Metropolis Plaza at night.
The shadow cast by the Superman statue seemed to carry a hint of helplessness, shrouding two people who were staring at each other in silence.
Sam Winchester, only fourteen or fifteen years old, was already accustomed to a life of slaughtering supernatural creatures, yet at this moment, he felt an unprecedented sense of bewilderment.
He looked at the tall, thin boy in front of him who claimed to be "Ian Kent," but any idiot could see was actually Jordan Kent. Sam didn't even know where to begin roasting him.
Thinking back, that bastard Ian actually only gave out photocopies! And only ten of them! How many times did he plan on using those scraps to boss around his own older brother?!
"That's just too wicked. Truly the school's certified bad boy," Sam couldn't help but sigh. Comparing them, he suddenly felt that although he was constantly pranked by Dean, at most he just stole Dean's beer or accidentally broke the wipers on his precious Impala. He was definitely a universe-class good brother!
"Let's go, what are you standing there for?" Seeing Sam motionless for a long time, just looking at him with a complicated expression, Jordan urged him again, his voice sounding incredibly hollow.
Don't let his outward "cool and detached" act fool you. In reality, as a psychiatric patient with social anxiety, his toes were practically digging a three-bedroom apartment inside his shoes.
He had no choice. Ian had begged him for this.
"Yeah, okay," Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Since things had come to this, what else could he do? He couldn't count on the real Ian's help anymore; he had to accept the arrangements made by that middleman.
"Alright... 'Ian'..."
Sam deliberately emphasized the name. Jordan's face flickered with awkwardness again.
"We're going to Seattle from here. It's over four thousand kilometers away, so the fastest way is by plane. Let me check the latest flights and prices..."
This was also Sam's first time planning a long-distance trip on his own. He pulled out his phone and began searching, his brow gradually furrowing. Plane tickets were no small sum in his eyes.
After all, a hunter's life was always financially tight; his and Dean's wallets were cleaner than their faces most of the time. If he hadn't taken the fake credit card their old man forged, he wouldn't even be able to leave.
Although it wasn't his own money, Sam was still young, so a bit of hesitation was only natural. Just then, as soon as Jordan heard the word "money," his eyes suddenly lit up with a weird glint—the kind inherited from the Kent line that only appeared when discussing cash.
"Perhaps..." Jordan pushed up his poorly fitting glasses, his voice gaining a bit of confidence, "I can save you half the airfare."
Sam looked up in surprise.
"Save half? Does your family have a super VIP discount with an airline?" He imagined the Kent family might have some ultimate frequent flyer VIP card.
Jordan just shook his head, reaching out mysteriously. "No. You'll know once you give me the money. Cash, no credit cards, thank you."
Hearing this, Sam was suspicious, but with a "fuck it" attitude, he counted out cash equivalent to the price of one economy class ticket from his already thin wallet and handed it to Jordan.
This was Dean's secret stash hidden away to prevent any "surprises" with his various flings.
"Not bad, not bad. This cash looks pretty new; I can deposit it directly into an ATM," Jordan took the money, quickly counted it, stuffed it into his pocket with satisfaction, and then glanced around to make sure no one was watching. He said to Sam, "Wait here a moment. I'll go prepare the transport."
Jordan's words startled Sam.
He found it hard to believe. Did the Kents actually have their own private jet? Were the rumors at school about Ian winning five hundred billion in the lottery true?
Under Sam's watchful gaze, Jordan turned and ran toward a large recycling bin in the corner of the plaza. He seemed to be looking for something but didn't find it.
"?????"
A confused Sam was dragged into a small alley by Jordan. A few minutes later, Jordan ran back carrying a massive, newly unpacked corrugated cardboard box. The box still had a logo for a certain brand of washing machine on it.
"Alright! Get in!"
Jordan patted the cardboard box, his tone even carrying a hint of... pride?
Sam looked at the box, then at Jordan, feeling like he might have truly gone insane. "Get... get in? Where? Into this cardboard box?"
"Yeah!" Jordan replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "This is our 'plane'! Get in, fast, don't waste time!" Without another word, he flipped the lid of the box and gestured for Sam to crawl inside.
"???????"
Sam's inner world was collapsing. He felt that putting his hopes in anyone from the Kent family was probably the stupidest decision of his hunting career—even stupider than the time he tried to bathe a vampire in holy water. This entire family, parents included, probably didn't have a single normal person among them!
But the money was already paid... and he really didn't have a better way.
"You're making me sneak into a plane's cargo hold, aren't you?" Sam gritted his teeth, and with a feeling like he was walking onto an execution ground, he humiliatingly crawled into the cardboard box that still smelled faintly of paper pulp.
The space was very narrow; he had to curl up to sit down. Jordan closed the lid, leaving only a small slit for air. Then, Sam felt the box suddenly become weightless.
His entire body began to rise rapidly!
"Dammit! What's happening!"
He poked his head out, only to find that Jordan was flying while holding him up.
"Whoosh—!!"
A strong sense of weightlessness hit him, and cold wind instantly poured through the slit, making Sam shiver. He looked out and saw the lights on the ground shrinking at high speed. Clouds streaked past them.
"What the hell!"
Sam nearly fainted from shock. He... he was actually flying through the sky in a cardboard box!
He got on a "plane," alright. But it was a paper plane! Who could take this?!
Sam trembled uncontrollably. Meanwhile, the "pilot," Jordan, was holding the bottom of the box with both hands, flying through the air in an incredibly leisurely and non-aerodynamic posture. A layer of frost had even formed on his glasses.
At high altitudes, the temperature was extremely low, and the wind was bone-chilling. Sam shivered in the box, his teeth chattering. He stopped obsessing over Jordan's superpowers and roared in fury.
"Is your whole family a bunch of vampires?! You just pocketed that ticket money, didn't you! What kind of transport is this?!" Sam never dreamed that Ian's second brother could fly. And he had no ethics, using this superpower to earn the price difference.
From outside, Jordan's voice came through, broken by the wind.
"Flying is flying... didn't I... didn't I prepare a 'flight meal' for you... this is... this is treatment only for first class..."
Jordan spoke with total conviction.
A flight meal? Sam blinked and noticed a small paper bag with a fast-food logo stuffed into the corner of the box. His hands trembling, he opened it. Inside was a cold, dry-looking burger and a small bag of fries—a classic "ghetto meal" worth no more than ten dollars.
"Dad, Dad, where did you go! This world is so dangerous!" Sam looked at this "first-class flight meal," felt the wind-leaking "paper plane" that could fall apart at any moment, and thought of the "pilot" whose flying skills seemed worse than Dean's driving.
He really wanted to cry, but there were no tears.
He couldn't help it. The teenage exorcist could only desperately comfort himself: at least... at least Jordan wasn't an ordinary person. He could fly... that had to be faster than taking a long-distance bus, right?
Besides, anyone in Metropolis who could fly was bound to be related to Superman. Thinking this way, and relying on the reputation Superman had built in Metropolis, Sam managed to calm down slightly.
However, he didn't understand. He really didn't. The Kents seemed like a standard middle-class family living on a farm with a barn. Jordan himself was a metahuman with such incredible power. Why were they so obsessed with money? "Greedy" didn't even begin to describe it!
Amidst the howling wind, Sam couldn't help but shout, "Dammit, you're finding every way to scam me out of money. Does your family... take all the money just to raise the youngest brother?"
Since the other guy was impersonating Ian, Sam didn't mention Ian by name.
Outside, Jordan went silent for a few seconds, seemingly gathering strength to fight the wind resistance, before answering breathlessly, "Quite the opposite... in our family, except for Mom, we all owe that younger brother money... Ever since Dad's secret stash was, uh, accidentally blown up, he even borrowed a lot from Ian to buy the latest farm tools."
"Even though family loans don't have interest, I still have to save up to pay him back." Jordan's voice carried endless bitterness; he truly owed Ian a massive sum.
"You look like a high schooler; do you really need that much money?" Sam was even more puzzled. He couldn't imagine what kind of massive expenses a high schooler could have. Did his superpowers require a pay-to-win model?
Outside the box, Jordan let out a meaningful, world-weary "Heh" cold laugh. His tone carried a critique of the moral decay of modern society.
"What does a kid like you know? You have no idea how much it costs to support a 'waifu.' At the very least... it starts at 648... and there's no guarantee you'll even pull her..."
Jordan's voice carried a heavy sigh, as if he were carrying the weight of the entire world. It drifted into the box, leaving Sam, who didn't play gacha games, completely bewildered.
The only thing he could think of was that Jordan used the "648" to find paid girlfriends. The still-innocent Sam had no idea that Jordan's love had already transcended the boundaries of reality.
"648? Pull what?"
Sam didn't understand at all. What the hell was he talking about?
But Jordan seemed to have sunk into some sad memory and stopped answering. He just flew on in silence, his trajectory wobbling as if his heart were bleeding.
Sam wrapped his thin coat tighter around himself, shivering in the cold box, his mind filled with countless question marks regarding this mysterious Kent family.
This journey, from the very beginning, was filled with absurdity and... the scent of poverty. After several hours of high-altitude freezing and bone-shaking "paper plane" travel, the cardboard box finally began to descend slowly.
By the time Jordan pulled the nearly frozen Sam out of the box, they were standing in a damp, dark alley on the outskirts of Seattle.
"I... I'm actually still alive?" Sam's face was pale, his lips purple. He stomped his feet to keep warm, feeling as if his blood had almost solidified.
"Your physical fitness isn't as good as Ian's was when he was little. I remember when I was twelve, I took Ian for a joyride. My head almost got knocked off, but Ian was still bouncing around."
Jordan stopped pretending. He'd already provided the service, so there was no need to follow Ian's request to pose as him anymore. He didn't believe Ian's super-hearing could reach this far.
"..."
Sam's teeth were chattering, and he didn't want to think too much about what was wrong with this family. He looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to get his bearings.
"According to the last information... the place where my dad and the others last appeared is an abandoned church near here called [St. Caesar]."
Jordan carefully folded the slightly deformed cardboard box, stuffed it into a nearby trash can, and pushed up his glasses, his face showing a hint of eagerness.
"So... where do we go to find clues now?" As a rookie superhero, he wasn't familiar with the process, so for a moment, he was like a headless Superman.
Sam rubbed his hands and blew on them, trying to warm up.
"Places like this... are a mixed bag. The places with the best info are usually the nearby bars or motels. Let's find a bar first to ask around."
He had, after all, gone on many hunts with his dad and brother, so he had a deep impression of the procedure. He felt certain his father and brother would have gone to similar places.
The two walked out of the alley and soon found a bar that looked quite old, with dim lights and several letters missing from its sign—"The Lost Angel's Home."
Roadside bars these days loved that kind of gimmick. They were almost all opened by former chuunibyou bikers. Noisy music and muffled conversations drifted from inside.
Sam straightened his clothes, trying to look a bit more mature. Though he still looked like a child among adults, kids never see themselves that way.
"You... wait for me outside. I'll go in and ask. You look... not quite suited for this kind of place." Sam was a bit afraid Jordan would start acting "abstract" once he got inside. He really couldn't imagine someone with Jordan's vibe entering a bar like this.
"Fine, I don't like crowded places anyway." Jordan also seemed relieved, nodding quickly and leaning against a nearby lamppost, pretending to look at the scenery.
Sam took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy, grease-stained wooden door.
The interior of the bar was smoke-filled and the air was murky, smelling of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume. Various people who didn't look like they had good intentions were gathered there: burly men in leather and tattoos, mysterious guests whispering with shifty eyes, and several women in revealing clothes and heavy makeup moving through the crowd.
Sam's heart rate accelerated, but he forced himself to stay calm. He walked to the bar and said to the burly, fierce-looking bartender who was wiping a glass:
"A Cuba Libre. No alcohol, just Coke. Garnish it with a fan of thin lemon slices." Sam tried his best to style his hair like an adult's.
The bartender glanced at him, said nothing, and handed him a bottle of Coke.
Sam paid, took a sip, and then asked in a low, casual voice:
"Excuse me, I wanted to ask about something. I heard there's an old church called St. Caesar nearby. Has anything strange happened there lately? Or... have two out-of-town men been by? One older, very serious, one taller than me, likes wearing a denim jacket..."
It was as if he'd mentioned a town taboo.
The bartender stopped wiping the glass. His cloudy eyes scanned Sam sharply, his voice low and threatening: "Kid, don't ask about things you shouldn't. Finish your drink and leave. Now."
Sam's heart tightened; he knew he'd found the right place, but the man clearly didn't want to talk. Unwilling to give up, he tried to probe further, saying he'd heard the place was haunted.
That sentence was exactly what made the bartender snap. Who would want someone proclaiming such things about their hometown? Clearly, Sam's interrogation skills were amateurish.
*Clang!*
The bartender slammed the glass onto the counter with a loud bang. The entire bar instantly went silent. Every eye in the room focused on Sam.
"I'll say it one last time, kid," the bartender's voice was ice-cold, "Get out. Or I'll throw you out."
Several burly men stood up from their seats, surrounding him with ill intent.
Sam's heart jumped into his throat. His hand quietly reached for the dagger at his lower back, and cold sweat dripped from his forehead. He realized he might have been too impatient and gotten into trouble.
At this tense moment—
"Sorry... sorry! Everyone, big brothers, uncles, sisters, aunts! I'm so sorry!" A figure rushed in frantically—it was Jordan!
He had obviously heard the commotion from outside. His face was full of apology as he kept bowing to those around him.
He grabbed Sam's arm and apologized repeatedly to the bartender and the surrounding crowd: "So sorry! Really sorry! My brother... he has some issues up here!"
Jordan pointed to his head, making a "you know how it is" expression.
"He watches too many movies and spends all day fantasizing about being a demon hunter! Sorry for the trouble! We're leaving! Leaving right now!" As he spoke, he gave Sam no choice and practically dragged the stunned boy out of the bar.
Once outside, the cold air hit Sam's face, and he finally snapped out of it, feeling a wave of lingering fear.
"Sorry, I was too impatient. I just... I really want to find them." Sam also realized he'd been too impulsive, his tone filled with regret.
Jordan looked at Sam's face—a mix of anxiety, fear, and stubbornness—and suddenly sighed. His tone became gentler, even carrying a sense of... being used to this?
"It's fine. I've been using these lines for years; they come naturally now. Compared to Ian, you're not even that much of a brat." Jordan pushed his crooked glasses back up, his gaze drifting toward the dark street in the distance as if recalling some unbearable past.
His tone carried a deep sense of world-weariness that only someone who had weathered a true storm could possess.
The "storm" here specifically referred to the Ian-brand storm.
"I get it, I get it."
Sam recalled the Ian in his memory, who could annoy people to death, and nodded understandingly. Ian getting into trouble... it was hard to imagine what kind of chaotic scene that would be.
Clearly, the fact that Ian could grow up to be so idiosyncratic meant he had some serious protection from his family.
The two stood on the cold, damp street of Seattle, momentarily speechless.
A failed inquiry, blurred clues, and a temporary teammate who seemed slightly more reliable—Sam pulled out his phone, unsure of how to proceed.
"Let's go. If the bar didn't work, we'll think of something else. This place isn't that big. It shouldn't be hard to find a church. Worst case, we'll check every single one."
The town on the outskirts of Seattle was shrouded in a damp mist. The air smelled of moss, seawater, and a faint, lingering scent of decay. Sam Winchester and Jordan Kent walked the somewhat deserted streets, trying to gather news about the "St. Caesar" church.
Their inquiries didn't go well. The townspeople seemed to treat the name as a secret. A grocery store owner's face changed instantly upon hearing the church's name; she waved them off frantically, saying she didn't know, and then slammed the door shut.
An old man trimming his lawn by the road would stop his work and stare at them with cloudy eyes, muttering warnings that sounded like they were copied from a cheap horror movie.
"The moonlight doesn't touch the stones there... the soil there breathes..."
"If you hear the bell, don't look back. It tolls for the dead..."
"Curiosity will dig out your eyes and fill them with worms... young man, there are places where even God has turned His back."
...
Regarding this, Jordan—who was deeply involved in the "Godhood Plan"—naturally didn't care. He was the one dreaming the American Dream of propping Ian up as God, becoming the Pope himself, and then having Ian perform miracles to bring "2D waifus" to life.
These mysterious words didn't scare Jordan; instead, they made him even more certain that the church was problematic. Only Sam felt a chill down his spine, moving closer to Jordan.
"Sorry, it's the new era. I really don't like little boys." Jordan, the self-proclaimed future Pope, frowned and directly pushed away the "clinging" Sam.
"..."
Sam still didn't understand the nonsense the Kents talked about.
"This place... the atmosphere is so thick... you wouldn't even need to build a set to film a horror movie..." He could only offer a change-of-topic evaluation of the wilderness town's aesthetic.
Just as the two were at their wits' end and nearly ready to give up public inquiries to just sneak over there, a middle-fashioned man wearing overalls and a baseball cap, looking quite friendly, approached them.
"Hey, boys. I heard you're looking for St. Caesar Church?" The man had a warm smile on his face, but his eyes quickly and imperceptibly scanned the two of them.
Sam immediately became alert, but still nodded. "Yes, sir. Do you know how to get there?"
"Of course I do!" The man slapped his thigh. "That place is really remote. You'll never find it without a local to guide you. It just so happens I have some business to take care of over that way. How about I give you a lift?"
Sam and Jordan looked at each other, both hesitating. This sudden "good Samaritan" felt a bit fishy. But for now, there seemed to be no better choice.
To avoid awkwardness on the road, and perhaps to bolster his own courage, Jordan was the first to break the silence.
"You know, I'm actually quite famous."
He wasn't talking about his identity as the "Walmart Shopping Bag" superhero, of course.
"I can tell. You're very handsome. Are you an actor?" The man took the bait kindly, actually guessing what Jordan wanted to hear.
"Of course! Next week, remember to support the new TV show I'm starring in! It's about to premiere on the CW!" Jordan smiled proudly.
Sam turned in surprise, looking at the boy beside him who could fly.
"You? Starring in a TV show? You're a Hollywood actor?" It wasn't that he was looking down on him, but Sam found it hard to believe a metahuman would choose such a public-facing profession. Just how vain could one be? Was being a superhero not enough for Jordan?
"Don't let my usual gentle demeanor fool you. Actually, my acting style is very wild and explosive! Directors praise me for being naturally gifted—the next Marlon Brando!" Jordan smiled confidently and pushed up his glasses. Although the gesture weakened his aura, his voice was full of mysterious self-confidence.
Sam had an "I don't believe a word you say" expression.
However, the middle-aged man leading the way brightened up. His smile became even warmer, even a bit... weird?
"A star is good! Stars are great!" He rubbed his hands together, his tone a bit overly excited. "I mean... stars make money easily, right? Fast cash!"
His reaction was a bit odd, but Sam, anxious to find the church, and Jordan, immersed in his "star dream," didn't pay much attention. After many twists and turns, they finally stopped at a desolate woodland clearing.
In the distance, a dilapidated Gothic-style church stood in the darkness like a lurking giant beast. Most of its stained-glass windows were broken, and the spire was slightly crooked.
The whole place emitted a heavy air of decay and ill omen. Strangely, however, it wasn't deserted outside; instead, twenty or thirty people were gathered there!
They stood in small groups, talking in low voices as if waiting for something.
Sam's heart immediately leapt. Could it be other hunters who heard the news and gathered here for an operation? He subconsciously touched the weapon behind his back.
"What's going on?" Sam asked the guide. "Are those people... hunters? Could they be with my dad..."
Before he could finish, the previously kind-looking man suddenly let out a sharp, eerie laugh.
"Hahaha! I knew it! I knew you were hunters! You can't hide that scent on you!" He laughed loudly, walking quickly toward the group in front of the church as if returning to his comrades. The group stopped their conversations and turned in unison to look at Sam and Jordan.
Every face wore the same strange, greedy smile.
Sam instantly realized something was wrong, and cold sweat broke out. However, before he could fully react, Jordan beside him suddenly snatched off his glasses, revealing eyes that were now flashing with an excited, crimson light!
"I knew it. I knew they weren't human. They couldn't hide from my super-smell. Ian was right, I have a real talent for being a superhero."
Glasses off, gloves off. Jordan's voice was no longer peaceful; his entire aura shifted, filled with the joy of finding prey!
However, it seemed only Sam noticed this.
Hearing this, the group of "people" laughed even more wildly, revealing their monstrous true forms—pale skin, sharp fangs, and blood-red pupils!
They were vampires!
"That's right! We are demons!"
The leading vampire shouted mockingly, "You damned hunters, do you think you can hunt us? Tonight is a feast! Tender little morsels!"
Sam backed away in a panic, scrambling to pull out silver-plated daggers and holy water from his backpack, even instinctively trying to hand a weapon to Jordan.
However, when he turned, he saw Jordan standing there with an expression more excited and more savage than even the vampires! It was a state of total release of nature, bordering on madness!
"Not human... Not being human is great!" Jordan licked his lips, his voice trembling slightly with excitement. "I like that you aren't human... that way, I don't have to hold back..."
Sam was completely stunned and stammered, "Jor... Jordan? What's wrong with you?"
What happened to the gentle demeanor?! This is even scarier than when Ian goes crazy!
Jordan suddenly turned his head, and those crimson eyes gave Sam a jolt!
"I'm just getting into character!" Jordan roared. He suddenly ripped off his hoodie, revealing a Homelander costume underneath that he apparently never took off, even after leaving Hollywood.
In an instant, "Homelander" Jordan floated directly into the air. The night wind ruffled his messy hair, and his red eyes glowed in the darkness like two hellish lanterns!
"Perfect! Next week I have to film a scene where I slaughter the ignorant masses! Today is just exercise for my acting! Look into my eyes! Don't ask why! Because I do whatever the fuck I want!"
"Just because I can!"
Before the words even faded, two searing red heat-vision beams erupted from his eyes like Death's scythe, instantly sweeping across the vampire horde!
"Aaahhh!"
"He isn't human either!!"
"Run!!"
The vampires' previous arrogance was instantly replaced by terror as they fled, wailing for their lives. Wherever the high-temperature beams passed, vampires turned to ash before they could even scream!
Sam watched in stunned silence, nearly dropping his holy water. Seeing Jordan hunt those vampires down like he was playing Whac-A-Mole, he realized his classmate Ian Kent's family was definitely more than just distant relatives of Superman.
"Easy! Take it easy! Leave a survivor! We still need information!!" Sam shouted a reminder to Jordan. Fortunately, Jordan wasn't a true madman.
Since he hadn't been suppressing himself lately and had released most of his negative emotions through acting, his dark side had actually been purged quite a bit. He was the type who could listen to advice.
"You're right. Need to leave a few survivors, then sell them to Ian." Jordan's heat vision faltered slightly in the air, the crimson light beginning to fade.
The surviving vampires were just about to breathe a sigh of relief.
However, at that very moment—
*BOOM!*
A massive explosion, impossible to describe in words—as if the entire universe were shuddering—suddenly came from the depths of the far-off night sky!
Immediately following, the entire sky lit up as if it were broad daylight! An unspeakable wave of energy, carrying the scent of destruction, swept past like a tsunami!
The fleeing vampires didn't even have time to scream. In that sudden, pure, and terrifying light, they were like snowflakes thrown into a blast furnace. They vaporized instantly, reduced to absolute ash!
The church clearing, which had been noisy and violent just a moment ago, fell into a deathly silence. Only charred ground remained, along with a strange smell in the air—like ozone mixed with ash.
Jordan suspended in mid-air, the red light in his eyes completely extinguished, replaced by a look of total confusion and horror. Even he was terrified. He looked up at the weirdly bright night sky, which looked like it had gained another sun.
"Did... did the sun just explode?"
The invincible "self-proclaimed Homelander's" voice actually began to tremble. There was no helping it; that light and heat, even from such a distance, had turned the Earth's night into day.
Many people realized something was wrong.
At the same time, beneath Gotham City, in the Batcave.
Clark Kent was carefully holding a glass of warm water, handing it to the Injustice Superman, who was lying on a medical bed, pale-faced, with his abdomen already noticeably swollen.
Bruce Wayne stood by a console, monitoring various life signs, his brow tightly furrowed.
"Relax. According to the information fragments Ian... uh... 'accidentally' leaked, and Bruce's analysis, this 'gestation' based on High Heaven power and conceptual ideals probably won't last long. Maybe... just like God's creation, a seven-day pregnancy?"
Clark tried to comfort his other self, though his tone was dry and a bit guilty. Injustice Superman glared at him, his eyes full of the resentment of someone thinking, "If you can't comfort me, just shut up."
"I'm just afraid Ian set the concept to be 'generations without end.'" Batman was even more familiar with Ian than Clark was. He was currently checking the possibility of Injustice Superman being pregnant over and over, creating an entire race or civilization on his own.
Just then, the effects of the explosion were detected by the instruments.
*Beep beep beep beep beep—!!!*
In the Batcave, all major monitoring equipment suddenly emitted a top-level, sharp alarm! Red lights flashed frantically, and the data on the screens refreshed like a waterfall. They were nearly crashing!
"What's happening?!" Clark instantly stood tall, his super-vision piercing through layers of rock and concrete to look outside, up at the sky. His expression froze in disbelief and shock. "Bruce! The light outside... the sky... it's wrong!"
Batman's fingers flew across the console, pulling data from all his satellites and deep-space monitoring stations. His face became increasingly grim. There was even a rare hint of... bewilderment?
Even Batman could be stunned. He stared deathly at the main screen, at the spectral analysis and energy readings representing an unimaginably massive explosion. After a full ten seconds of silence, he spoke in a dry, mechanical voice, like a machine jamming.
"Apokolips is gone."
His voice carried a parched rasp.
"What?!!" Clark couldn't help but cry out in shock, nearly dropping the water glass. "Apokolips exploded?! How is that possible?!"
Apokolips, Darkseid's headquarters, a mobile war fortress planet forged by super-tech and dark divine power. Its durability was among the highest in the universe! Even during his previous battle with Golden Superman, they hadn't found the right opportunity to completely destroy that planet. How could such a cosmic-level fortress just vanish?
Who! What kind of terrifying existence had passed by there?!
After the extreme shock, Clark's first reaction was actually a bit of excitement.
"Maybe... this isn't entirely a bad thing?" He looked at Bruce, composed himself, and immediately began considering the cosmic-level consequences of the explosion. "The radiation... especially the residual energy from the blast... do I need to go into outer space to handle it? To absorb those harmful substances?"
Batman turned sharply, the gaze behind his white lenses full of shock. "Absorb the radiation of Apokolips' explosion? You have that kind of ability?"
He knew Kryptonians could absorb yellow sun radiation to grow stronger, but directly processing the energy aftermath of a planet's explosion? This exceeded the scope of his gathered information.
"Lately... it seems I've evolved quite a bit... I feel like I can do it." Clark frowned, a bit uncertain. He was also taking the initiative to report his status to Batman.
Clark himself couldn't explain where this change came from. It was as if his body were instinctively adapting to more powerful energy. This kind of change actually made him feel uneasy.
Not everyone craved infinite power. Clark still remembered how many times he had been controlled by others—he could use Ian's "mimic palms" to count them, and it still wouldn't be enough.
Because of this, exposing his condition to Batman and letting Batman find weaknesses that even his super-brain couldn't think of was something Clark valued more and more.
"A 'bit' much... you call that just a bit much?" Batman fell silent for a few seconds, unable to stop himself from giving a high-pressure, heartfelt roast.
Of course, the sudden situation was very unexpected, so Batman knew he had to deal with the business at hand first. "According to calculations, the main shockwave and harmful radiation will be blocked by interstellar dust and special force fields. It won't reach the solar system, let alone Earth. I've already started the filtering programs on the global monitoring network to ensure nothing goes wrong."
This meant Superman didn't need to go.
Hearing this, Clark breathed a small sigh of relief.
But Batman's expression became even grimmer. He turned and looked at the data still jumping frantically on the main screen, his voice terrifyingly low.
"Clark, what we should worry about was never the explosion of Apokolips itself..." His tone carried deep concern.
Superman blinked. He didn't use his super-brain to calculate the various possibilities; instead, he took the fastest shortcut and asked directly: "Why?"
It really was the fastest shortcut. And it saved the most energy.
Batman took a deep breath, as if stating an impending nightmare. "You guys just made a scene on Apokolips, and not long after, Apokolips suffers a cataclysmic explosion."
"With Darkseid's suspicious, cold, and vengeful nature, what do you think he'll assume?" Batman looked at Clark with extreme gravity.
"He'll come for payback."
Even the "pregnancy-brained" Injustice Superman could see that, so Clark naturally understood Batman's point. His face grew serious.
"But we didn't blow up Apokolips! It was fine when we left!" Superman's tone was filled with regret, but he also felt a bit wronged.
"I know." Batman's voice was icy. "I know it wasn't you, and it wasn't Ian. But Darkseid won't think that way. Because all he has to do is flip through Ian Kent's 'record of past actions'... and he will make a judgment that, to him, seems the clearest, most reasonable, and most logical."
A flashback of Ian's "feat" of blowing up Heaven flashed through Bruce's mind. Clark opened his mouth, trying to argue, but found any words paled in the face of Ian's "glorious" track record. Even he, in that moment, couldn't help but have an absurd yet perfectly "logical" thought.
"So... could Ian have actually blown up Apokolips?"
A father's love is infinite, but a father's trust has its limits.
If even Superman instinctively thought so, then the conclusion reached by the recently wounded Darkseid, whose home base had been leveled, was easy to imagine.
The Dark Lord's infinite rage and vengeance would not be limited to an individual. He would pour out the entire remaining strength of Apokolips—possibly even allying with other dark forces—targeting Earth, targeting the Kents, and specifically targeting the "culprit," Ian Kent.
It would be a true Infinite War.
The Batcave fell into a deathly silence, leaving only the cold hum of the instruments, as if playing a prelude to a coming storm that would sweep across the universe.
...
Ian was, of course, innocent.
At the time of the incident, he had been bathing in his [Demon Manor]. Countless demons could testify to that.
[Berserker EXP +7]
[Berserker EXP +6]
[Berserker EXP +7]
Mainly because Rick's fart was too foul. Ian had bathed for a long time, scrubbing himself until his skin was red and almost bleeding, before he felt the smell was finally gone.
Of course, bathing in the Demon Manor was a pleasant experience in itself—the kind of sensation those "Bathing Emperors" outside would surely never have enjoyed.
As soon as he stepped into the bathroom, the massive "tub"—cast from the fused horn scales of some dark creature—let out a satisfied low moan. It wasn't a static container; its edges rose and fell slowly, like a living thing breathing. Ian dipped his toe into the water. The temperature was just right, carrying a faint scent of sulfur mixed with magic potions.
This water wasn't dead; it seemed to possess life. When he was fully immersed, the currents immediately acted like countless boneless yet precisely pressured small hands, beginning to automatically wrap around and caress his body.
A clever vortex of water specifically targeted the soreness in his neck and shoulders, with enough force to shatter a mortal's bones, but making Ian roll his eyes in comfort.
The "shower" came from an outlet above, carved into the face of a wailing demon. With one look from Ian, the stone carving's eyes lit up red, and it no longer just sprayed water—it breathed out a warm and powerful water column. This column even twisted in the air like a transparent tentacle, precisely washing his hair.
The bone-made tray holding bath supplies followed him like a loyal dog. Even the drain occasionally let out a gurgling swallow, as if highly satisfied with this bathwater rich in power and filth.
The "scrubbing" phase was even more enjoyable. Ian didn't need to do it himself. He only had to lazily raise an arm toward a dark red, rough-textured oval stone embedded in the wall beside the tub.
Known as the "Lava Tongue," it slowly extended out. The Lava Tongue had a warm, elastic texture, like the tongue of some massive creature.
This hellish massage tool gently yet thoroughly scraped over Ian's back, arms, and chest, taking away all dead skin and dirt. The scraped-off substances were instantly absorbed by its surface and vanished into a puff of blue smoke.
When it tried to slide toward Ian's more sensitive lower regions, Ian lazily raised a hand and patted it.
"Not needed there, little guy."
The Lava Tongue seemed to shiver in dissatisfaction, but it obediently retracted into the wall, turning back into an unremarkable decorative stone, ready for the next service.
Even the "bath towel" hung nearby, waiting for orders. It was a strange fabric, seemingly woven from shadows, with faint black mist drifting from its edges. When Ian finally stood up from the water, it flew up automatically, wrapping around him diligently.
Instead of wiping, it used a marvelous absorption method to instantly dry all moisture from his skin. It left his skin dry and refreshed, with a hint of coolness.
The entire bathing process lasted seven or eight hours, filled with these subtle, heartwarming interactions. Actually, when Apokolips exploded, Ian was already lying on his massage bed imported from Hell.
Hundreds of soft little hands were massaging him to relieve fatigue. Because the Demon Manor was so wonderful, he had his eyes closed, completely unaware that countless light-years away, Darkseid's nest—Apokolips—had been reduced to cosmic dust in a world-shaking explosion.
[Mutation Sovereign EXP settlement complete.]
[Based on existing dependents' life strength, you gain Mutation Sovereign EXP +9.]
[You have leveled up! Gained Skill Point +1, Gained Expandable Dependent Slot +1.]
Ian, who had already quietly fallen asleep during the comfortable massage, crossing that hard-to-detect boundary and stepping into the Marvel Universe, didn't know.
He was about to become, unknowingly, the genuine Scapegoat Shadow of DC.
***
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