"Bang—"
The crystal glass in Lucifer's hand slammed onto the marble bar. Amber liquid splashed across his custom-made suit, worth tens of thousands, but he remained completely oblivious to it.
One could only imagine the lack of tranquility in his heart.
"Looks like someone's getting a new daddy~"
The bartender's voice wasn't loud.
However, it still felt like a heavy hammer striking Lucifer's soul. This was, without a doubt, the greatest injury he had suffered since birth.
"No, it's absolutely impossible... Mom would never do something like that!" Lucifer's words sounded more like self-consolation. Even when he was kicked out of Heaven, he hadn't been this panicked.
"Oh, Lucifer, you still don't understand women, do you?"
"Your mother is desperate to get revenge on God, and on you..."
"And this is a true two-birds-one-stone method. When your mother gives birth to a little brother or sister and tosses them to you to raise, I hope you can still maintain your optimism."
The bartender, Maze, finished recording her footage and began slowly wiping a glass. Her face was full of a desire to watch the drama unfold, her eyes sparkling with the schadenfreude unique to demons.
At this point, Lucifer could no longer sit still.
It was as if his chair had turned white-hot. He jerked upright, stiff as a board.
"Shut up! Shut up!" Lucifer stood up abruptly, knocking over the leather barstool with a heavy thud. If the demons in Hell saw him now, it would provide enough mockery to last a thousand years—the great Satan himself, panicking and helpless because he might get a new stepfather.
"Fine, keep deceiving yourself. I bet five hundred pure souls it'll be a little sister." Maze shrugged, tossing the rag over her shoulder.
Every word she spoke was a critical hit. The King of Hell froze in place, his handsome face twisting into an expression no human could ever replicate.
"I have to find her! I have to send her back! At the very least, I have to stop her from going crazy!" Lucifer grabbed his suit jacket, his movement so violent he nearly flipped the bar.
He charged straight outside.
"Remember to take a family photo~"
Maze raised her glass and laughed at his frantic retreating back. Her loyalty to Lucifer was one thing, but seeing the Morningstar so spooked was a delightful treat for her heart.
Ten minutes later.
On the streets of Los Angeles.
A black convertible speeded past the limits of its speedometer.
"Metropolis, Metropolis..." Lucifer held the steering wheel with one hand while his other hand scrolled frantically through his phone. News alerts from all over America rolled before his eyes like a waterfall.
[Weird Female Corpse Found at East Side Gang Shootout Site]
[St. Mary's Hospital Admits Special Persistent Vegetative State Patient]
[Suspected Supernatural Phenomenon Appears in City Center...]
"Damn it!"
Lucifer slammed the steering wheel and floored the gas. He felt like every second counted—this physical shell could hardly contain his great power, which was why Sam's vessel was so special.
As luck would have it, the car stereo suddenly began playing a song titled *Before He Cheats*.
*Guess what? I'mma be fine.*
*I'mma make sure he never sees me cry.*
*I made up my mind.*
*I'm gonna show him tonight.*
*It's a revenge, plain and simple.*
*I'mma do it right.*
...
"The person who sang this song should go to Hell!"
The rhythm was cheerful, but the lyrics hit Lucifer's little heart like a drumbeat. He irritably switched off the stereo, nearly ripping the radio out of the console.
He floored it again, and the car shot forward like a bullet.
Just then.
"Screeech—"
Amidst the ear-piercing sound of brakes, a police motorcycle blocked the path of the convertible. A traffic cop had pulled over the King of Hell for a traffic violation.
"Sir, you were speeding."
The cop chewed gum, showing little desire for a high performance review.
"Officer, you have no idea what you're doing." Lucifer suppressed his agitation, his fingers tapping the steering wheel so hard they almost sparked. His tone was full of malice.
"Every minute you delay me here, my mother might give birth to a whole litter of brothers..." It was unclear what species Lucifer imagined his mother to be.
The cop dithered for a moment, trying to follow the logic.
"I'm sorry, please accept my condolences. I've seen this stuff on TV—rich kids fighting over inheritance. I have to say, *Succession* recorded similar things."
The cop had clearly misinterpreted the situation.
"This isn't some melodramatic TV show!" Lucifer pulled at his tie in a frenzy. "This is a cosmic-level crisis! A creation-level disaster! It's a million times more serious than your human world wars!"
Lucifer wasn't exaggerating, but a mortal naturally couldn't understand him. In response, the cop blinked blankly and finally pulled out his pen.
"I don't know much about wealthy family feuds, but your speed was double the limit. I still have to write you a ticket." Seeing that the cop intended to follow the tedious procedures, Lucifer laughed out of sheer anger.
"Fine, great. I know what you want." Lucifer grabbed a handful of cash and threw it into the sky. While the cop scrambled to catch the money, Lucifer floored the accelerator.
The sports car roared like a beast, leaving the cop as a tiny black dot in an instant. Soon, the King of Hell, driving a car reinforced by his power, arrived in Metropolis.
Inside St. Mary's Hospital.
Lucifer straightened his collar, instantly switching to his suave mode. He walked straight to the nursing station and flashed his signature smile—the kind that could make a woman's heart skip a beat.
"Good afternoon, ladies. I have a small favor to ask." The Demon King winked at the blonde nurse. She immediately blushed, her heart racing as she hurried over.
"I heard a special vegetative patient was brought in this morning? The one from the gang shootout? My apologies, I'm her family, and I'd like to see her for a moment."
Lucifer never lied, so everything he said was the truth. The eyes of a devil had the power to draw out human original sin, and the nurse's rationality evaporated instantly.
She stared at Lucifer like a lovestruck fool, ignoring all identity verification and protocols. Her mind was filled only with primitive desires.
"She's in... in the Intensive Care Unit, but that's not a place you can just walk into." The nurse's voice turned cloyingly sweet.
"Just one look, sweetheart." Lucifer gently took her hand, and a diamond ring appeared on her ring finger like magic. Subsequently, he obtained more useful information.
And a keycard.
Five minutes later, when the nurse came to her senses, she couldn't remember a thing. She only felt a vague, inexplicable sense of loss.
The kind that makes you realize you need new underwear.
On the other side.
Lucifer straightened his suit and strode into the ICU.
"Sir! You aren't allowed—" Several medical staff tried to stop the mysterious man, but Lucifer merely glanced at them, and they froze in place.
Time seemed to pause. The doctors' expressions solidified in moments of shock. As Lucifer walked past, they collapsed like dolls with their bones removed.
Like scarecrows blown over by the wind, they hit the floor with dull thuds.
Although his current vessel wasn't a perfect fit, he could still use a portion of his power. At most, if he overused it and the shell cracked, he would turn into a "bouncing bomb" just like Ian.
"Sorry about that."
Lucifer nonchalantly stepped over the bodies strewn across the floor.
"I don't have time to play hide-and-seek today." The electronic beeping of the monitoring equipment was jarring in the silence. Lucifer searched through the ICU.
"Not this one, not this one... this one clearly had a failed breast augmentation, silicone poisoning. Get lost." Lucifer searched for his target.
Finally, he found the vegetative patient brought in that morning.
He stood by the bed, staring with a complex expression at the woman sleeping there—the woman entangled in various tubes. Her chest rose and fell weakly, and half of her face still bore the savage scars of healed bullet holes. The Demon King's long fingers waved before her forehead, but though golden light flashed, there was no reaction.
This left Lucifer momentarily stunned.
His pupils dilated slightly.
"Mom isn't inside..." Lucifer ruffled his hair in frustration. Although his omniscience couldn't locate his mother, he could at least confirm that this vessel was empty.
The halo of omniscience was like a broken radar now, only catching a blinding white void—which was normal, considering he was trying to probe his own mother.
A being that existed before the very concept of omniscience was born.
"What on earth is she up to..." Lucifer's hands hung at his sides as a wave of conspiracy theories flooded his mind. He knew all too well how much trouble his mother could cause.
"What exactly does she want?" Lucifer wasn't just worried about getting a stepfather; he knew that every move his mother made was purposeful. As the former Goddess of Creation, her wisdom and power were unparalleled. This escape surely hid a deeper plan.
At this moment.
Lucifer thought of his mother's resentment toward God. In Heaven, she had been one of the most respected beings, but she was ultimately imprisoned in Hell. This was undoubtedly a massive blow to her dignity.
"Revenge" was the first keyword. His mother might want to get back at God by disrupting cosmic balance or directly challenging His authority.
Regardless, having served as her jailer, ignoring her imprisonment and even gloating over it, Lucifer was certain he would be a target for revenge, just as Maze had said.
The more he thought, the more uneasy he became. Paranoia was something even Lucifer suffered from; the DC Universe was essentially a giant mental asylum. Lucifer even considered grander possibilities.
Was his mother executing some plan for God or Michael? After all, her escape was too "coincidental," as if a higher power was pushing it.
It certainly wasn't because of Ian. Ian couldn't release his mother... only God Himself could undo the seal He placed on His wife.
This forced Lucifer to overthink. Just as he felt he was being targeted again, a familiar shiver ran up his spine to the crown of his head.
It was a specific kind of gaze.
"Samael~"
That same unique voice seemed to echo in Lucifer's ear—the voice that had existed since the beginning of creation. For the first time in years, it reached out to communicate with him.
Information was exchanged that no third party could ever know. The cacophony of the ICU monitors seemed to fade away. The world contained only that voice lingering in his ear.
"Heh, you remember me now?"
Lucifer suddenly sneered at the air, responding to the voice.
"No, I don't agree! Don't even think about continuing to control me!"
"Damn it! No! You're lying!" Lucifer suddenly covered his ears. His face turned deathly pale, his pupils dilated, and his mouth twitched uncontrollably.
"Yes! You're lying!"
The King of Hell's eyes turned crimson. It was as if the voice had spoken a truth that made him extremely uneasy. The temperature in the ICU plummeted, and the mist of his breath condensed before him. Ice crystals formed on the IV bags of the patients, and the unconscious medical staff curled up in their sleep.
Suddenly.
The back of Lucifer's shirt tore without warning. A pair of pure white wings unfurled violently, each massive, holy feather shimmering with a faint light.
The wings of the Morningstar were the purest in Heaven.
They weren't just a symbol of status.
They were also the key to using certain authorities in the mortal realm.
In the next instant.
A wild wind swept through the ward, knocking over medical equipment. Lucifer's figure vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of his intrusion. When the medical staff woke up, they only saw a few white feathers drifting down, dissolving into fine golden light the moment they touched the ground.
Meanwhile.
On the top floor of a skyscraper on the other side of the city, Ian's mother—Lois Lane Kent—was sitting in her spacious yet understated office, receiving an unexpected visitor.
Lucifer hovered outside the glass curtain wall, his eyes seeing everything clearly through the opaque glass. In the meeting room, Lois Lane was pouring tea for a blonde female lawyer. The lawyer sat with a posture so straight it was almost rigid, a perfect 45-degree smile on her face—Charlotte Richards.
One of the most famous "devil's advocates" in America.
"Ms. Richards, are you really willing to hand over the evidence against the Joker Gang to me?" Lois pushed the teacup over, her fingers trembling slightly with excitement.
When she received the mysterious phone call this morning, she thought it was a prank. Even now, she found it hard to believe such a massive scoop had come looking for her.
Her house had been blown up several times.
Was God finally sending some good luck her way?
"Yes, yes, the evidence. Of course, no problem." Charlotte's smile widened slightly. She smiled like a robot learning how to look human.
"Not just the Joker Gang. I have evidence against many criminal organizations... Heaven knows why you humans can't keep your hands clean when doing bad things."
"Oh, I mean *us* humans. Right, *us* humans." Charlotte Richards timely corrected her slip of the tongue, her tone possessing a strange flatness.
Fortunately, Lois didn't notice the oddity in the "you humans" phrasing.
She was already dizzy from this windfall of an exclusive.
Lois was an experienced investigative journalist who had exposed countless scandals, but she had never encountered a situation where a top lawyer took the initiative to deliver evidence.
Was this a sudden awakening? A desire to turn over a new leaf? Despite her confusion, Lois didn't ask. A journalist only needs the news; they don't need to know *why* someone is providing it.
This was an unwritten rule of the industry.
"Thank you, ma'am. Thank you for your contribution to society and for your trust in me. I will surely apply for the best witness protection for you." This was a powerful guarantee; even a promise from special forces wouldn't carry as much weight. Just as Lois reached for the file bag.
"Wait."
Charlotte suddenly pressed down on the documents.
"This is a deal."
The lawyer's eyes flashed with golden light.
"You need to promise me one thing."
She began to show her true colors.
The lawyer spoke with a tone of condescending superiority, as if she weren't talking to a mortal, but looking down on a colony of ants.
Lois frowned slightly.
But she maintained her professional smile.
"Do you have other concerns? Don't worry, gang retaliation won't be an issue. Perhaps you've researched this, but I have a record of never failing to protect a witness."
Lois's hand hovered in the air. She was eager to receive the evidence. She assumed the sudden stop was due to hesitation.
However.
"No, I'm not worried about that. I just want you to..." Just as Charlotte was about to speak, the office door was violently pushed open. Lucifer, panting, charged toward Charlotte.
His suit was messy, his tie crooked. He reached Charlotte in three strides and grabbed her wrist, dragging her away without a word.
"Sorry, we have something to discuss."
Lucifer tried to maintain his elegance, but his family's "embarrassing secret" couldn't be revealed. Lois watched in stunned silence as the stranger dragged her interviewee into the restroom.
Before the door closed.
She vaguely heard the lawyer say:
"Hi, long time no see, my son."
Charlotte was also surprised by Lucifer's appearance. She watched as he locked the door and then walked to the sink to turn on all the faucets.
"Cut the hypocrisy, Mom."
Lucifer scrutinized the Goddess of Creation occupying this human shell with distrust.
He could naturally see her essence, so his voice was low and dangerous. His shadow on the wall twisted into the shape of a devil.
"Oh? Hypocrisy?" Charlotte—or rather, the Goddess occupying the shell—tilted her head. This overly youthful gesture looked terrifying on an elite lawyer.
At least it did to Lucifer. Charlotte looked at him, her lips curling into a familiar smile. Her tone was so soft it made Lucifer's skin crawl.
"You approached Superman's wife. You must want to kill Lois, turn Superman dark, and destroy the world, right?" Lucifer's gaze swept over Charlotte.
His eyes held vigilance, anger, and a trace of indescribable, complex emotion.
"It seems you still don't know me well enough."
Charlotte sighed softly, her tone laced with a hint of grievance. "Then again, it's been so many years, and you haven't visited me once. You even sent your little lackey to torture me."
There was no anger in her voice, only a sense of resentment—like an elderly mother neglected by her son for years who finally sees her child only to be met with coldness and suspicion.
This made Lucifer even more uneasy.
"No! Don't be so friendly!" He was almost shouting. "You definitely have some scheme!"
"Yes, of course I have a scheme." Charlotte admitted it frankly, even with a hint of pride. "I am the world's first Goddess. Your cleverness came from me."
Lucifer actually felt relieved upon hearing this.
"Good. Then what exactly do you want to do? Why provide Lois with that evidence? Don't tell me the Goddess of Creation suddenly wants to be a champion of justice."
He rubbed his hands together. His mind was filled with the super-conspiracies his mother might be implementing. Her answer made him feel like things were returning to his control and expectations.
Lucifer still firmly believed in his conspiracy theories.
The air in the restroom was subtle.
Lucifer's back was against the tile wall. The cold sensation seeped through his shirt but couldn't quench the throbbing vein in his temple. Charlotte—or rather, his Goddess mother—was standing before the mirror, adjusting the collar of this human body, her fingers sliding suggestively over the collarbone.
"My plan is flawless." The corner of Charlotte's mouth hooked into a hair-raising arc, while her reflection in the mirror maintained the "perfect" smile an elite lawyer should have.
However, the deliberate imitation made the smile look unsettling—the kind most normal people wouldn't dare look at.
"I am the world's first Goddess. My Morningstar, your cleverness comes from me." Charlotte admitted it again with pride, making Lucifer's eyelid twitch.
"Fine. What exactly are you trying to do?" Lucifer spoke through gritted teeth. He was even worried that his relationship with the Detective might suffer because of his mother's appearance.
"Son, don't you understand? My goal is simple." Charlotte revealed a mysterious smile. "I need to become best friends with that human woman out there, and then..."
She paused deliberately, her eyes full of anticipation.
"And then you'll use that to implement your grand plan to destroy the multiverse." Lucifer interjected immediately, his voice full of sarcasm.
"Of course not."
Charlotte rolled her eyes, giving her "insane" son a suspicious look. Then she spoke. "I just want her to order Ian Kent to sleep with me."
The Goddess's high heels tapped a crisp rhythm on the floor. She extended a finger with nude polish and drew a glowing flowchart in the air.
"First, I have to become best friends with that human woman... that way, she'll help me order Ian Kent. Aside from you, no normal boy could refuse an order from his mother." Charlotte thought her plan was brilliant; she seemed to possess an excessive amount of honesty.
"This woman's figure is quite good. Perhaps I can try sleeping with Ian Kent's mother first—I've heard that human women control the world by sleeping with others." The Goddess proudly puffed out her chest, the buttons on her lawyer suit groaning under the pressure.
Lucifer's expression looked as if someone had stuffed his mouth with lemons soaked in Michael's spit. He stood there, pressed against the wall in sheer horror, watching his mother start feeling up this human body's rear.
She even squeezed the chest on the spot, making Lucifer wish he never had to touch that part of a human ever again. He covered his eyes.
"Stop! Stop! The last thing I want is to discuss this topic with you! This is a nightmare! This is Hell! It's like I'm back in Hell all over again!"
Lucifer's voice was very loud.
He really hadn't expected it.
His bastard father was right.
His mother's "evil scheme" was actually something that absurd!
This was harder for "Lu-three-year-old" to accept than her wanting to destroy the universe!
A bizarre silence filled the air. Shattered mirror fragments hovered in mid-air, each reflecting Charlotte's interested expression as she examined her new body.
Suddenly.
"Knock, knock, knock~"
Three hesitant knocks came from the door.
"Uh... 'First Goddess' and 'Morningstar' and whatever... Since you're so powerful, you probably know I'm still out here with my ear pressed against the door, right?"
Lois's voice came through the door.
The weirdness of her tone surpassed even the weird atmosphere inside the restroom.
...
On the resilient site of the Kent home.
The wooden house that had been cozy just a day ago was now a pile of charred beams emitting blue smoke. Clark Kent stood before the ruins, the throbbing in his temple matching Lucifer's.
"So, let me get this straight. You're saying that while I wasn't looking, you took a stroll through Hell, gave yourself a higher seniority over Bruce, and encountered a 'rotten peach blossom' (unwanted romance)?" The veins on Clark's forehead were dancing.
His expression was beyond odd.
He stared dead at the teenager before him. "You just wanted to be a friendly fellow 'patient' with a super goddess, but that goddess wants to be your 'bedfellow'?"
Superman's mental fortitude was strong; he had built up a lot of psychological defense, but after hearing Ian's "Adventures in Hell," he still felt his defenses weren't enough.
"Yes, that's how it is. I didn't want this to happen, but that super goddess seems to think she can rediscover the taste of first love through me."
"Blame my damn charm." Ian was also extremely annoyed. He had run away precisely because he sensed something was wrong. The Lady of Darkness had previously mentioned he had the "scent of a young God," which was likely the key issue.
"So the situation is..." Clark repeated mechanically. "This goddess is looking for you all over the world, and you suspect this is a... warning from her ex-husband?"
It was hard to imagine such a soap-opera plot occurring in real life.
Clark had faced countless crises in his life—General Zod, Doomsday, Darkseid—but none made the Man of Steel feel as weird as he did now.
"Probably?"
Ian sheepishly kicked a piece of charcoal. Normal gas leaks don't result in such perfect ruins, not to mention their new house hadn't even been connected to gas yet. A gust of wind blew, kicking up charred pages of the *Daily Planet*—those were Lois's treasured Pulitzer Prize special reports.
No one knew if this was another omen.
"This super goddess's husband is also a super god?" Superman's iconic gentle voice now sounded as if it had been radiated by Kryptonite, carrying a sense of weak, powerless negativity.
He couldn't help it.
He could tell from Ian's reaction that even Ian was feeling panicked—an emotion that had never appeared even when Ian caused massive trouble before.
Clark wanted to know exactly how big of a mess Ian had made. Ian hesitated, not wanting to be too direct, so he used a subtle way of expressing it.
"Let's put it this way... Dad, have you heard of Catholicism or Christianity?" Ian's Adam's apple bobbed. He looked down at his shoes, his voice as quiet as a mosquito's buzz.
Clark suddenly felt like a Kryptonian's super-hearing was malfunctioning.
It had to be!
Then.
Under Clark's widening eyes.
Ian continued talking to the ground. "If my chastity isn't guarded, your seniority in those religions... would become very, very high."
He tried his best to make his voice sound steady and tried to look on the bright side. However, even if his meaning wasn't perfectly clear, Clark's super-brain functioned rarely fast.
A bizarre silence followed.
The crickets in the green belt seemed to go silent simultaneously. On the distant highway, a pickup truck suddenly had a tire blowout; the driver's cursing was exceptionally clear in the silence.
"??????"
A drop of cold sweat slid down Clark's temple.
Then a second drop.
A third.
One drop after another.
Time passed indefinitely.
Clark swallowed hard.
He silently pulled out his phone.
His dialing speed was faster than the human eye could capture.
"Clark, what is it?"
The "Gotham raspy voice" answered. On the other end, Bruce Wayne was adjusting a new wheelchair in the Batcave. In the background, Alfred was marveling that Bruce's wheelchair was faster than a sports car.
"Bruce, I've run into a bit of a problem."
Clark had no time to worry about the zero-to-sixty speed of Batman's wheelchair.
"A truly problematic problem. Just in case, I wanted to ask if the all-powerful you could invent something special."
His voice had a bone-chilling calm.
"Speak slowly, don't rush. What problem did you encounter?" Bruce Wayne's voice was surprised. He had never heard Clark's voice shake like this. On the other end, the sound of Bruce's breathing came through the sophisticated Batcave communication equipment, clear as if he were standing right there.
"Bruce, do you think you could..." Clark took a deep breath, making a huge request. "Can you invent a new universe? For our family to move into?"
He knew how absurd this request was.
But what could Superman do?
He was just an ordinary Superman!
There was a three-second silence on the other end.
"Clark." Bruce's voice rarely carried a hint of hesitation, along with a sense of sudden realization. "It seems you've finally lost it too?"
Batman clearly had a very specific judgment regarding the Kent family.
"It's like this..." Superman smiled bitterly at Ian, who was crouching on the charred doorframe drawing circles. His youngest son was using charcoal to doodle in the ruins.
At a glance, it looked like he was writing an apology letter.
Clark tried to use the most concise language to describe Ian's current situation. He didn't dare tell Bruce Wayne about Ian meeting the King of Hell.
After all, he still needed Bruce's wisdom. How could Superman let Bruce know who Ian had fooled? He only mentioned Ian's "crazy suitor" problem.
A "crack" sounded over the comm channel, likely due to a mistake in Batman's manual operation.
"If I weren't talking to you on the phone, I would think it was April Fools' Day." Bruce was also stunned. He was silent for a long time before offering a suggestion.
"The best response strategy right now is..." Bruce paused for a full five seconds before sharing his thought. "Clark, I think it's best if we don't contact each other again."
Clark's blue eyes widened.
"Bruce~ Seriously, I don't think Ian intentionally provoked this." His tone became more helpless as he continued to defend his son.
In fact, it really wasn't Ian's intention to cause trouble.
"I'm being very serious now." Batman's voice returned to its cold, logical tone. "Based on the situation you've described, keeping a distance from the Kent family is the most rational choice right now."
"I'll rearrange the League's duty roster. Of course, the fact that you're still alive means the other party doesn't want to go to extremes. Then the most feasible plan is to have Ian undergo a 'never-make-a-mistake' surgery. His own company has the latest medical equipment." Bruce's voice carried Batman's characteristic cold rationality.
"It's useless." Ian squeezed his head in front of the communicator, speaking with a touch of melancholy. "I'm too strong. That surgery would probably just make my body adapt to the environment."
"That 'thing' of mine would only grow back longer. That's because my body has always been very considerate; it would think I'm dissatisfied with the original length." Ian's words silenced Bruce again.
Just then.
Clark's phone suddenly rang with an unfamiliar ringtone. It was clear a new number was calling. Journalists usually chose dual-SIM phones.
Ian handed the phone back to his dad.
"It should be the work schedule for the second half of the year." Superman looked at the caller ID from his boss. He hesitated but decided to balance work even now.
He answered the phone.
After a series of "Okay, okay," "But," "However," and "Fine, I accept," Superman hung up. However, his expression and aura became somewhat less than ideal.
"What's wrong?"
Ian asked quickly.
"The Editor-in-Chief wants me to go to Africa to interview wild elephants..." Clark looked up at the sky, where a cloud shaped like an elephant happened to be drifting by.
"I hope it really is just an interview with elephants."
Clark sighed, not daring to mention if there was anything fishy about it.
He suddenly missed the simple days when he only had to deal with Doomsday. At least then, he didn't have to consider the family problem of "his future daughter-in-law might be a twice-divorced Goddess of Creation."
"Dammit." Ian felt terrible. He kicked a piece of charred wood, feeling speechless. Clearly, he was the victim, being targeted by an old lady at the age of fourteen.
"Go to school first. We'll think of a solution later."
Clark looked at his watch.
He paused and added: "Don't get too close to your female classmates. Based on your description of that super goddess's power, she could possess any girl you're familiar with."
This was definitely Super-Intelligence at work.
Superman would activate his Super-Intelligence in times of danger.
"I still have to go to school... Fine. I've always been clean and self-disciplined. I only want to give my first time to a girl who is only eighteen but is gentle, beautiful, and cultured."
"I know that one day, she will definitely appear in a world-renowned spotlight, wearing yoga pants and a tight suit, coming to marry me on seven-colored stockings!" Ian elongated his tone. His voice was very loud, booming, expressing his preference to God, hoping God wouldn't worry about him being undiscriminating.
God gave no response.
On the street, there was only the sound of his dad taking off for work. Ian burned a few more hand-written apology letters and letters of commitment. They miraculously turned into golden light and flew into the sky.
However.
God's voice and hints did not appear. Having no choice, Ian looked at the time and could only go to school for now, entrusting his super-brain to think of a countermeasure during class.
At school.
The other students were full of energy.
Ian, on the other hand, was utterly dejected.
He rested his chin on the desk, staring blankly at the Christmas countdown on the blackboard—"12 days until Christmas," with a crooked Santa Claus drawn next to the chalk letters.
"Hey, Ian, why do you look like a squirrel that's been struck by lightning today?" His seatmate, Madison, poked his arm with a pencil. "Didn't that explosion that happens at your house every morning wake you up?"
She seemed to know all about the explosions at Ian's house that occurred before dawn. The "no-crease" brain of the young witch only thought it might be a special alarm clock Ian was addicted to.
"I wish I were in a dream."
Ian replied listlessly.
"By the way, a weird woman came looking for you this morning."
Madison suddenly leaned in mysteriously.
Upon hearing this.
Ian's spine straightened instantly, and his desk let out a "creak" of protest.
"Wh-What kind of woman?" His voice suddenly jumped an octave, causing the students in the front row to turn around.
Madison pulled out a strawberry lip balm and applied it slowly, deliberately drawing out her words. "A demon who returned from the dead. Is that your lover from Hell, Ian?"
Truly bringing up the one thing he didn't want to hear.
Ian quickly covered her mouth.
"Don't talk nonsense! That's my respected and beloved Auntie! Auntie for life!" His voice was firm. Madison rolled her eyes as she was smothered.
The girl gasped for air after breaking free.
"What is wrong with you?"
She noticed that Ian's mental state was far from relaxed.
Ian didn't answer. He just propped up his small face and sighed. After a long time, under Madison's persistent questioning, he asked her a philosophical question.
"If a boy offended a petty Creator, how should that boy restore his image?" Ian stared at his interface.
Luckily, the position of Key NPC hadn't been revoked yet.
"I get it. So that's what it is! The solution is simple!"
Madison's blue eyes lit up instantly. She "rip-ped" a piece of homework paper, scribbled a line of large words, and "slap-ped" it down in front of Ian.
"You have a way?"
Ian looked over.
In the next moment, he went numb.
He froze like a frog struck by lightning.
On the paper, the words were clearly written: [GOD IS DEAD, IAN SHALL RISE].
"Ian, how about we rebel? Tonight, I'll find that tight-lipped old stonemason and have him carve hundreds of glowing stone tablets like this to hide in your factory, waiting for the angels to find them."
Madison was still rambling on.
Perhaps.
Ian's boldness and Super-Intelligence were just false myths.
Madison.
This fellow fourteen-year-old witch.
*She* was the true God of Ideas and God of Guts in this world.
***
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