Night was falling.
Lucifer's Lux bar was unusually closed today.
The scarlet neon sign was dim, and the "OPEN" sign at the door had been flipped to "CLOSED." Behind the bar, the female demon was wiping a glass.
"Why are we on Earth-53?"
She looked confusedly at the Lord of Hell nearby, who was swirling a glass of wine.
The golden liquid shimmered invitingly under the light.
"The Multiverse actually hides more unmanifested Earths, but our current situation is rather special, because my father—who most deserves to be in Hell—specifically—"
Lucifer was about to explain when a loud bang suddenly came from the warehouse.
"Bang!"
This was followed by a series of metal objects collapsing, accompanied by someone's panic-stricken scream.
"Bloody hell!"
Crowley burst out of the warehouse, drenched in sweat. His suit jacket was covered in dust, and his tie hung crookedly around his neck, making him look like a soldier who had just fled a battlefield.
As the part-time mover, he was still shaken. He leaned against the doorframe and gasped, crying out in alarm, "Why didn't anyone tell me there was a pile of the boss's wings stashed in there!"
The King of the Crossroads obviously didn't dare to question Lucifer, so he turned to the demon bartender. Hearing this, Mazikeen stopped wiping the bar immediately.
"You've been cutting your wings again? And hiding them?" Mazikeen stared at Lucifer in disbelief. Lucifer quickly gulped down a mouthful of wine and touched his shoulder innocently.
"I wasn't hiding them, I just put them there... where others couldn't see them." It was hard to say whether Lucifer's explanation was mere sophistry.
He was the Devil who couldn't lie, but that didn't mean he couldn't quibble. In fact, anyone who had dealt with Lucifer knew that his favorite thing to do was quibble.
Lucifer, the three-year-old.
It wasn't just one person who saw him that way.
His tone paused slightly.
His voice suddenly became indignant, "Since I helped that little boy, wings have been constantly growing on my back! This must be a conspiracy by the wicked God!"
"My damn Father just wants to deliberately disgust me!"
Lucifer opened his mouth with conviction, and casually pointed to Ian, who was floating among the clouds above Metropolis on the TV screen, staring dumbfounded at the "Armor Hero."
"..."
The female demon laughed in exasperation, covering her forehead and shaking her head repeatedly, "But you shouldn't have put them in our bar's warehouse! Do you know how many men and women sneak in there every day to screw?"
Among all the demons, she was the only one who dared to scold Lucifer this fiercely, perhaps most angels didn't have such guts either—Lucifer was more lenient toward her than toward most demons.
Perhaps it was due to her loyalty and diligence, as well as the fact that Lucifer truly had few friends since his birth.
"Oh? Then I hope my wings add a little excitement for them." Not only was Lucifer not angry, but he smiled happily, giving Mazikeen a "you know what I mean" look.
"..."
The female demon was speechless again.
"You'll scare them to death! Our customers will decrease because of this!" After calming herself down, she glared at the irresponsible boss through gritted teeth.
Lucifer indifferently swirled his glass.
"That's good then. At least they died happy, right? They won't feel too bad when they go to Hell." Having lived countless ages, he naturally had far more twisted logic than Ian.
Mazikeen couldn't argue with this man.
"Smack!"
She slammed the rag heavily onto the bar counter.
"I've had enough!" With that, the female demon walked past the trembling Crowley, who was bowing his head and didn't dare to speak, heading toward the direction Crowley had just emerged from.
Clearly.
She was going to clean up Lucifer's mess—it was a good thing Ian wasn't here, otherwise, Lucifer's wings might have been made into soup, even a single feather was that potent.
"Uh..." Looking at Mazikeen's angry retreating figure, Crowley stood rooted, not daring to breathe loudly. To ease the tension, Lucifer waved him over.
"Don't mind her. Maybe she's been on Earth too long and caught a case of the period." Lucifer intentionally spoke loudly enough to ensure his bartender could hear him in the warehouse.
"Boom~"
The sound of something being smashed came from inside.
Lazy jazz music played in the bar, but it couldn't mask the palpable annoyance in the air.
"See, confirmed."
Lucifer laughed merrily and poured Crowley a drink.
"Work report?"
When the boss pours a drink, there's always a reason.
Fortunately, the quick-witted Crowley was prepared.
He cautiously approached, pulling out a crumpled report, "Uh, Hell has been relatively calm lately. The riots have been suppressed, and the rebellious demons have been locked up where they belong."
"However, my prestige isn't very high. Since you've been away from Hell for a long time, quite a few demons are stirring, hoping to seize the opportunity to advance."
His report made Lucifer purse his lips.
"Boring."
Lucifer yawned.
"Isn't there anything interesting?"
He directly ripped up the work report in Crowley's hand.
"Yes, yes, there is!" Crowley's mind worked quickly, and he hastily added, "We've developed a new type of temptation serum, even angels find its allure hard to resist."
This was clearly the kind of report Lucifer wanted to hear.
The Lord of Hell suddenly became interested.
"That's good! Get me a few bottles. We have plenty of angels right now." Saying this, Lucifer pointed to the fallen angels on the TV screen.
He then clapped Crowley on the shoulder happily, "Keep up the good work. In a few days, I'll let you kill one of my clones, and your prestige in Hell will greatly increase."
Hearing this.
Crowley's face went white.
"I wouldn't dare. I truly wouldn't dare."
He was terrified that this was merely a test or trial from the temperamental Lucifer.
"Tsk, how boring. When I have my grand wedding with the detective, you'll only be worthy of sitting at the same table as the equally boring Maze." Lucifer glared at Crowley, clearly displeased.
Crowley quickly lowered his head.
Trembling.
However, the Lord of Hell didn't continue to tease him. He suddenly changed the subject, asking a question he already knew the answer to, "Is Constantine in your custody?"
Lucifer was still so "fond" of Constantine.
Crowley was startled, then nodded, "I grabbed him when I caught the angel. However, Constantine has already escaped, you know how slippery that guy is."
"As for that angel... that angel was handed over to the boy who calls himself the Evil God." After a brief pause, Crowley pointed to the TV screen with the [Evil God Grinning Face] sticker.
In the picture, Ian was gesticulating and criticizing Jonathan's new transformation.
"The culprit behind this whole angel fall spectacle ended up in Ian Kent's hands, tsk-tsk, that's going to be a big show for sure." Lucifer was even more excited than before.
He even sat up straight, as if anticipating a good show. Aside from the angels who shared his origin, Lucifer viewed other ordinary angels no differently than he viewed mortals.
There was absolutely no emotion involved.
Crowley took over Mazikeen's job, wiping the table.
He observed Lucifer's mood.
"Boss..." Crowley chose his words carefully, "I noticed that almost all the angels, except for the Archangels, have fallen to Earth. Is God really that ruthless?"
He certainly didn't dare to insult God as freely as Lucifer and Mazikeen.
Yet, curiosity still prompted Crowley to ask the question on his mind. His voice grew softer and softer, the last word barely a whisper in his throat, a clear display of timidity.
This emotion was perhaps half real, half feigned.
As the King of the Crossroads in Hell, Crowley knew better than anyone the complexity of Lucifer's feelings towards God—a mix of hatred, awe, and a certain twisted nostalgia.
Usually, bringing up God in front of Lucifer was extremely dangerous, but unexpectedly, the good-humored Lucifer wasn't enraged today.
He just sneered.
His long fingers tapped lightly on the rim of the glass.
As if playing a piano.
"God is far more ruthless than you think, Crowley." Lucifer's voice was full of subtle meaning. "Why do you think Heaven got polluted? That source of contamination didn't have the ability to find the 'door' to enter by itself."
He intentionally paused, watching Crowley's pupils suddenly widen.
"Yes, that old geezer is just like that. He seemingly did nothing, but in reality... the old geezer doing nothing is the biggest statement he could make."
Lucifer finished with an additional comment.
Full of malice.
His chilling suggestion made the glass in Crowley's hand nearly slip. He didn't dare to take the bait or ask any more questions, fearing that one more inquiry would turn him into the King of the Crossroads killed by pigeon droppings.
"Well... Boss, it was my slip of the tongue. Let's talk about Constantine. Should I go and bring him back for you?" Crowley quickly changed the subject.
It was very forced.
But the profuse sweating this time wasn't acting, nor was it his body being overtaxed from using too much power. Lucifer looked at the highly competent tailor with disgust.
"No need. Let Constantine play around on his own. No matter how much he struggles, he won't get into Heaven."
Lucifer swirled his glass carelessly, his tone sneering, "Seriously, Crowley, you claim to be a collector, yet you didn't spot the treasure hidden on that guy?"
"Treasure?" Crowley looked bewildered.
Lucifer showed a wicked, charming smile.
"An artifact powerful enough for you to secure the throne of Hell."
His smile was truly wicked, even more so than the Dragon King's crooked smirk. Hearing this, Crowley abruptly stood up, his chair scraping loudly on the floor.
"I'll go after him right now!"
Crowley knew Lucifer wouldn't lie, so there might truly be a treasure on Constantine. But just as he ran to the main door and rushed out, he felt his vision blur.
He was instantly back in the seat opposite Lucifer.
"Some opportunities, once missed, are gone forever." Lucifer took a sip of wine. "That thing has already been packaged and taken away. I advise you not to pursue it further."
"Otherwise, you'll be very unlucky. Don't say I didn't warn you when that happens." This tone was quite familiar to Crowley, he had used a similar warning not long ago on his partner.
His mind raced, and his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the TV—where Ian was holding a cup of milk tea, yelling excitedly at the transforming Jonathan.
"Is it in Ian Kent's hands?"
Crowley quickly devised a test, speaking in a low voice.
Lucifer's eyes also turned toward the TV screen.
"It's not in his hands; it's in his cup... Dream's sandbag became a vanilla boba milk tea. Haha, I really like this guy."
Lucifer burst into laughter, confirming Crowley's suspicion. The King of the Crossroads watched Lucifer's expression, recalling all the intelligence about Ian in his mind.
A boy who suddenly appeared in the Kent family, possessing power that even angels were wary of.
"Boss, I'm very confused." Crowley hesitated before asking the question that had troubled him for so long, "This boy is clearly not Superman's biological offspring. What exactly is he?"
The bar suddenly went quiet.
Even the background music eerily stopped.
Lucifer slowly put down his glass.
"Trust me, Crowley." Lucifer's voice suddenly became as deep as an echo from the depths of Hell. "Getting the answer to that question might not be a good thing for you."
Hearing this, Crowley's head buzzed again. Even Lucifer was taking this stance, he increasingly felt that his conjecture might not be wrong.
"Alright, I won't ask."
Crowley made a decisive choice.
"You are still slightly interesting." Lucifer elegantly refilled Crowley's glass with amber-colored spirits. As Crowley looked on with a flattered expression, Lucifer's gaze returned to the TV screen. No one could fathom the thoughts of the Lord of Hell. At this moment, Lucifer's mind seemed to drift back to that special night.
Beside the Sulfur Lake in Hell.
He witnessed the Archangel Amenadiel handing a swaddled infant to Clark Kent. The infant was surrounded by a unique aura that did not belong to the entire Multiverse.
Just as Lucifer attempted to get a closer look, a long-unfelt, terrifying pressure descended from the sky—it was the first time since his Fall that God had cast His gaze upon His son.
Even if.
It was just a warning.
It was the only time since Lucifer chose to Fall that he felt God was still there.
Invincible.
Beyond challenge.
To this day, it remained unforgettable to Lucifer.
The song in the bar echoed.
"To the unknown."
Lucifer suddenly raised his glass.
Under Crowley's bewildered gaze.
He drained the wine in one gulp. Crowley quickly followed suit, but in tilting his head back, he missed the flash of complexity in Lucifer's eyes—no one could discern how many emotions were contained within it.
"Alright, now, we should continue to enjoy the spectacle of 'Rapture of Heaven,' directed by God." Lucifer suddenly smiled again, looking at the TV screen as if nothing had happened.
On the screen.
The disaster in Metropolis may have passed.
However, Gotham, where the superheroes were located, was still extremely busy.
A grey, hazy mist floated over the ruins of Gotham, it was the confusion of the contamination. The once-bustling streets were now just broken walls and rubble, and a mass of contaminated, fallen angels.
In this somewhat sanity-draining, apocalyptic landscape.
Several agile figures were moving quickly.
They were carrying high-tech—water guns, patrolling every corner, whether it was the alleys of the East End or the ruins where houses had been removed.
Wherever there was a source of contamination, there was the presence of the Justice League.
The seemingly comical water gun was actually filled with a purifying liquid, a concoction quickly put together by Batman, capable of instantly neutralizing and clearing the contamination on the angels.
"East End alleys cleared."
Cyborg's voice came through the communicator.
"Found three more contaminated angels, purification complete." Batman stood on top of a half-collapsed apartment building, his cape gently fluttering in the decaying-smelling breeze. In his hand, he held an unusually shaped high-pressure water gun, its barrel covered in Batman's signature black tech patterns.
"Check seven o'clock direction." His low voice echoed in the Justice League channel. "There's a strong abnormal energy reaction there, it should be more than one contaminated angel gathered."
Not only were people clearing the source of contamination.
Others were clearing the contamination that had spread.
The Flash zipped through like a red lightning bolt, the water gun in his hand accurately spraying a pale blue liquid. As the liquid touched the black, viscous substance oozing from the ground, it immediately made a sizzling sound.
Wisps of blue smoke rose.
Then.
The contamination on the ground was purified.
"Seriously."
The Flash complained while running.
"I never thought the daily life of a superhero would become—the daily life of a firefighter." He slammed on the brakes, aimed at the corner of the wall's shadow, and pulled the trigger.
The shadowy area hit by the blue liquid, where a crouched angel was located, suddenly trembled violently. His previously pitch-black wings began to shed the filth, gradually restoring their pristine white color.
But this process was clearly agonizing. The angel let out a heartbreaking scream and fell to his knees—of course, he ultimately regained his senses and stopped chanting that filthy hymn.
Wonder Woman quickly stepped forward.
The Lasso of Truth was restraining a filthy angel who had begun to sing an even more corrupt hymn, frantically praising the God of All Laws, Ian: "Calm down! The purification process will be over soon."
She also used the water gun to purify the contamination on the angel.
However.
The new hymn did not stop.
Wonder Woman had no choice but to release the restrained angel. Only then, stripped of his glory and his power link to Heaven, did the angel's eyes recover their true clarity.
The powerless angel raised his head, revealing a handsome but haggard face. His eyes were full of wariness. Upon seeing the fully armed heroes around him, he instinctively shrank back.
"What did you do to me?"
His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.
Accompanied by a whooshing sound, Batman leaped down from the rooftop, his cape spreading out like bat wings: "We purified the contamination on you. You are safe now."
As he spoke.
Batman scanned the angel with an instrument. Like the previously purified angels, the readings on his device showed information feedback similar to that of an ordinary person.
"Mortals... you shouldn't interfere in the affairs of angels." The angel, who still maintained an arrogant attitude, swayed as he stood up, attempting to stretch his restored white wings and ascend into the sky.
Although he fell awkwardly onto the ruins less than ten meters up, he still insisted on getting up and trying again—he looked like an ordinary person with a pair of atrophied wings on his back.
"I guess Heaven's induction training must include the clause 'never accept human help.'" Seeing the angel's arrogance, Aquaman couldn't help but make a remark.
"You can rest here temporarily. I will arrange safe accommodation for you and assist you in finding a way back to Heaven. You don't need to worry about anything else."
Batman continued to approach and persuade him.
"Angels do not need the charity of mortals. We will solve our own problems." The handsome angel raised his head, looking at the mortal in the battle suit.
He ultimately just gave a slight nod.
Refusing the help.
This was not the first time this had happened. Although the superheroes purified the contamination on the angels, the powerless angels still retained their pride.
"Why are they all so stubborn?"
Not far away.
Cyborg also sighed helplessly.
Similar dialogues were repeated in every corner of Gotham. Under the ruins of a bombed-out church in the East End, an angel, upon being rescued, immediately refused Superman's suggestion.
"I know who you are, and we know who Bruce is. I am unwilling to become a specimen on his experimental bench." Perhaps the angels had a bit more respect for Superman than for Batman. At least this angel slightly bowed to Superman in thanks, then tucked his broken wings and stumbled away.
And at a subway exit, another angel, after being purified, wouldn't even spare Batman a glance, only leaving behind the sentence, "We will find our own way home," before walking away without looking back.
Truly, not a single angel was willing to accept assistance. Although they spoke words of gratitude, their attitude consistently maintained that arrogance and aloofness characteristic of higher-dimensional beings.
"We've saved a bunch of Heavenly bigshots, huh."
Batman sighed.
He did not stop them.
Because he had already conducted a danger assessment on this group of powerless angels. Before the angels regained their power, a large portion of them would probably end up in psychiatric hospitals.
As for the rest, they would either end up in sweatshops or be trafficked into brothels.
"Is this the suffering the angels must endure?" Just as Batman boldly speculated on the thoughts of the Supreme Will, Superman, Clark, flew over, holding his now empty water gun.
"Bruce, we have cleared all the areas."
Superman landed next to Batman, his red cape gently swaying in the Gotham wind. He looked at the angels being purified in the distance, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
"Mhm."
Batman nodded.
"Bruce, you are truly amazing." Superman suddenly spoke, his voice carrying a deliberate note of admiration. "To think of a countermeasure in such a short amount of time."
He paused.
His blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"I think you were prepared for this, right?"
This was actually not a question but a statement made with certainty.
Batman didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on a distant, teetering building. The ruins of Gotham cast long shadows in the setting sun.
However, Clark did not let this silence pass. He suddenly asked, with a forced smile, "Can you tell me what the raw material for this purifying liquid is?"
Hearing this.
Bruce's body stiffened imperceptibly for a moment.
He slowly turned his head, his eyes beneath the cowl appearing exceptionally deep in the shadow: "Trust me, Clark, you really wouldn't want to know the answer to that question."
In response.
Superman merely smiled a forced smile again.
"Let me guess, yes, just a guess." Superman crossed his arms, his tone suddenly becoming sharp. "You have a share in our family's sewage treatment company, don't you?"
At these words.
Batman, who was tidying his equipment, paused.
"??????"
Batman was uncharacteristically stunned.
"What are you talking about?"
His tone was full of exasperation.
His eyebrows beneath the cowl nearly flew up to his hairline.
By now, Clark's expression had turned serious: "I watched you take out a large barrel labeled with Ian's name and then use it to create this so-called purifying liquid."
He pointed to the empty containers not far away.
The father was clearly starting the post-mortem after the situation was under control.
"Huh?"
Suddenly.
Wonder Woman also flew over after finishing her work.
"Using the pollution created by Ian to counter another kind of pollution, good idea, Bruce." Wonder Woman smiled and gave Batman a thumbs-up.
Before she could continue her teasing, which was intended to lighten the somewhat tense atmosphere, she saw Batman let out a heavy sigh, raising his hands to massage his temples.
"I just acquired some hospitals in Metropolis—the ones where Metropolis schools require mandatory physical exams." Batman did not seem to intend to hide his actions. He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "It's blood. I used a diluted mixture of your son's blood, plus some other chemicals."
This explanation made Clark's expression look slightly awkward.
"Is that so?"
Clark's voice lowered.
He suddenly agreed with Wonder Woman's words, the legendary Ian Virus might truly be on Ian, capable of contaminating and corrupting Kryptonian thought processes.
No one in the Justice League was surprised that Batman would collect Ian's blood, or the blood of anyone else, not even Ian's father.
After all.
Even Ian, the invincible Evil God with super intelligence, had had his blood collected many times by the cunning villain Batman. The Gotham oddball truly had all sorts of bizarre methods.
"So the blood of a God King has this function." Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow with interest. Her gaze shifted between the two of them. She even suspected that Batman was secretly imprisoning and studying some gods.
Otherwise, it wouldn't explain how Bruce could instantly choose Ian's blood as the material—no wonder those angels were cautious and wary of Batman.
Putting angels, gods, and the like on an experimental bench was indeed something Batman was capable of doing. Everyone present knew that Batman's secret laboratory probably contained everything imaginable.
"The blood I was able to collect was from when Ian was an ordinary person, as he hasn't participated in a physical exam since middle school."
"As for why it works, don't ask me." Batman suddenly pushed past Superman, who was blocking his way. As they crossed paths, he spoke meaningfully, making eye contact with Clark.
"Go ask Clark, or go ask God in a church." With that, he strode toward the Batmobile, beginning a final scan of the entire city.
This was to ensure no source of contamination was missed.
The Gotham sunset stretched his shadow long. Just as the atmosphere was about to turn awkward, Cyborg's somewhat helpless voice suddenly came through the communicator.
"Uh, guys, I think we have another problem." His mechanical eye flickered with data streams, clearly linked to America's public network.
"Has contamination appeared elsewhere?"
The Flash and Aquaman were instantly alarmed.
However.
"No, the problem I'm talking about is that Superman still has to move those residents and houses back." Cyborg's tone became increasingly strange. He spoke with some difficulty, "According to my data collection, the disaster relief loans provided by the American government to the Gotham refugees are a very special kind of high-interest loan."
"How special, precisely, is that even the loan sharks themselves are saying online that these are high-interest loans among high-interest loans." He paused before revealing the situation.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The members of the Justice League collectively fell silent at this moment.
Only Cyborg continued to search for information and report to the Justice League members, "I think those congressmen and bank executives don't know what they are doing."
"Those are Gotham citizens. After being forced into taking out loans, even the inherently kind-hearted Gotham citizens are now counting their weapon stocks and frantically buying bullets."
Cyborg's "broadcast" was absolutely astonishing.
"Wait, what are those Gotham citizens preparing to do?" Aquaman's pupils widened abruptly. He felt that he might finally witness the uprising activity that the surface dwellers spoke of.
"Uh, I can't comment, but some Gotham citizens have already raided an air force base in another city, successfully subverted the base soldiers, and gained operational control of over thirty F-35 fighter jets."
Cyborg's voice was filled with exasperation.
Hearing this.
Wonder Woman's Lasso of Truth nearly slipped from her grasp.
"What in the hell is going on?!" She recalled the hardcore people she encountered when she first arrived in Gotham, who thought the apocalypse had arrived and wanted to make their neighbors into canned food for storage.
"These guys were relocated to other cities, like max-level criminals entering a newbie village. Monitoring shows that even a purely kind elderly woman can pull out a rocket launcher from her super-sized underwear."
Cyborg continued his report, his tone growing more and more helpless. Everyone looked at the figure using the Batmobile, they all wanted to know who the Gotham citizens bought their military equipment from.
"Don't ask me, go ask the damn Joker Gang."
Batman felt like he was being made the scapegoat. He sighed, annoyed and frustrated. His emotional control was deteriorating, and his voice was laced with impatience.
Just then.
"Oh, no!"
Cyborg's shocked voice rang out again.
"Those guys are actually researching the nuclear bomb unlock procedure—they've gotten their hands on a nuclear warhead!" Gotham truly breeds talent, they were far more formidable than the talent in Metropolis.
Superman immediately transformed into a red and blue blur and shot into the sky.
The Flash followed close behind. Their mission was clear—to move the Gotham citizens and their property back to the land they should nourish.
Of course.
The first priority was to deal with the insurrectionists at the air force base.
Superman was responsible for high-altitude interception, preventing any F-35s from attempting to take off. The Flash was responsible for ground operations, forcibly removing the citizens who were debating whether to bomb Congress or Wall Street with the nuclear bomb.
In the most absurd incident, a grandmother in a nightgown had modified a microwave oven into an electromagnetic pulse cannon, instantly paralyzing the electronic equipment of half a city block.
Over the next few hours.
The other members of the Justice League also witnessed what was called the "Gotham Special Return Tide"—as Superman carried entire apartment buildings over the bay, the residents inside were calmly eating, drinking, and gambling.
Their mental state was top-notch.
"They're a bunch of terrorists!" The Flash, at light speed, returned the hijacked fighter jets to the air force base. The Gotham old man in the cockpit was still studying the operation manual. The most ridiculous case was an elderly lady wearing a pearl necklace who, upon being returned to her own ruins, was clutching a metal box labeled "Radioactive Material" tightly.
"It's a souvenir! A souvenir from the outside!" The old lady shouted at the kindly advising Flash, utterly convinced. "My grandson will need it when he goes to college later!"
Her words left the Flash completely helpless.
Batman was the one who delivered.
He rushed up and gave the old lady a heavy cuff, fully displaying the style of the short-tempered Batman. He snatched the metal box from the old lady and had the Flash take it away for proper disposal.
"You're not right, Bruce." Clark, who had just returned the last batch of buildings, noticed Batman's condition and frowned, issuing a warning.
"Mhm."
Batman didn't deny it.
He just looked at his hand, which he had subconsciously swung out, directly knocking out the old lady, and his eyes flickered slightly.
"I will treat myself."
He gave his assurance to the other members of the Justice League, showing no intention of seeking help. Instead, he got straight into his Batmobile and sped off, as if to conduct an inspection on himself.
No one knew which secret base he was heading to.
Superman quickly realized that Bruce's vehicle had disappeared from his sight—clearly, Bruce had specifically designed further countermeasures against his enhanced abilities.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Clark looked into the distance.
At this point, after non-stop moving work, the Flash and Superman had successfully restored most of Gotham's environment, though the replanted buildings looked slightly different from before.
"Bruce said he knows what's wrong with him." The Flash had clearly communicated with Bruce earlier. He spoke to Clark while panting and leaning on his knees.
"Your speed has slowed by more than half, and your stamina is draining. I think the problem you have is still eating away at you." Superman's gaze returned to the Flash's arm.
There.
The gruesome mark was still present.
The Flash looked down at his arm beneath his suit and spoke softly, "Bruce told me that if I'm lucky enough, my trouble will be solved tonight."
He clearly didn't want to imagine what would happen if his luck ran out.
"If you need help, or if you find Bruce's problem getting worse, let me know immediately." Superman patted the Flash on the shoulder and whispered the reminder into his ear.
"No problem."
The Flash gave Superman an OK sign, then vanished like a red streak of lightning at the end of the street—he was clearly heading back to the research base he had been staying at.
"Everyone can finally get some rest."
Superman looked around at the other members of the Justice League.
"The way Bruce is acting, I can't relax—Heaven knows if I'll wake up to find a bunch of bio-engineered Wonder Women created by Bruce on Earth."
Wonder Woman was also very concerned about Batman's current mental state.
"Yeah, yeah."
Aquaman and Cyborg exchanged glances, sharing the same response.
"I'll figure out a way to keep an eye on Bruce when I get back." Superman was naturally worried too. He gave his assurance, then looked toward Metropolis.
Under the gaze of the superheroes.
The invincible Superman instantly disappeared from his spot.
He left somewhat hastily—Clark had just landed among the ruins of his own yard when he saw Ian and Jordan wrestling, fighting over a glowing belt.
"Let me play with it for a while! Big Brother loves me the most!"
Ian pinned Jordan to the ground with a headlock.
"Bullshit! He owes me two girlfriends! I should be the one to play with his belt!" Jordan, unwilling to concede, reached for Ian's armpit, causing Ian to let out gurgling, wicked laughter.
"What's the trouble now?"
Superman stood not far away.
His cape hung limply.
"Can someone explain?"
He stood in front of the ruins.
He looked at Ian and Jordan locked in a struggle, then at the bewildered Jonathan standing beside them, and finally at Madison, who was carrying a streetlamp, eating barbecue, and cheering Ian on.
"Jordan is a freeloader, fighting the MVP for that magical transformation belt." Madison noticed Superman's gaze, chewing her barbecue and explaining vaguely.
She was quicker to explain than Jonathan. Superman felt like he understood as much as he usually did after listening to Ian—which was nothing at all.
"Uh, Dad, here's what happened..." Jonathan scratched his head, walking forward a little awkwardly. For the next ten minutes, he recounted his experience of meeting a white-bearded old man in a dream.
Superman's expression solidified for a full five seconds after listening.
"You're saying."
Clark asked, enunciating each word, as if to confirm he hadn't misheard, "An old man in a bathrobe took a belt out of the TV and gave it to you, and then you could pray to the gods to borrow power?"
"The last time I heard something like that was Shazam and his little stories." Clark certainly knew Shazam, but Shazam wasn't a member of the Justice League.
That particular superhero needed to focus on his studies during normal times.
Faced with his father's question.
Jonathan hesitated but still nodded. Seeing this, Clark frowned, also starting to wonder if Jonathan needed to see Dr. Lecter.
"Honestly, I think it's bizarre too, but it just happened." Jonathan seemed to sense his father's skepticism. He sighed and strode toward Ian and Jordan, who were still fighting. He snatched the disputed belt from them and, under his father's surprised gaze, buckled it around his waist.
"Transform!"
A blinding blue light instantly erupted, and Jonathan's figure rapidly changed within the glow. When the light dissipated, a figure covered head-to-toe in mysterious armor, surrounded by ancient runes, appeared before everyone.
Most shocking of all, with a gentle wave of his hand, the mud on the ground began to dance on its own, arranging itself into neat squares, as if performing some mysterious ritual.
"????????"
Superman's jaw dropped.
His chin nearly hit the floor.
"..."
Silence.
A long silence.
Nobody knew how Superman managed to convince himself to accept this reality. He looked at the ruined state of his new home, sighed, and reached out to pick up his three children.
"Perfect, you can also join the ranks of chopping trees and rebuilding the house." Superman's ability to accept things was truly strong. Perhaps he had been well-trained. He took the three children and prepared to fly back to the farm.
"What about me? I can help you rebuild the house too. As a witch, I need to train my strength daily." Madison suddenly spoke, offering her streetlamp to Superman.
"..."
Superman, holding the three boys in one hand and Madison's streetlamp in the other, instantly took flight, speeding toward the Kent family's multi-generational farm.
"I don't want to rebuild the house! I bought you a big mansion!"
Ian's resistance was ultimately futile.
He was still forced to join the ranks of chopping trees, sucking the moisture out of the wood, and putting the house back together—only after working busily for over half an hour did he finally seize the chance to sneak away with Madison.
The focused Clark and his two brothers didn't even realize it.
Not until the new house was finished.
Only then did Superman realize Ian had disappeared sometime ago. In the adjacent room, there was only a demon's head squeezing its throat, imitating Ian and Madison's voices.
"Where are they?"
He ignored the demon's head's lifelike imitation.
He looked around in surprise.
Finally.
The father located Ian and Madison—they were in Gotham.
"Black Angel, come to my side."
"White Angel, go to the delinquent girl's side. Don't worry, no screw-tightening there."
Clearly.
The capitalist knew best how to seize an opportunity.
And so, Ian's Greatest Technology Group began recruiting labor.
***
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