did not answer directly but looked up at the Heaven's sky, seemingly contemplating something.
He couldn't finish his sentence.
"Don't harbor wild thoughts. That boy is not God, the Lord's gaze merely lingered on him often." Michael interrupted him coldly, his tone firm and decisive.
Uriel did not back down but smiled softly.
"Then tell me, how long has it been since you last heard His voice?" This time, he was not timid, looking straight at Michael, his tone pregnant with meaning.
Michael's face darkened considerably.
He remained silent for a few seconds before sneering, "You think that can shake my conviction? Do not attempt to influence me anymore. Put away your petty tricks."
"Also, let me give you a piece of advice, Uriel—stop being so clever, constantly trying to second-guess the Lord's thoughts." With that, he suddenly unfurled his incredibly dazzling wings.
His figure became a streak of blazing white light and vanished into the heavens.
Uriel watched the direction of his departure, his eyes completely still. He slowly turned to look at the Winchester brothers—Dean and Sam—standing on the grass.
At this point, Dean and Sam exchanged glances. The conversation just now contained too much information for them to process all at once. Sam hesitated before finally asking.
"Is Ian really an angel?"
He still couldn't quite accept the style Ian had displayed earlier. Look how cool Michael was when he left—the maximum-effect wings were entirely different from Ian's so-called wings.
"That is not a question for you to ask." Uriel maintained his smile. His voice was soft but carried an unquestionable authority. Angels, when facing mortals, still inevitably displayed their arrogance.
"Alright, we just want to go home now."
Dean didn't want to embarrass himself further. He just wanted to leave this damned Heaven as soon as possible.
"Of course, there is no problem. You do not belong here." Uriel turned, his profound gaze resting on Dean. The corner of his mouth curled into a gentle yet unfathomable smile.
"However, you will have to wait for a while. In the meantime, whatever you wish for, just tell me," his voice was soft, carrying a comforting tone.
Dean raised an eyebrow and didn't hesitate: "Booze."
Sam glanced at his brother, then whispered, "...Mom."
Dean snapped his head around: "You can ask for that?"
Uriel chuckled: "Anything is possible."
As his words fell, the surrounding light subtly distorted, as if an invisible force was weaving reality. However, just as Dean and Sam watched in anticipation, Uriel spoke slowly again.
"However, you must also grant me one small request."
His tone was as gentle as ever.
But Dean immediately became wary at that moment.
"What request?"
The older Winchester brother's eyes were filled with caution. Uriel's gaze passed over Dean and settled on Sam—or rather, his eyes were fixed on Lucifer's Vessel.
"I need to put something inside your brother's body."
Uriel quietly stated his request.
The atmosphere became subtly tense.
"No problem."
Sam agreed with virtually no hesitation. He desperately wanted to know what his mother was like.
"Wait! Hold on!" Dean lunged in front of his brother, staring wide-eyed at Uriel. "You're not talking about a 'certain part' of your body, are you?"
The older boy's wariness deepened even further.
"?????"
The Cherub's smile froze for the second time.
After a few seconds of silence, Uriel took a deep breath, trying to maintain his elegant tone, "No, not that. Just a harmless little secret for him."
"I wish to hide it in a person no one would ever suspect." Angels might not like to lie, but like Ian, they rarely told the entire truth.
Dean and Sam were simply too young.
"A secret, huh?"
Dean was somewhat conflicted.
But before he could pursue the matter further, Uriel gently waved his hand—the next second, a bottle of shimmering golden wine appeared in the air.
The liquid flowed slowly in the bottle, seemingly containing the light of stars. Beside the wine, a familiar figure gradually solidified—Mary Winchester.
The Winchester brothers' mother stood there, gazing at them with tenderness. Sam seemed to tremble, and Dean was stunned. Mary opened her arms to them at that moment.
The two brothers instinctively rushed toward her and embraced her tightly.
Uriel stood aside, quietly watching the scene, his eyes profound. His fingertip moved slightly, and a nearly imperceptible sliver of light silently entered Sam's back. Neither Dean nor Sam, still immersed in the warmth of their reunion, noticed the fleeting light.
The Cherub's action was extremely covert.
Hardly anyone could have seen it—the exception being Michael, who witnessed it. He hadn't truly departed but was watching everything from the invisible Heaven of Heavens.
However, even having witnessed Uriel's action, the King of Seraphim did not interfere. He merely watched quietly, and a moment later, redirected his gaze back toward the mortal realm.
Ian and the King in Yellow's figures were reflected in his pupils—after being banished by Michael's authority, the two contaminated entities in Michael's eyes plummeted straight toward the Earth.
"Boom!!!"
In St. Peter's Square in the Vatican, a blinding flash of fire descended from the sky, crashing heavily next to the central obelisk. Gravel flew, dust surged, and tourists screamed and scattered.
In the dust, Ian crawled out, covered in dirt, his eight spider legs snapping open again. He shook his head and immediately saw the King in Yellow lying at the bottom of the crater—the once mysterious yellow robes were now tattered, the hood half-ripped, revealing a vaguely visible, distorted form underneath.
He was weak, but only weak.
The seemingly incinerated yellow fabric was now turning into fine dust particles floating in the air. These airborne dust particles suddenly warped at a specific angle.
Each grain of dust faintly glowed with a sickly dark yellow luster, refracting a dizzying, distorted halo in the sunlight—the air was filled with an indescribable scent, neither foul nor fragrant, like trying to recall a smell that had never existed, the very blankness being part of the contamination.
Invisible contamination was spreading outwards.
"Oh! My God! What happened!"
"They fell from the sky... My eyeball, why is my eyeball falling out!"
"Don't look! Don't look at them!"
...
The surrounding tourists were terrified. Some screamed and called the police, some knelt and prayed, and most just stood frozen, unable to believe they were being contaminated. Their eyeballs unanimously began to twitch, pupils dilating and contracting, as if resisting some image invading the optic nerve.
Some knelt and prayed, and surprisingly, it actually seemed to work.
And so, more and more people frantically rushed into the church, seeking the protection of the last vestiges of holiness within.
Outside, the city was widely succumbing.
The water in the fountains had turned an unclean color, and countless blurred human faces surfaced on it. These faces had no features, only constantly opening and closing mouths, synchronously repeating gibberish no one could understand.
"No way, I tried so hard, why won't you just die?" Ian rushed forward without a word, straddling the King in Yellow, His hands tightly gripping the entity's neck.
Returning to the mortal realm was a situation Ian had not anticipated.
He was in an extremely small city. He dared not use the Ultra Bomb freely and could only struggle to mentally prepare himself.
"Should I eat Him, or must I eat Him... He tastes awful, and there's no EXP or reward..." Ian freed one hand and drew the Holy Sword from his back.
He truly found the idea of raw Cthulhu hard to stomach. He wanted to try other options.
The weapon that had gone on strike in Heaven now blazed fiercely with Holy Flame again.
"Ha! Sure enough, without that damn chair, you're just a high-level Evil God!" Ian was overjoyed. He didn't hesitate to plunge the Holy Sword into the King in Yellow's chest.
This time, the blade did not miss.
Blazing white flames surged violently from the blade into the King in Yellow's body. The yellow robes began to burn, the fabric twisting and carbonizing in the flames, revealing the unspeakable chaos beneath. Strangely, the King in Yellow still made no sound, just quietly stared at Ian, seemingly contemplating something.
His true essence was exposed.
Under the Holy Sword's scorching, the layer of false "human form" was ripped away, revealing countless crisscrossing, unspeakable, writhing tentacles and a core of horror that no ordinary person could look upon.
Contamination was spreading, as if an invisible hand was tugging at the boundary of reality. The air was permeated with an indescribable smell, like decaying sanity, or a hymn filled with filth.
People collapsed one after another, their bodies twisting and mutating. Patterns from another world appeared in their pupils, and they muttered ancient words.
Everyone was reciting the gospel of the King in Yellow. Perhaps prolonged scorching by the Holy Sword could put an end to the King in Yellow, but Ian knew he didn't have time for a battle of attrition right now.
"Sure enough, both divine artifacts being sent to me was meant for a purpose." Seeing countless people suffer, he quickly pulled out the God-Killing Gun, Colt.
Honestly, he hadn't predicted falling out of Heaven. Ian didn't hesitate, pulling out the Colt God-Killing Gun, raising the muzzle, and aiming at the exposed essence on the King in Yellow's forehead.
He pulled the trigger.
"Bang—!"
A crisp gunshot sliced through the sky, as if time and space paused at that moment. Ian felt as if he saw the bullet's trajectory slicing through the air.
The bullet left the barrel.
Without any fancy special effects, dazzling light, or deafening explosions, the bullet merely shimmered with the ironclad law of the universe and pierced right through the King in Yellow.
The artifact capable of killing everything first imparted the concept of death to the King in Yellow, and then, using that concept as a weakness, brutally shot through His essence.
The King in Yellow's body shuddered violently. The floating eyes instantly closed, the tentacles stopped writhing, and the entire existence was struck by some invisible law. He showed an expression of "pain" for the first time, although that face belonged to no known visage or biological emotional system.
The colors on the King in Yellow's body began to fade, like a fresco washed away by rain, the colors peeling off layer by layer. The black mist that had once enveloped Him gradually dissipated.
Death had arrived.
The unspeakable Evil God's body became like a statue, continuously cracking.
"I will return." He finally spoke to Ian for the first time, without any emotional fluctuation, the voice like a whisper deep inside Ian's mind.
"No, you won't." Ian aimed the Colt at the Necronomicon, which had fallen from Heaven along with him and the King in Yellow, and was now lying quietly on the ground not far away.
This was the true source.
If God gave Ian two bullets, it proved he needed to fire two shots—Ian understood this and, without hesitation, aimed at the Necronomicon and pulled the trigger again.
The gunshot burst into the night, like a thunderbolt from divine punishment. The second bullet whistled out, piercing the air, and precisely hit the Necronomicon.
There was no explosion.
The Necronomicon began to crack.
The cover, which had been glowing with an eerie sheen, rapidly faded, as if dissolved by some invisible force. As the spine cracked open, sinister black shadows erupted from the fissures.
It wasn't an ordinary book, it was a forbidden vessel. Initially, only a few wisps of thread-like black shadow seeped from the spine's crack, but they swelled into a world-devouring tide in the blink of an eye.
The shadows twisted. They writhed like mist and wailed like specters, the sighs of the unspeakable. Unutterable darkness swirled and roared in the air, blotting out the sun.
On the stained-glass windows of the distant church, the faces of the saints slowly melted. Even the last remnants of divine power could no longer shelter the people hiding inside amid this pandemonium.
"Oh! No!!"
"Someone save us! I don't want to turn into a monster!"
"We're doomed! Doomed!"
In the dome fresco, between God's finger and Adam's finger, twisted tentacles quietly sprouted. Every tourist who looked up saw this detail.
The church was being consumed.
The entire city was being consumed.
Countless withered, claw-like arms stretched out from every shadow, grasping outwards. The air was contaminated, the light swallowed, and the sky above the entire Vatican instantly plunged into darkness.
It felt like the end of the world.
"So, the King in Yellow was just the first individual to invade and awaken, and the Necronomicon is hiding this many evil Cthulhu creatures?" Ian stood in place, looking up at the sky.
He could feel the presence of the black shadows—each one was a remnant of a Cthulhu Evil God. Some resembled octopuses, some were mountainous, and others were formless and invisible.
All the shadows just split and duplicated endlessly, infecting the boundary of reality like a virus. The black shadows obscured the sky, swirling in the air, emitting roars that belonged to no known language system. A black car, while attempting to flee, was struck by a black shadow and instantly flipped, crashing into a stone pillar nearby.
The sound of twisting metal mixed with screams.
A silver cross hanging on the rearview mirror was corroded into a shape that constantly blinked. The "huge" Pope and a number of clergy members scrambled out of the car.
"The Holy Sword is for moments like this, I guess." Ian pulled the burning Holy Sword from the King in Yellow's remains. The King in Yellow's final form disintegrated into ash in an instant.
He raised the Holy Sword sharply—and swung it hard.
Under the stunned gaze of the Pope and the cardinals, the tip of the young man's sword directed a torrent of blazing white Holy Flame, which poured down like the Milky Way, transforming into a towering flood of light.
The Holy Flame swept out with devastating force. Where it passed, the black shadows were instantly evaporated before they could even scream. The defiled souls melted away in the pure Holy Flame like snow meeting boiling water.
Ashes drifted down.
[Anomalous data parsing complete. New general data added to your [Mimicry Armor]—The Myriad Forms of Creation.] The System suddenly appeared at this moment, giving a cold, abrupt notification.
"No way, where's my new class?" Ian walked to the remains of the Necronomicon. At this point, the book had reverted to a black notebook.
He held it in his hand but received no System feedback.
"What about the Outer Universe? What about the Outer Universe hidden inside?" Ian shook the Death Note, but nothing fell out. He threw the Death Note to the ground in frustration and stomped on it several times.
Seeing residual black shadows squirming on the ground nearby, Ian swung the Holy Sword again.
The blazing light washed over every corner of the square like a tide. It reflected in every shocked face, those pupils that had been contaminated.
Fine wisps of black mist emerged from the bodies of those people infected by the Outer Universe's contamination. They let out silent shrieks in the flames, then vanished into ashes.
A priest trembled and raised his hand, watching the bizarre runes that had been spreading across his skin dissolve like melting ice. His eyes returned from chaos to clarity. His lips trembled, but he couldn't speak.
"Oh, what happened?"
"My God! We're saved!"
"Who is that person? A superhero?"
"I feel like he's an angel descended to Earth!"
Everyone recovered their clarity under the Holy Flame's illumination—the entire sky was also brightened, as if dawn had arrived early. And Ian stood at the most dazzling point of this light.
"You should be one of us!"
The residual black shadows behind Him tried to counterattack.
But they spontaneously burst into flames upon approaching within a hundred meters, scattering into sparks that filled the air.
People stood frozen, their gaze unanimously fixed on the center of the square. The young man stood beside the shattered obelisk, the brilliant boy resembling a judge stepping out of a myth.
The burning sword in his hand was gradually extinguishing.
But this did not diminish the emotional surge in the hearts of those watching him.
"Excellent. All good deeds. Full of good deeds. All Mr. Ian's good deeds." Ian looked around, nodding with satisfaction, then walked toward the Pope, who was sitting on the ground.
The Pope's aged face was etched with shock. He looked up at the approaching young man, his fingers unconsciously clutching his vestments. In that moment, the Pope felt as if his faith had been rekindled.
"Are you an angel?"
The Pope asked with an overwhelmingly devout voice. In that instant, he felt as if he had witnessed the descent of a Seraphim as recorded in ancient texts, holy and not to be looked upon directly.
"Uh-huh. You've actually been worshipping one angel too few, and that's me. But I won't hold it against you. Just worship me more from now on." Ian hadn't awakened a new class, so he wanted to salvage his gains.
The young man's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.
"I don't know who you are..." The Pope's throat bobbed. He didn't even dare to tremble, only staring at the mimicked, flesh-colored stocking wings that suddenly sprouted from Ian's back.
They were truly wings woven from pure nylon flesh.
The Myriad Forms of Creation.
It could not only simulate the forms of Cthulhu Evil Gods.
"I am naturally the Stocking Superman who ascended to Heaven after death, and then transformed into the Stocking Ang..." Ian was about to announce his revered title when a familiar female voice suddenly sounded behind him.
"It seems you've gone through another story of your own."
It was Ms. Death, whom he hadn't seen in a while. She had arrived, just as expected.
Ian turned to see Ms. Death leaning against the edge of the fountain, the hem of her black dress gently swaying in the wind. In her hand, she was holding the Death Note covered in footprints.
"It's completely trash. I tried writing 'Pervert who likes little boys' on it, but the Pope and these bishops are still alive. Pure garbage Death Note."
Ian pointed at the Pope and the clergy members in front of him.
"?????"
Not only did Ms. Death's expression freeze, but even the trembling Pope and Cardinals, upon hearing those words, shrank back in terror.
They didn't know who Ian was talking to, but they clearly realized they had just had another close call with death. Several clergy members huddled together, shaking with fear.
Ian ignored them, gazing at the notebook in Ms. Death's hand.
"There don't seem to be any Outer Universe fragments inside?"
He asked the question that had been weighing on his mind.
Ms. Death nodded in response, offering an explanation. "This was just a smuggling vessel. In fact, I believe the homeland of these dirty things hasn't actually been destroyed."
"If I'm not mistaken, for some reason, these wicked life forms would rather abandon their original power than remain in their still-undestroyed universe and escape."
Her slender finger gently stroked the cover of the Death Note.
"Coming unannounced and without a gift is simply ill-mannered." Ian still lamented that he had only acquired the Mimicry ability, which was purely useless. His Evil God visage was much scarier than the forms of the Cthulhu Evil Gods.
"Can't we launch a counter-attack into their universe?" The persistent young man held the Holy Sword, full of confidence. He felt he still had a chance to devour the cosmic fragments of the Cthulhu world.
Hearing this, Ms. Death closed the book and sighed softly.
"We'd have to find out where it originated first—I didn't expect this book to have been hidden in Heaven all along." Her tone carried a hint of annoyance.
She had clearly been searching fruitlessly for a long time.
The square was deadly silent. Even the Pope remained frozen in his kneeling position, completely unaware of whom Ian was speaking to, yet realizing he had just overheard something significant.
"So, can you find out who brought it to our universe in the first place?" Ian's face-mask "clicked" and distorted a few times, the wide mouth changing into an expression of annoyance.
"Perhaps. However, there's a tricky problem now: some force is interfering with my investigation." Ms. Death weighed the Death Note in her hand, her tone puzzled.
"Is it the Cthulhu boss?"
Ian speculated that the reason the Cthulhu creatures were fleeing their original universe might be that the Outer Universe invasion had alarmed their Lord, the so-called Blind Idiot God, Azathoth.
"My omniscience doesn't cover the Outer Universe." Although Ms. Death claimed ignorance, her eyes drifted to the short sword in Ian's hand, its Holy Flame now extinguished.
Clearly, Ms. Death had her suspicions, but she wasn't as audacious as Ian.
"Regardless, the residual contamination hasn't been completely resolved. Perhaps you should return to your city to help your family," Ms. Death suddenly changed the subject.
"Metropolis is in trouble again?"
Ian knocked out several clergy members before speaking, just in case they overheard the fact that the Stocking Angel was still alive on Earth.
"It's not a major issue, but over a dozen angels fell from Heaven and crashed into Metropolis," Ms. Death said, raising her hand to display a scene for Ian.
In the image, which was clearer than an HD movie, Ian saw his classmate, the small-time delinquent Madison, using the staff he gave her to pound the heads of several unconscious angels.
A lot of foul, viscous liquid was seeping from the angels' damaged bodies, attempting to contaminate the surroundings. Jordan was protecting Jonathan, who was unconscious for some unknown reason.
"What happened to my older brother?"
Ian immediately grew anxious.
"Who knows?"
Ms. Death's eyes flickered slightly.
...
Just as Ian flew into the sky, elsewhere—Jonathan Kent was curled up in endless darkness. He blamed himself for being useless and for putting his family and Ian's friends in danger.
"I thought they were just a couple of unconscious passersby... I didn't expect so many monsters to ooze out of them," Jonathan hugged his knees in the darkness, deeply regretting his excessive kindness.
He didn't know if he was in Hell. His last memory was of Ian's friend and his brother desperately fighting the grotesque, viscous creatures.
Jonathan had been about to use a tool from the side of the road to help, but suddenly felt a heavy blow to his head, followed by a sinking into this boundless darkness.
Just like the nightmares he'd had before.
As Jonathan searched everywhere and failed to find his idols, he began to pray to the Gods, asking them to punish only himself and to help Jordan and Madison, who were under attack.
Just then, a ray of light pierced the darkness.
Jonathan looked up blankly, finding the surrounding darkness receding like a tide, replaced by a pure white space—no sky, no ground, no boundaries, only a soft white expanse. In the distance, an old leather sofa sat isolated, with a TV in front of it playing a show.
"What's going on?"
Jonathan hesitated before standing up and walking toward the sofa. The sofa was empty, but the TV was playing Armor Hero—a Tokusatsu show Ian loved to watch as a child.
And seemed to still enjoy as an adult.
At this moment, the hero on screen had lost his transformation ability but was still protecting civilians from a monster.
"Even without my ability to transform, I can still defeat you!" The protagonist on the TV wiped the blood from his mouth, his voice full of firm conviction echoing through the speakers to Jonathan.
"Can you really be a hero without power? I just seem to cause trouble..." Jonathan sighed bitterly. He didn't know why he was dreaming this scene.
The story on the TV continued.
A group of young people in armor stood side-by-side, unwavering in the face of evil. They were not Gods, nor invincible beings, but they possessed faith, courage, and the spirit of sacrifice.
"A true hero isn't measured by how much weight you can lift, but by how much responsibility you are willing to bear for others," one figure seemed to be lecturing the villain, while also speaking to the audience outside the screen.
"Like Dad and Ian?"
Jonathan murmured softly.
Just then, a gentle voice sounded next to his ear.
"Why not you, too? Everyone has their own story. Perhaps, your legend simply hasn't begun yet." The voice appeared very abruptly.
Jonathan quickly spun around. An elderly man in pajamas was walking slowly toward him. His hair was white, and a kindly smile graced his face, yet his eyes were as profound as the starry sky.
"You are...?"
Jonathan asked hesitantly.
The old man didn't answer but walked to the TV and reached into the screen, pulling out a silver belt. It looked brand new, with a noticeable slot in the center.
"If you are so eager to help others, perhaps I can offer you some assistance." The old man handed the belt to him, placing it directly into Jonathan's hand.
"This is just a dream, right? Or is some Evil God trying to lure me?" Jonathan tried to return the belt, but found it stuck to his hand.
"What is this..."
He widened his eyes.
"It is the miracle you wished for," the old man said softly. He smiled slightly at Jonathan one last time, turned, and walked toward the white boundary, his figure gradually disappearing into the vast white space.
The surrounding white space began to fade.
Jonathan's eyes snapped open.
The jarring sound of crashing metal and screams immediately assaulted his eardrums.
"Quick, go find Ian! I'm out of energy! These guys' heads are so hard, I can't even crack them!" Madison's voice came from the makeshift defensive line not far away.
It was followed by a dull "thud," like a lamppost hitting something hard.
"You're a witch! A witch!"
Jordan's shout carried a hint of panic.
"Ian said that's what witches are like!" Madison retorted breathlessly. "Learning magic is just showing off talent. When you encounter an enemy magic can't beat, you have to resort to real methods!"
Another series of "thumps" followed, along with the hoarse cries of some creature.
Jonathan struggled to prop himself up.
He found himself lying in a temporary isolation area.
"Just like that notebook, something from the dream appeared in reality." Jonathan looked down at his waist. A science-fiction-styled belt was quietly wrapped around it.
The central slot of the belt emitted a faint blue light.
It wasn't just the belt glowing.
Even the idols he had collected—Zeus, Odin, Shiva... all the idols were now flashing with strange lights, as if responding to the belt's call.
Among all the flashing idols, the Shiva idol, which always finished the curries offered to it, shone the brightest. Jonathan, as if possessed, grabbed the Shiva idol and inserted it into the belt's slot.
"Click."
A crisp fitting sound rang out, and in an instant, dazzling light erupted from the belt!
"Boom—!!!"
Amidst a deafening explosion, the temporary shelter built from car parts collapsed. Madison and Jordan, grappling with the monsters, turned around in astonishment to see a figure emerging from the flying metal shards.
It was a figure enveloped in four-armed armor, most astonishingly with long, flowing hair of flame. Every wisp of fire danced with the rhythm of destruction and regeneration.
"Jordan! What did I tell you! A person must have faith! When I get back, I'm going to have Ian consecrate a statue of himself for me!" Jordan's familiar voice came from inside the armor.
"????!!!!"
Jordan was dumbfounded.
He and Madison stared in amazement as an incredibly magnificent divine light shot out from the center of the armor's forehead, annihilating all the contaminating byproducts oozing from the angels on the ground. Then, the "Armor Hero" spread his four arms simultaneously, and the sound of the drums of the Dance of Destruction suddenly rang out between heaven and earth.
The defilement on the fallen angels' bodies began to dance to the beat—and then headed toward destruction.
"That works too?"
"Your older brother studied in India!"
This scene was witnessed not only by Jordan and Madison, but also by a third party.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk~"
In Los Angeles, at the Lux nightclub.
Lucifer, sitting in front of a dozen TV screens, paused the glass of whiskey on its way to his lips. He squinted, fixing his gaze on the image displayed on one of the televisions.
"What's up with that mortal? How did a belt just appear on him, and he used it to transform?" The bartender demoness leaned in front of the TV, looking astonished.
Lucifer did not reply. He merely stared at the screen, taking a small sip of his whiskey.
"What else could it be... it's what you think it is." Finally, Lucifer gave a very displeased answer, mainly because it reminded him of someone unpleasant.
"The Superman family's eldest son got support from your bastard Father? Didn't that old man always say he didn't like interfering with human lives and free will or something?"
As a demoness, the bartender naturally had no respect for God whatsoever.
Lucifer was quite pleased with the demoness's attitude.
"That's the most interesting part." He reached out toward his glass, and a bit of Hell's frost seeped out, chilling the whiskey inside.
"That's actually just a nineteen-ninety-nine-with-free-shipping toy from Amazon. Yes, don't look at me like that. Even in its current state, it's just a free-shipping toy... That's why I say this universe is truly interesting." Lucifer turned his gaze to another TV labeled [Evil God Funny Face].
"Earth-53."
The Lord of Hell whispered the name.
"Hmm? We are currently on Earth-53?"
The demoness looked at her master, slightly confused. As far as she knew, there were only 52 Earths in the Multiverse. How could a number 53 appear?
***
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