Lady Paradox's tone carried a certain finality. There was no room for negotiation, as if she were simply stating an inevitable conclusion.
"You also have the responsibility to guide him toward his end. You are Death itself; you should not have your own preferences," the woman spoke in a low voice, the shadow beneath her umbrella swaying slightly. It was as if the afterimages of countless timelines were constantly surging and surfacing within it.
"Heh, a lecture?" Mistress Death's smile gradually cooled.
The temperature within the studio plummeted to the freezing point. Biological specimens on the display shelves began to tremble uneasily, and the eyeballs suspended in glass jars all turned in unison toward the woman in the white dress.
"You want to give Ian Kent a 'destined death'?" Mistress Death repeated the phrase softly, her fingertip brushing over her lips as if tasting a foreign flavor. "My dear, you seem to have misunderstood one thing..."
"Who shall live and who shall die has never been yours to decide. Standing here, who do you think you are talking to?" Her voice was no longer tinged with lazy sweetness; it transformed into a deep bass roar of ten thousand souls screaming at once.
Mistress Death's black veil skirt billowed without wind as the concept of Death swept forward like a black tide, rushing straight at the Time Lord Paradox.
In Mistress Death's domain, all life eventually ends, and all existence eventually returns to nothingness—she is not a killer; she is the manifestation of the End.
"The erosion of death, is it?" The woman in white's pupils contracted slightly, but her figure remained as steady as a rock. The runes on the umbrella's surface flashed frantically, resisting the encroachment of the power of death.
The air between them began to warp as the laws of Time and Death clashed violently. Mistress Death didn't use her full strength; she was testing the waters.
As expected, the moment those manifested concepts touched the edge of the umbrella, they turned to ash. The shadow cast by the umbrella seemed to be a world of its own, isolating the concept of death outside. That seemingly ordinary black long-handled umbrella was, in fact, Lady Paradox's greatest reliance.
Mistress Death's attack was like a clay ox entering the sea, swallowed, distorted, and reversed by the "Paradox Space" under the umbrella.
Her power failed to touch Paradox; instead, it was reflected back as a "Power of Resurrection," causing a long-dead character in a broken mirror to snap their eyes open.
"Tch." Mistress Death's face grew colder. "Fast on your feet."
As she spoke, she raised her hand again and swiped down the lucky soul's eyelids, sending the briefly resurrected person back to where they belonged.
"Calm down. I hope you can calm down." The Time Lord's voice maintained a forced tranquility. "Believe me, I am absolutely not here to provoke you. I am merely doing what I must—fulfilling a promise." She slightly raised the edge of her umbrella, revealing her exquisite jawline, where a golden crack flowed with temporal energy.
"It seems you think you can persuade me?" Mistress Death suddenly laughed. "Time Lord... you are using power that does not belong to your kind. It may temporarily block my influence, but you and I will eventually meet at the end of your life."
She didn't strike again. She had sensed the power represented by that umbrella; it contained many universes and timelines, acting as a moat that blocked her invitation.
"My life is stuck in a bug, so that moment will never come," Lady Paradox spoke softly, her tone making it impossible to tell if she was boasting or sighing.
"Oh?" The studio walls began to melt, revealing the endless void behind them where countless spirits slept. Mistress Death floated to the same height as Paradox. She tilted her head slightly, a playful light flashing in her pitch-black pupils. "Interesting."
Mistress Death didn't deny the other's claim. Perhaps she had observed something; her fingertip lightly traced the surface of the umbrella, leaving a scorched mark that emitted black smoke.
"I can feel that you fear Ian Kent, yet you hold no hatred for him, and yet you insist he must die... It really is a contradiction." Her voice suddenly took on a mocking edge. "If you want him dead, you shouldn't ask me. You should go to the being who truly decides everything. What? Do you lack the courage to face our Creator?"
Mistress Death's tone was incredibly playful. The shadow under the umbrella swayed slightly. Paradox's golden pupils flashed behind the veil as grains of time-sand fell from the crack at the corner of her eye.
"This is a promise with only one ending." Her voice was as calm as if she were reading a predetermined fact.
Mistress Death suddenly leaned in, close enough to see the foundation makeup congealing on the other's eyelashes. "A promise with whom?" Her breath formed frost on the veil. "Could it be that old man who's always patching the timeline?" Mistress Death sneered.
The woman in white silently turned the umbrella handle, and projections of countless universes appeared faintly on the umbrella's surface. "You cannot stop me." She finally spoke, her voice carrying an echo. "Before long, God will disappear. And I will step to the front to personally deliver Ian Kent to his destined death."
The tip of the umbrella suddenly erupted with blinding golden light, dispelling the influence in Mistress Death's words. The glass in the studio shattered simultaneously, with countless shards hovering in the air, each reflecting a different scene of death.
Ian struggling at the edge of a black hole, being pierced by a Kryptonite spear, dissipating in a temporal paradox... Mistress Death suddenly reached out and crushed the nearest shard into dust.
"My dear, have you forgotten who the manifestation of Death is?" Her black lace glove was covered in sparkling fragments as she looked down upon the Time Lord with a tone that brooked no question.
"Regarding your request, what if I say no?" Mistress Death's hand suddenly pressed down on the other's umbrella. The startled Lady Paradox let out a muffled groan, but the umbrella handle remained steady.
The studio seemed to fall into endless darkness. Only the umbrella continued to emit a faint light, illuminating Paradox's jawline. She looked up slightly, her golden pupils like two miniature suns in the dark. "I know you will agree," she said, placing her left hand gently over Mistress Death's heart. "After we have gone to the end of time together."
Before the intrigued Death could speak, the woman in white suddenly shouted upward. "TARDIS! Now!"
The words had barely left her lips when the blue police box on the ceiling suddenly lit up with a piercing glare. The rotating light released massive ripples of force. The entire Death Studio began to vibrate violently; the specimen jars exploded one by one, their shards hovering in the air, reflecting the two women's confrontation.
"You dare—" Mistress Death's roar was drowned out by the hum of dimensional leaping.
The British police box projected countless golden ribbons of light, wrapping around the space like a spiderweb. With a final flash, the studio and the police box leaped together. The box, the shop, Mistress Death, Paradox... everything vanished. The dimensional gap returned to silence, as if no conversation had ever taken place.
The figures of the two supreme beings were completely wiped from the sight of all observers.
...
Gotham · Inside the Batcave
Clark's pupils contracted suddenly; he had lost his view into the dimensional gap. Not only that, but after withdrawing his gaze, he felt a dull ache in his eyes from overusing them.
"They're gone. I can't hear what they're saying... but those two women had a dispute, and now they've vanished from my sight. They seem to have performed some kind of spatial jump." Clark's hearing hadn't evolved to that level yet, so it was essentially like watching a silent movie—one with a limited angle that prevented him from using his lip-reading talent.
"My tracking didn't work either." Bruce looked up from the console, his fingertips sliding quickly across the holographic projections. Dozens of monitoring screens, based on the science of Superman's biology, flashed with "Signal Lost" warnings. He fell into thought and performed another set of operations.
"It's not invisibility. The force field ripples show they may have left this universe." Bruce Wayne stopped his fruitless search as his voice trailed off. Current Bat-technology was still insufficient.
"Clark, you need to find a way to evolve your eyes again." Bruce knew that upgrading Bat-tech in the short term was a hassle. The best way was to supervise and remind Superman to evolve. Just as Superman treated Batman as his external brain, wasn't Superman also a part of Batman's Bat-tech? It was as they say: that's what best friends are for.
"With great power comes great responsibility," Bruce said shamelessly, stealing Ian's famous quote. "Since you can see the dimensional gap, you should be able to see further—like all multiverses, or even beyond the multiverse into the fictional universe drawn in the comics Ian mentions. Then, I will acknowledge you as the true Superman."
Batman spurred Clark on with his superb gravelly voice.
"..." Clark looked at Bruce's serious face and felt a sudden urge to shove a piece of Kryptonite down his throat. Fortunately, he was now completely sober. The smell of alcohol was gone; he lacked the opportunity even to pretend to be drunk.
"Stop with the Ian-isms. The priority is to find out that woman's identity. My instinct tells me she isn't a 'good person'." Inside the Batcave, the red and blue cape draped over the cold metal floor, intersecting with the shadow of the Bat-symbol. Clark Kent stood before the console, his brow furrowed, his gaze lingering on the vanished dimension.
"If relying on instinct were useful, the world wouldn't need investigation, analysis, research, and reasoning," Bruce Wayne said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He didn't even look up as he expressed his distrust in Clark's instinct. It was normal; Batman only trusted his Bat-instinct.
"Then what's your opinion?" Clark turned to Bruce.
"If you want answers, you have to let me see your brain." Bruce stopped again and turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Clark like a probe.
"Using the chance to study me again, aren't you?" Clark sighed but stood up resignedly. His X-ray vision had already shown him that Batman had deployed a certain instrument while they were still sitting. This meant the man wasn't asking for an opinion at all.
"The Kent family's super-intelligence that Ian keeps praising... it lives up to its name." Bruce gave a bit of emotional value, then led Clark to a corner where a brand-new, previously unseen machine sat. It looked like a metal chair with a complex neural interface helmet at the top, covered in flickering quantum nodes.
"When did you build this?" Clark sat in the sci-fi-looking chair and let Bruce fit the helmet. As it clicked into place, he couldn't help but ask, "When you were probing Barry's dreams, did you realize you'd need to probe my memories and dreams one day?"
It must be said that after all these years, Superman was still that naive boy. Bruce's fingers paused for a fraction of a second at the wiring terminal.
"Clark, remember the first time we met?" he asked, answering with a question. His eyes appeared exceptionally deep in the dim light behind his mask.
Clark was taken aback but eventually nodded. "You beat me so badly; of course I can't forget." He gave the awkward Batman a death stare. Batman quickly shook his head, saying it wasn't *that* time.
He guided Clark to remember, and Clark finally had an epiphany. "Oh, right. If you mean our unofficial first meeting, I remember it was on a cruise ship. I was on vacation and was assigned the same room as you. Looking back, that probably wasn't a coincidence." Clark hadn't lived all these years for nothing; he had made some progress in using his super-brain.
"Yes, that was many years ago," Bruce Wayne replied with a voice full of sentiment as he continued adjusting the wiring.
"So, you had already built these instruments targeting me back then?" Clark asked in a speechless tone.
"No," Bruce shook his head. "It was slightly earlier than that... probably when you were still in college." Batman continued wiring, revealing a secret buried in his heart for years.
"..." Clark was utterly blindsided. It felt as if ten thousand alpacas with bat-heads were racing through his mind.
"What does that have to do with our first meeting?" he snapped, rolling his eyes. Batman remained buried in the wires.
"It doesn't have much to do with it. However, I'm just reminding you of our years of friendship so you don't get too angry." Batman's voice remained calm.
Clark was stunned again. A trace of warmth suddenly welled up in his heart. Just as he was about to marvel at the fact that Batman actually cared about other people's feelings, Batman added another sentence.
"Being angry will affect the operation of this machine." Batman finished the wiring and walked to the control desk, gesturing for Clark to sit still and not move.
"..." Clark's smile froze, his fist clenching instantly. Batman hadn't used his fists; he had used a single sentence to shatter the dream of friendship. It was enough to make Clark grit his teeth.
Of course, unlike Ian, Clark knew how to read the room. Since he was wearing the man's equipment and feared retaliation, he could only offer a very forced smile.
"Let's begin." Clark sighed softly. He decided that when this was over, he would pretend not to see Ian moving Wayne Enterprises' satellite orbits to the far side of the sun during Ian's next satellite launch. A real man's revenge is silent like that.
"Mm." Bruce Wayne, whose Bat-wisdom failed to alert him to the dark Superman's thoughts, started up the refurbished antique after a quick reminder.
Instantly, Clark's consciousness felt a wave of trance. Memory projections began to play—but Batman's pupils contracted slightly. On the screen, within Clark's consciousness dimension, countless stars flew by as he fell through layers of space-time fragments. At the end of that void, the woman in white stood quietly, a mysterious smile curling her lips beneath the veil.
He also noticed the sense of déjà vu in that smile.
The machine stopped. Clark took off the helmet. "How was it? Find anything?" Superman saw Bruce's expression shifting and asked uneasily. However, Bruce didn't answer immediately.
The Gotham eccentric focused on the recorded memory data. He didn't linger on the woman's smile but zoomed in on the umbrella in her hand, as if he had discovered something. No one knew what information he had perceived; by the time Clark's gaze drifted over, Bruce had already deleted the recording backup from the computer.
Some files would only ever be stored in Bruce Wayne's own brain. That was the safest archive. Like Sherlock Holmes' proud Memory Palace, this technique was used skillfully not only by the Gotham Master but even by some obscure villains in the city.
"What's wrong?" When Clark walked over, he only saw a blank screen. Batman was staring at it, his philtrum furrowing as if in deep thought—which is much harder than furrowing one's brow. Bruce stared at the screen for a long time in silence.
Clark shook him, asking if he was being possessed again and threatening to find a crowbar to crack his skull open to see if there was new extra-universal contamination. Knowing that Superman's joke was only 49% joke, Bruce Wayne immediately forced himself out of his thoughts.
"Do you think there's a possibility—that Ian Kent has a twin sister?" He turned slowly, his gaze sharp as a knife, looking directly at Clark, who was already testing the weight of a crowbar.
With Batman, Clark's decisiveness was always serious.
"What? Why ask that out of the blue?" Clark was slightly disappointed to see Bruce speaking human words again. He threw away the crowbar he'd used to scare the bat, looking confused.
"I found some oddities." Under Clark's gaze, Bruce was sparing with his words, failing to explain in detail what those oddities were. He was going to get his head cracked by Clark one day, and he wouldn't be innocent.
...
"The Riddler, huh? A Gotham specialty?" Clark was used to Batman's personality; he knew he could crack the man's skull but he couldn't pry open his mouth. He thought for a moment, about to say he couldn't answer the question but felt it was unlikely, when a very clear and violent vibration came from underground.
The commotion was something even a normal person could feel.
"An earthquake?" The thought flashed through Bruce's mind before he immediately dismissed it. By then, Clark was already looking through the ground with his vision.
It was too late.
The floor bulged suddenly as rubble and dust flew everywhere. Batman and Superman stepped back together, watching speechlessly as the ground collapsed. The next moment, a hand covered in dirt burst through the soil, followed by messy black hair, and finally a face covered in soot but looking triumphant.
"Haha! I told you the puny Gotham foundation couldn't stop me!" Ian Kent climbed out of the hole and patted the dirt off himself, looking both proud and disheveled, like he'd returned from a long expedition. There were still fragments of alloy in his mouth.
Clearly, Bruce Wayne's alloy foundation wasn't as good as God's eternal foundation; in Ian's mouth, it just ended up being crunchy. It was about as tasty as a morning tea biscuit.
[Entropy Lord Experience +21]
[Entropy Lord Experience +19]
[Entropy Lord Experience +23]
...
Ian knew that coming to Batman's house always meant a warm reception. He emerged from the ground, his mouth full of genuine steel scraps. Feeling thirsty, he looked around, trying to find some fitness drinks that weren't available outside.
"Uncle Bruce, your Uncle Ian needs your help. Quickly make me a pair of iron pants that even God can't open. I know you can build them if you truly want to." While looking for a drink, Ian tried to manipulate Bruce Wayne.
He was truly terrified; heaven knows what would happen if the Goddess of Creation really caught him. And then there was God—would he get angry and try to sleep back at him? Then Ian would be harassed twice; he refused to let that happen.
If Bruce could get out of a wheelchair so quickly, he could surely perform a Bat-miracle and build the iron pants Ian wanted. This was Ian's respect for Batman!
[Savage Tyrant Experience +88]
[Savage Tyrant Experience +96]
[Savage Tyrant Experience +87]
...
However, after seizing the chance to gulp down several small drinks, Ian finally noticed the atmosphere in the room—Clark Kent was sitting in a chair, his cape dull and his eyes weary.
Bruce Wayne was standing at the console, expressionlessly watching his various poisons being gulped down by Ian like strengthening potions. Only, he didn't see the desired result of Ian collapsing and foaming at the mouth.
After drinking the poison, the boy looked even more high-spirited.
"Wait! Dad, why are you here? My black box told me this is a secret garden known only to Batman, a place he uses to hide from things like the plague." Ian saw Bruce and then his father; in his shock, he quickly began questioning them.
"Dad! Are you meeting Batman behind Mom's back in the middle of the night?!" Living in the Land of the Freedom, Ian had to consider the worst possibilities. This was the way of thinking taught to him by the *Beginner's Guide for Superiors*.
"????"
"?????"
Neither Clark nor Batman had a small reaction; their faces were priceless. Batman wanted to create a literal sewing machine to sew Ian's mouth shut, while Clark simply slapped his own forehead.
A crisp "good head" sound echoed in the air. Clark didn't want to answer such a question, so he simply pointed to the large bed in the room. A drunken Lois was sleeping soundly on it.
"!!!!!!!!!"
Ian's reaction was huge, nearly jumping high enough to hit the ceiling. His questioning stopped abruptly as he finally noticed the unconscious Lois. At this moment, Ian, who had always thought his parents were very traditional, felt like he'd been struck by lightning.
Before he could start a nuclear explosion of words, Batman had already slipped silently toward the door, his finger about to touch the emergency escape button. Seeing the Bat-man about to slip away, Ian used a Tyrant Leap, flashing directly to block the exit.
"I knew I heard someone talking about giving me a sister just now! Dammit, Uncle Bruce! Are you hiding from your Uncle Ian because you're too ashamed to show your face?" Ian was truly exasperated.
Fortunately, Clark immediately explained the sequence of events, clarifying everything. This prevented Ian—who wanted to protect family happiness—from jumping up to take off Bruce Wayne's head. Clark didn't know if Bruce had a backup plan; he just didn't want Ian to clash with Batman over a misunderstanding.
"So that's how it is... a mysterious woman... stealing my smile without paying royalties. These days, I get charged even for sending an emoji." Ian's expression gradually grew solemn, though his focus clearly wasn't in the right direction.
"That's not the point, right?" Clark sighed as he looked at his youngest son.
"Right, right. The point is I failed to save God's marriage, and the Goddess of Creation is looking for me all over the world. The priority is for Uncle Bruce to make his Uncle Ian a pair of invincible iron pants." Ian snapped back to reality, wanting to pat Bruce's head, but Bruce dodged it.
"Can you stop mentioning 'Uncle' every three sentences?" Bruce Wayne was as weary as Clark. Truth be told, if Ian were malicious and wanted to do something truly evil, he could find a way to punish him.
Unfortunately, this boy only wanted to be an uncle and didn't have a single shred of other ill intent. This left Bruce Wayne, who knew for a fact the boy wasn't lying, feeling like he'd met his nemesis.
By comparison, his own kids were practically crystal clear, simple, and innocent!
"Iron pants that even God can't open? Don't you think too highly of me? To be honest, pick someone else to make a wish to. I think your dad is a good choice. Let him work hard to evolve a pair of iron pants for you to inherit." Bruce Wayne was already studying Ian's brain circuits, and now he was trying to get closer to them.
However, Ian tilted his head and thought for a moment. He suddenly pulled a handful of multicolored alchemy materials from his pocket. "Then I'll go find Big Brother Thomas! He can definitely make them. After all, old bats are more chewy... I mean, smarter." It wasn't an intentional slip of the tongue; his super-brain was just multitasking and a bit overwhelmed.
As Ian pulled out the materials and started setting up a ritual with a serious face, Bruce Wayne's body stiffened instantly. He wasn't ready! A teleportation circle emitting purple smoke already lit up on the floor, and a sulfur-like smell began to permeate the Batcave.
"Wait!" Bruce lunged forward and stomped out the circle. "Let me think about it," he added with difficulty as he stared into Ian's expectant eyes. "It might take some time." The King of Gotham used a tactic of delay. At least it wasn't a empty promise; he just forced himself to stop Ian's behavior.
He said "some time" but not a "specific time," so it wasn't technically a lie. Ian saw through it, but it didn't stop him from expressing his gratitude.
Ian believed Batman wouldn't let him down. Unlike the Flash, Batman was someone who was almost always in time to save his friends and family—unless, of course, that it involved his parents.
"I knew you could do it, Uncle Bruce! Go for it!" Ian instantly switched from Anger Mode to Gratitude Mode, as if he'd found his savior. He packed away the materials, prepared himself, and then—before his father Clark's dumbfounded eyes—Ian didn't hesitate.
With a *Thud*, he didn't kneel, but "stood" on the ground using his elbows in an inverted position. This was a way of expressing gratitude that only a super-brain could conceive.
*Thump!* His elbows hit the ground with a dull thud. Ian's knees were bent in the air, perfectly practicing the genius idea that "a man has gold under his knees, but he has no gold on his elbows." This was the height of wisdom.
"..." Clark was truly speechless watching his son's fluid movements. For a moment, he couldn't tell which of them was the strange alien.
"You've felt my sincerity, and I've felt yours. So—stop crawling around on the floor like a creep. If I recall correctly, it's almost your bedtime." Batman looked at Ian standing on his hands; he felt his own muscles were about to twitch into twenty-four-pack abs.
"Huh?" Ian paused and pulled out his watch, which changed its graffiti style every day—currently showing a grinning skull and "Zzz" symbols. It was a manually adjusted graffiti dial, much more useful than an electronic watch.
"True, I need to sleep. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy." He immediately pulled a sleeping bag labeled "Ian's Special" from his four-dimensional pocket, his movements practiced as if he'd rehearsed them a thousand times.
Since the last time he slept anywhere and everywhere, Ian had made some civilized preparations. While looking back and telling Bruce to put his heart into the task—saying Uncle Ian's purity depended on his brain—Ian crawled into the sleeping bag and wiggled his way under Lois's bed.
As Ian peacefully closed his eyes, the sleeping bag went completely silent. The lab became terrifyingly quiet. Clark and Bruce stood there, staring at each other.
"Don't speak." Bruce broke the silence first, his voice as raspy as sandpaper. He had anticipated Clark's reaction and pre-emptively administered a warning. "Your youngest son is not my uncle." He spoke with conviction and a stubborn handsomeness.
"Truth be told, Bruce, that was your father's choice." Superman suddenly looked thoughtful and patted Batman's shoulder, speaking earnestly. "We must all respect our fathers, right?" It was hard to imagine how Clark held it in. He used an impeccable, righteous reason to shut Bruce Wayne's mouth.
Bruce's mouth twitched. Clark became even more serious. "Oh, by the way, does that mean our relationship needs to be redefined?" He intentionally started counting on his fingers, his tone filled with exaggerated confusion. "If Ian is your uncle, then I should be your..." He didn't finish the sentence, but simply fixed his eyes on Bruce Wayne.
At that moment, Superman's silent gaze was brighter to Bruce than any heat vision. He was miserable.
"I'm going to check on Ian's status." Bruce Wayne changed the subject, turning decisively and striding toward Lois's bed. He knelt on one knee and reached out to pull the sleeping bag.
However, Bruce Wayne's fingers passed through the surface. Even the sleeping bag had phased out; it couldn't be touched. Bruce frowned and tried a few more times. The bag was like a holographic projection, untouchable and shimmering with strange ripples.
It wasn't invisibility or an illusion; it was a shift in existence level—it was no longer in the physical space of this dimension, but had entered a "Pre-sleep Reality Bubble." Only Ian could enter or leave.
"Just like Barry said... what kind of phenomenon is this? A self-protection mechanism?" Bruce Wayne muttered in surprise. He couldn't figure it out, so he stood up to drag over some testing equipment, hoping to find abnormal data regarding Ian's unknown existence on the spot.
Just then—
"Hahahahahaha!!!" A burst of wild laughter suddenly echoed throughout the Batcave. The laughter sounded like Bruce Wayne's voice, yet carried a bone-chilling quality. Before Clark and Batman could react...
*BOOM!!!*
Every alarm in the Batcave went off at once! Red lights flashed as sirens flooded the space like a tide. Every computer screen lit up simultaneously, the images distorting until they settled on a familiar face—Clark Kent's face.
But it wasn't Clark.
"Miss me?"
The face of Injustice Superman appeared on every screen. Those emotionless, seemingly thoughtless eyes stared directly at the real-world Clark and Bruce.
Meanwhile, inside the sleeping bag...
Ian, amidst the ringing of bells, didn't go through a long journey. Just like the first time, he instantly crossed into the Marvel Universe. He thought he would respawn in the previous black hole.
However, he found himself standing in the rain on Earth. Raindrops hit Ian's face, cold and real. He blinked and looked down at his hands—no tearing of black holes, no dimensional distortion. He was simply standing there in the curtain of rain as if a certain power had precisely deployed him.
"Seems New Tony's calculations were off..."
Ian looked up at the gloomy sky as rain slid down his cheeks. The streets were empty and silent, with only the sound of rain echoing in his ears. The distant streetlights flickered as if the current were being interfered with by some power.
Just as Ian planned to find New Tony's main body to borrow another spaceship and return to space to save his believers in a Second Playthrough invincible posture...
"Ian Kent..."
A raspy, low voice came from the end of the street, accompanied by the rhythm of a cane tapping the ground. "I've learned about you. Yes, Ian Kent, the world's first superhero, the man they call Superman... and the one who finally released us all. I'm a fan of yours." The voice was old and carried a bit of amusement.
Ian turned to look. Through the rain, an old man in a tailored suit walked slowly toward him. Every time his ruby-topped cane hit the ground, it sent an unnatural ripple through the puddles.
"I've been watching you," the old man said with a smile. But in his eyes burned the fires of Hell.
At that moment, a pale bolt of lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating the entire street like a hellscape. For an instant, the kind old man's face was lit up in sharp detail. Beneath the loose skin, the true face of a devil emerged.
Sulfur-colored flames danced in his eye sockets, and his mouth split all the way to his ears, revealing rows of fine, pointed teeth.
The moment the lightning faded, the face returned to human form.
"Huh?" Ian was stunned.
"Scared?" The old man blinked, giving an overly friendly smile. At this moment, the raindrops suspended in mid-air, every droplet reflecting his previous demonic face.
"Don't worry, truly. There's no need to worry." The cane tapped the ground, and every raindrop exploded into tiny green flames.
"This is just a little surprise for a fan meeting."
He walked toward Ian step by step, raising his hand, wanting to touch Ian's cheek. "Your fan wants to give you a little gift, perhaps..."
Before the old man could finish, he saw Ian's eyes light up, and the boy bit down hard on his palm.
"Mephisto! It's you! Tastes like chicken! Crunchy! Ten times the nutritional value of an ordinary demon!"
Ian's teeth were no fewer in number than those of the terrified devil. That's how a Lord of Evil is; he can grow as many rows of teeth as he wants. Teeth personally tested by the DC God—anyone who gets bitten will know!