A fine, pitter-patter of rain was falling.
Within the glowing miniature mirrors before Mistress Death, the "Metropolis Gambling God"—who believed all his life that the bigger the storm, the more expensive the fish—was online once again. This time, the roles were reversed; even Lucifer, previously the radical one, felt that Ian was being far too aggressive.
"Are you insane? Giving that old man children? You call this a reward?!" Lucifer was trying to persuade Ian to restrain his talent, but Ian had always been stone-deaf to such advice.
"As long as they have 88,888 babies in one go! As long as they're busy raising kids, I'll be safe! Those two will inevitably be unable to continue ruining my life!"
"It only requires a slight shudder from my big brother's shell to gain safety for the whole family. Any capitalist would take that bet! And I am a qualified capitalist!"
"Beyond reasonable! It's simply logical!" Ian felt he'd been enlightened by Lucifer. If Lucifer thought aphrodisiacs worked on the Primordial Duo bound to mortal shells, then the Pregnancy Potion he got from Big Brother Thanos would definitely work. Adding a pregnancy spell on top made it double insurance.
Under the sofa, Ian and Lucifer were squeezed together like two sardines in a tin, rustling as they peeked at the candlelight dinner between God and the Goddess of Creation outside. Seeing Ian's determined face, Lucifer's entire demonic being went numb.
"Eight. Eight at most... Don't be so ridiculous!" He tried to get Ian to meet him halfway, but Ian's survival instinct was surging in all the wrong places. He felt his plan was absolute genius—a way to solve the crisis once and for all.
"This is called strategic defense. Your father uses children to bind the marriage, and I obtain peace—in most cases, the lactation period and the estrus period don't coexist normally."
Ian felt this was the best way to dispel the Goddess's crush on him. He lowered his voice, his eyes fixed through the gap in the sofa—God, using Jonathan's body, was cutting steak for the Goddess. His movements were elegant to the point of being slightly affected.
"You call 88,888 children a 'lactation period'? That's a universal disaster!" Lucifer's eye twitched. He had finally met someone crazier than himself. The Lord of Hell could even see from Ian's suspicious gaze that the boy was worried about too many siblings fighting over god family inheritance. Was that a direction a normal brain would even focus on?
"Although I'm still short a good pen, I currently have a brilliant plan." Ian ignored Lucifer's protest and pulled out Ian's Lovely Grimoire from his robe.
"That thing can't affect my damned parents."
Lucifer watched as Ian flipped open the magic book that had fallen off the Source Wall. He noticed Ian was blocking his view, which only made him feel more uneasy.
"Why do you look so confident?"
Lucifer didn't know where Ian's mysterious confidence came from. He was just about to pretend to kick Ian away to see what he was writing when he found Ian suddenly looking up at him.
"Did this guy notice? No, he shouldn't be able to read my thoughts." Lucifer saw Ian's eyes glowing, and a sense of guilt had just begun to rise when something happened that he never could have anticipated in his entire life.
*Thump! Thump!*
In his Gambling God form, Ian was audacious enough to land two punches right on Lucifer's nose. A "Thump Thump" super combo, delivered for fear that one punch wouldn't be enough to draw blood. It was crisp, efficient, and lacked any sense of martial ethics.
Lucifer's bones let out an ear-grating muffled crack.
"Ow~~~"
Lucifer clutched his nose, not daring to let out a cry that was too loud. Tears welled up from the pain, and his devilish eyes instantly glowed with a crimson light. His eyes were red from pain—slightly less severe than purple.
"Ian Kent! Do you have any idea who you are attacking?!" He stared at Ian in disbelief. From childhood to now, even Michael had never dared to use a sneak attack to beat him like this.
"I imagine you don't want to see me become your stepfather, do you, Ian?" Ian's words instantly shut Lucifer's mouth. His expression shifted as his nose throbbed harder. Blood began to well up, flowing down his philtrum and dripping onto the worn carpet.
Ian didn't care at all about Lucifer's fury. He immediately pulled out a paper cup, placing it precisely under Lucifer's nose to catch a few drops of shimmering, bright red divine blood. Lucifer's eyes weren't as red as this blood.
"I... how could I be hurt?!" Lucifer's anger was instantly replaced by shock. He stared blankly at his own blood, unable to accept that his invincible shell had been damaged. He, the Fallen Angel Lucifer, the Lord of Hell, was bleeding from the fist of a mortal?!
This wasn't reasonable! Not scientific! Not demonic! Lucifer looked at Ian with suspicion. At this moment, an incredibly absurd thought popped into his head—could this boy also be his destined other half? After all, there weren't many beings who could make him bleed with just a fist.
The moment this thought appeared, Ian's [God Family Sexual Harassment Radar] went into a frantic alarm. While unscrewing the ink sac of his fountain pen, he quickly explained.
"Don't try to love me, and don't think about sleeping with me along with your mom. I just made that policewoman of yours happen to pass by our house while she was chasing a criminal."
Ian's [Writer] profession possessed such authority—the power to master coincidences, turning accidental phenomena into echoes of reality and the soul.
To an extent, Ian could dominate the minds of every creature, making them act according to his will, while they would find it hard to notice and believe those were their own true thoughts.
The stories written by the [Writer] would become reality. Of course, if the story lacked logic and pushed events forward with vague reasons like "somehow" or "strangely," the consumption of Ian's [Writing Power] would increase. Because of this, he naturally couldn't anchor lives that were much, much stronger than himself.
However, Lucifer's destined lover, the policewoman, was just a mortal. This was a classic "CEO and Commoner" story. Lucifer appeared as the "King of Hell," using supernatural powers to lure hearts, while the policewoman, Chloe, was the first human unaffected by his "devilish instincts."
This, of course, attracted Lucifer's interest to the point where he fell for her and defined a weakness for himself: losing his invulnerability when near her. He hoped to have a vulnerable side in front of her, keeping his identity as the Demon Lord hidden. Ian had seized this opportunity to obtain some useful divine blood ink.
"What? Detective Chloe is nearby?" A love-struck Great Demon Lord was like this; Lucifer clutched his nose, his mind no longer on Ian's actions at all.
"Oh! I have to ask if she needs my help..." He instantly forgot the pain, stuffed a wad of toilet paper into his nose, pulled out his phone, and began typing frantically.
Ian was a kind-hearted Ian. He didn't remind Lucifer that the toilet paper under the sofa came from Jordan. It was stained with sin.
(T/N:- 💀 I'm dead 🤣🤣🤣)
The teenager, possessing such high emotional intelligence, concentrated on drawing Lucifer's divine blood into the fountain pen. The blood swirled in the ink sac, emitting a pulse of ancient power.
"Perfect."
Ian grinned, gripping the pen, ready to begin his "Writer's Operation." He kept in mind the basic rule of not directly anchoring God and the Goddess of Creation. He didn't dare describe them head-on, but if he wrote a story about [Charlotte and Jonathan], what did that have to do with God and the Goddess?
[Charlotte Richards felt her throat go dry. The red wine from the candlelight dinner made her feel slightly warm. She stood up and walked toward the kitchen fridge. She opened the freezer compartment and took out a bottle of transparent liquid labeled "Ian's Special·Divine Pregnancy Water." However, she didn't know this was a forbidden potion specifically refined for deities by Ian's newly sworn big brother.]
[Charlotte Richards took it for an ordinary drink and downed it. At that moment, the aphrodisiac effect Lucifer had mixed into the dinner earlier kicked in. Divine radiance exploded within her body, resonating with the pregnancy water. Instantly, she became pregnant with 88,888 placentas, which turned into children the moment they hit the ground.]
[If Gourds can turn into children, placentas certainly can too, so this is very reasonable—the crying of every child as they hit the ground awakened her maternal love.]
[Jonathan and the Goddess looked at each other, forced to abandon their dinner and begin preparing for their ten-thousand-year parenting plan. Thus, Ian Kent finally obtained freedom and peace.]
His world-shaking talent was at work. Ian concentrated his writing power under the light rain outside, writing a [Short Story After the Rain] in his magic book.
The handwriting writhed on the paper like a living thing. With every word placed, Ian's face grew a shade paler. By the 88th word, his skin began to crack; by the 100th word, his hair turned ash-white; when the 500 words were finished, he was as shriveled as if he had tens of thousands of wives.
Only his eyes still flashed with a strange light.
[Berserker Experience +11]
[Berserker Experience +13]
[Berserker Experience +14]
The entire short story was completed in one go, and the Writer's authority began to take effect. However, even so, due to some of the descriptions, as Ian wrote the final period, he instantly felt his writing power and magic drained in a single moment.
His skin grew dry, his muscles atrophied, and his eye sockets became deep. He became like a mummified corpse recently unearthed.
"Writer... Master... I've succeeded!"
Ian lay paralyzed under the sofa. His mouth, however, let out a joyous, raspy sound. Even though the voice was short of breath, as if he might drop dead at any moment, it didn't affect his relief at all. The Ian, sucked into a mummified state, lay under the sofa laughing like a mummy.
"How have you succeeded?" Lucifer was also dumbfounded. He also understood modifying reality, but his authority was below God's. He knew how difficult it was to influence God; even he would have to use his full strength to cause even a slight effect.
"This is strength!" Ian tremblingly pulled out a bottle of veterinary growth hormone, with "Caw-Caw Meat Growth" printed on the bottle. He firmly believed in it and downed the entire bottle.
[Savage Tyrant Experience +6]
[Savage Tyrant Experience +7]
[Savage Tyrant Experience +5]
...
As for the meat-growing effect of the medicine, Ian, who had begun gorging on Snickers bars, didn't know yet. But judging by the feedback from [Savage Tyrant], the medicine was indeed powerful.
Since discovering that disinfectant could also increase experience, Ian's gaze was no longer limited to high-priced strengthening potions. He could always find many cost-effective leveling artifacts at the veterinary station.
"Wait! The source of power for your reality anchoring is—my divine power?!" After replying to the policewoman's message, Lucifer finally realized something was wrong.
The youngest son of the Kent family seemed to be exercising the traditional skill of this [Sweet Home]. Just like Superman thinking with all his might, the current Lucifer was also helping Ian with all his might.
He discovered that Ian's [Reality Anchoring] had trickily utilized his power. The aphrodisiac was his, the divine blood was his, and Ian's writing was actually using his existence as "ink." Then it completed the alteration of reality.
This was truly difficult for Lucifer to evaluate.
"Oh, this is the realm of wisdom." Ian spoke weakly but proudly. "Why do you think I punched your nose? If I didn't let this mortal pen suck some divine blood to evolve, how could I write a story of this level?"
He actually had a point.
"..."
Lucifer's expression was incredibly colorful. He opened his mouth, wanting very much to invite Ian to be a demon lord right now. However, before Lucifer could decide how to offer Ian a cigarette, the story outside the sofa began to play out.
"I'm a bit thirsty."
Charlotte suddenly put down her fork. As expected, Charlotte's human body felt thirsty, and the Goddess residing inside naturally needed to comply with natural laws. The instinct of this body made her naturally stand up and walk toward the fridge.
Seeing Charlotte with her back turned, the elegant composure of God-version Jonathan vanished instantly. The omniscient, omnipotent Lord might not care about most things, but at this moment, the Lord really cared about the things Ian had written.
God-version Jonathan was a bit flustered. After confirming Charlotte had entered the kitchen, he quickly dipped his fingertip in red wine and wrote invisible text on the table.
[Ian doesn't know that pregnancy water, when kept in cold storage, will completely lose its effect and become an ordinary drink. Furthermore, his application of pregnancy magic is extremely poor.]
[Only failure, no success.]
There were no long-winded arguments, nor various twists of logic—just a simple definition. The handwriting appeared and was then wiped away by God-version Jonathan's finger.
At the same time, under the sofa, Ian was slowly restoring his flesh and blood through various technologies and nutrients. Suddenly, he perceived something, and a sense of desolation, mixed with a bit of utter defeat, surged into his heart.
"The sneak attack didn't succeed... Dammit! No, even if taken alone, my flesh and blood are still magnificent!" Ian experienced what it meant to fail at the final hurdle.
Charlotte had already finished the bottle of super pregnancy water. She licked her lips contentedly. "Tastes like strawberry soda."
The Goddess's abdomen showed no change at all; instead, she let out a long burp. Ian stared as she walked back. The Goddess was still normal. His last shred of hope—that she had the belly of a [Grand Vizier] and could flatly hold 80,000+ children—was completely shattered.
[Young writers still need practice]
God smiled toward the sofa. A line of text appeared on the floor before Ian—the contest between the two writers ended with the old writer's victory.
"..."
Ian looked at the text and played the part of a little mute. The only thing he could be glad about was that even though he failed, he earned a cup of divine blood ink. Ultimately, he could force it to count as not a loss. It was just a backtrack from 9,980 consecutive wins to 9,979—thinking this way, the Metropolis Gambling God was still in a winning state.
Outside the sofa, the candlelight flickered. God-Jonathan pretended nothing had happened, telling outdated jokes from time to time. He looked very comfortable, even though the Goddess chewed her food expressionlessly throughout.
"Do you know? The reason humans are beautiful..."
God-Jonathan wanted to perform some popular science behavior. The Goddess suddenly interrupted him, her suspicious eyes staring straight at him.
"Why do you talk so much? Do you want to sleep with me too?" The Goddess's words were shocking; it seemed that after coming to the human world once, she had learned the human way of reproduction and mating behavior.
"..."
The dinner knife in God-Jonathan's hand fell into the plate with a *Clang*.
"Hmm, I see." The Goddess tilted her head, suddenly pulled at her collar, looked down at the two large steamed buns inside, and then nodded as if enlightened. "I understand. You humans like bodies like this. I can comprehend it." She put down her fork and stood up. "However, child, if you want to sleep with me, you'll have to get in line behind Ian."
What an explosive statement. Ian, under the sofa, wanted to cut off his own ears.
"?????"
God-Jonathan was also somewhat dumbfounded. He watched Charlotte Richards walk toward the door. "Where are you going?" God-Jonathan stood up as well.
"Now I have to find my new friend to see if she was eaten by wild humans on her way to buy wine—I remember you humans like cannibalism." The Goddess patted the non-existent dust on her skirt and left through the door. God opened his mouth as if to say something, but the Goddess's figure had already vanished into the night.
On the spot, at the dining table, only half a steak remained, along with a stifled Creator.
"Dammit, looks like my medicine didn't work either." Lucifer crawled out through gritted teeth, brushing off the dust that actually existed on his suit along with Ian's footprints.
"Hi, Samael." God-Jonathan sat on the chair, throwing away a napkin somewhat gloomily.
"Don't call me that name!" Lucifer flew into a rage instantly. The chandelier in the dining room began to shake violently—it was a large-scale earthquake of minor magnitude.
"Oh, right, you've changed your name yourself now." God slowly forked a piece of broccoli. He didn't eat it, but watched the fully cooked broccoli grow and bloom on his fork. "You didn't stop your mother's ridiculous behavior." He seemed to be assigning blame, but was actually sighing.
"I had a plan. It's all because of you—your appearance ruined everything. You've always been like this, never admitting it, only knowing how to shift the blame onto others."
"Just like sin and Hell; it all originates from your creation. But who realizes that? No one! Everyone only blames me for the bad things!" Lucifer's skin began to turn red. Horns and fangs revealed themselves in an instant, and the true face of the devil loomed.
"Stop making that face as if everything is irrelevant! I'll give you a chance—apologize to me! And make amends for all the crimes you've committed!" His finger almost poked God's nose.
God put down his fork. Metal and porcelain collided with a crisp sound. "I thought after so much time, you would have become a bit more mature." He looked up, his eyes flowing with light like a galaxy. "But looking at it now, you are as disappointing as ever." The image of a stern father was very apparent at this moment.
Only Lucifer didn't buy into that act. "You stripped my glory! You cast me into the abyss! You denied me peace for eternity! APOLOGIZE!!!" Lucifer roared, the sound wave seemingly about to shatter the entire dimension. Hellfire swirled around him.
But God raised a hand and stabilized everything. He stood up and calmly walked in front of Lucifer. The two supreme beings stood face to face, the space distorting and deforming because of Lucifer's rage. This should have been an epic confrontation—if the background sound wasn't the *Critch-Critch* sound of digging.
*Thump, Thump, Thump...* A dull digging sound came from under the sofa.
"..." God frowned.
"..." Lucifer's mouth twitched.
The sound continued, like some earth-boring machine frantically advancing.
"Sigh!" God sighed, turned, and lifted the sofa.
Underneath was empty, except for a bottomless hole with several obvious claw marks around the edge. Ian's voice, humming a little tune, could be faintly heard from deep within.
"I'm a little pangolin~ diggy-diggy-dig~"
The voice grew farther and farther away. Clearly, Pangolin Ian had already escaped through the earth.
"..."
God was the oldest life form and the creator of words and language, but at this moment, he felt he had finally found something he couldn't do. That was how to use language to describe his mood and Ian's actions.
At that moment, Lucifer suddenly let out a sneer.
"See that? He's not afraid of me, but he's afraid of you—afraid you'll use his skin to sleep with Mom. You are the truly treacherous, cunning, evil, and malicious existence." He pointed to his punched, bleeding nose as if it were some honor that could be used to strike at God.
"Oh?" God looked at the tunnel in silence, then suddenly raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
"Holy shit! Why can't I dig all of a sudden?! Minecraft? Did I hit unbreakable bedrock?!" Deep underground, near the Earth's core, Ian's exclamation immediately drifted up.
"Speaking of treacherous and cunning—we haven't settled the account for you drugging the food just now." God-Jonathan straightened his clothes and turned back to Lucifer once again. The Demon King's expression instantly froze. He stared at his petty father and swallowed.
The air felt a bit stagnant. In the living room, only the slight sound of the flickering candlelight remained.
Lucifer, due to his self-perception, maintained his hideous demonic form: gnarled horns, exposed fangs, and a nose that was still bleeding after the tissue was pulled out. Blood slid down his mouth, dripping onto the expensive wool carpet like dark red flowers. Outside, there were sirens; perhaps the policewoman hadn't left yet.
No one knew what little story Ian had written in the magic book.
"My agreed-upon time with this child is almost up." God-Jonathan was the first to break the silence. His gaze fell on Lucifer, his voice calm but carrying an indisputable power.
At this moment, Lucifer's [Paranoia of Paternal Persecution] was triggered once again. The other's gaze and words made Lucifer's brain spin. It was like being stuffed into a drum washing machine; various absurd thoughts surged frantically.
After a moment.
"No... this shell of mine is mass-produced; you can't use it! You have too much light..." He couldn't help but take a few steps back, his face written with terrifying alarm.
"Don't look at me like that! We are father and son! Father and son! You can't use my body to sleep with Mom!" The terrified Lucifer, thanks to his devil-flavored imagination, finally admitted he was God's child. Since he could play along with Ian, he certainly wasn't someone without talent.
"??????"
God-Jonathan rolled his eyes, a look that seemed to be observing a hopeless moron. "If you don't need your brain, hide it in Hell." He took a deep breath, as if suppressing an urge.
"I am telling you, my agreement to use this child's body is about to expire, and I will not break it. Therefore, I also hope you remember what you promised me."
"Send your mother back, whether it's to Heaven or Hell." God-Jonathan's voice lowered, though because Jonathan's throat wasn't great, it wasn't as deep as Batman's. As soon as the words fell, Jonathan's body suddenly glowed with a brilliant white light, then collapsed on the sofa like a doll that had lost its power.
God might have been so angered by Lucifer's demonic imagination that he simply went offline.
"Crazy old man! Perverted old man!"
Lucifer stood there, staring at the unconscious Jonathan for a moment, then suddenly turned his head. His sight pierced through layers of dimensions, locking directly onto a certain peeping lens.
"Don't let me catch you having recorded that." He raised his hand and made a twisting motion.
The next moment, in the Dimension Crack·Death's Studio, a mirror before Mistress Death suddenly turned to static. Lucifer's threatening expression vanished instantly.
"Who cares about watching him? In terms of narcissism, Ian is first, and Lucifer is his perennial runner-up." Mistress Death curled her lip, turning her attention to another mirror showing Ian.
In the frame, the boy was deep underground, frantically gnawing on a hard rock comparable to Minecraft bedrock, muttering things like "well-matched opponents." Her gaze remained glued to the mirror, watching Ian tirelessly digging through the modified soil and stone like a groundhog.
Just as Mistress Death was watching with great interest, the woman in the white dress—the Lord calling herself "Paradox"—suddenly spoke.
"If you keep peeping on him like this, he'll prove for a fact that you have a crush on him." Lady Paradox's voice was as cold as wind chimes, seemingly offering Mistress Death a reminder.
Mistress Death paused, then burst out laughing.
"Oh? It seems you know my little believer well." Mistress Death's voice was like silk sliding over a blade. She slowly drifted away from the mirror, her black skirt moving without wind. This incarnation of a concept finally looked at the other, sizing up Lady Paradox. A few strands of starlight slid from her hair, turning into fragments of souls the moment they touched the floor.
"You seem a bit special... Time Lord, what business do you have with me?" She suddenly leaned in close, her cold breath condensing into frost on the veil. Mistress Death, with her black-gloved fingertips, lifted the edge of her umbrella, revealing the exquisite jawline the white-dressed woman was covering—there was an almost invisible golden crack there. It looked eerie no matter how you viewed it.
The umbrella tilted slightly. Lady Paradox looked up, her brilliant golden pupils revealed beneath the veil. Countless broken timelines were reflected within, each one seemingly reorganizing and annihilating as she blinked.
Seeing this scene, Mistress Death's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips curling into a playful arc.
"As expected, it seems my eyes are still sharp." Her voice was like silk over a blade, carrying a bit of laziness and danger. "You are different from other Time Lords."
She floated a step closer, her black veil skirt moving without wind, surrounded by countless sleeping souls. Mistress Death reached out, her fingertips wanting to gently lift the white-dressed woman's chin. Her cold nails almost pierced the thin layer of the veil.
However, there was clearly a reason why the other party carried an umbrella indoors; not everyone in this world sincerely wishes to never grow tall. Mistress Death's pale fingers were just about to touch her when a barrier appeared, preventing her from truly contacting the lady who was suspected of posing with her indoor umbrella.
This was clearly the effect of that umbrella.
"So many little gadgets. Boring." Mistress Death withdrew her finger. Her voice suddenly lowered to a whisper. "Tell me, at the end of time... did I send you off, or did you witness my fading?"
Mistress Death saw some of the other's situation, but the other party did not answer the question. The woman in white remained silent for a moment, the expression under her veil unchanged.
"If you want to know your own end, you can ask your brothers." Lady Paradox didn't answer Mistress Death's question, only tilting her head slightly to avoid her gaze.
"I came here for Ian Kent." She raised her hand, her slender fingertip pointing at the small mirror hovering nearby. In the mirror, Ian had already started digging again.
He had used his wit to find another path. All roads lead to Gotham; Master Ian was going to find his favorite nephew to craft an invincible pair of iron pants—the kind that could protect against sneak attacks from the Goddess of Creation. Such a treasure could only be created by Bat-Wisdom.
"Oh? For my little believer?" Mistress Death gave a light laugh, but her gaze fell on the umbrella. Her eyes were thoughtful, as if reading something from the light flowing between the ribs.
From beginning to end, the white-dressed woman's umbrella remained steady above her head, with obscure and difficult runes flowing on its surface, as if containing the most brilliant power of a technological crystallization at its end.
"Yes."
The next moment, the woman in white looked up again, her exquisite face faintly visible beneath the veil. her gaze pierced toward Mistress Death like a sharp sword.
"I am here to have you revoke your protection over him—Ian Kent needs to meet his destined death." The Time Lord's tone clearly wasn't that of someone looking to negotiate. It was more like a forceful demand.