Tiga's voice echoed within the alleyway.
Just like many other "new immigrants" who had previously materialized in this exact spot. However, it had to be said that Tiga truly lived up to being Tiga; his emotional state was perhaps the most stable of the lot.
Even when his debt situation was far more preposterous than that of any other "new immigrant."
By contrast.
The emotional state of Golden Superman, who was fundamentally a human, wasn't nearly as suited for a romance subplot as Tiga's.
Upon hearing Tiga's words, a terrible premonition welled up inside him. He instantly glanced at his own watch, hurriedly querying his financial debt status.
...
Total Debt: 5,000,030,000 Energy Coins
Five... over five billion?!!
Golden Superman's vision went black, nearly following right in Darkseid's footsteps.
"Hold on! I didn't even hand my wrist to you! How on earth did you apply for an astronomical loan like this on my behalf?! Furthermore, even if this is a loan-sharking scheme, you should at least let me receive some actual capital first to make the setup convenient, right?!" Golden Superman appeared quite knowledgeable about predatory lending. He pointed at Wolverine, his voice shifting an octave out of tune.
Intensely shocked.
Faced with this, Wolverine Logan blanked for a fraction of a second. Then, utilizing his weathered, life-tested eyes, he cast a deep glance toward Tiga, and then toward Golden Superman.
Contained within that gaze was a complex pity that the two of them could not yet fully comprehend.
"This isn't a loan-sharking scheme. Rather, while you two were outside earlier, taking without asking is deemed stealing. You pilfered things from Earth's humanity that rightfully belonged to the One and Only God, Ian."
"Discussing the matter as it stands, compensation plus additional damages are mandatory, right?" Wolverine Logan appeared to have received advanced notice. It made sense; after all, Ian was currently spectating this extra dimension.
To tell the truth.
Ian wasn't the type of person who genuinely threw logic out the window to exploit every single soul he encountered. He was just truly pissed off. The light he had obtained through his own capabilities, begging his fellow human comrades for it.
On what grounds did Golden Superman and Tiga—particularly Tiga—get to consume so much of it? They hadn't contributed a single shred of effort, completely acting to intercept Ian's "fruits of labor."
Anyone who listened to reason would know how to judge this fairly.
"But... isn't our power currently sealed and confiscated by him as well?" Golden Superman creased his brow. While acknowledging they were slightly in the wrong, he still felt this accounting method didn't add up logically.
In response, Wolverine merely clamped his cigar, taking a fierce, massive drag. He offered zero response to Golden Superman's inquiry regarding the loan, instead executing a blunt shift of the topic.
"Don't ask me that question. My assignment is to handle new resident registration and arrange your employment." He pointed toward the exterior of the alleyway, speaking with serious earnestness.
"Now, follow me."
With that, Wolverine lifted a hand, slowly revealing his recently replaced and purchased "steel claws." Compared to his original steel claws, the "special effects" and overall visual appeal looked significantly upgraded.
It possessed the light pollution effect of a pay-to-win mobile game.
Evidently.
Enforcers like Wolverine—Ian's most useful henchmen—possessed a mall interface similar to the new immigrants. Wolverine supervised with his gaze while keeping his other hand tucked inside his pants pocket, appearing ready to pull out something at a moment's notice.
Ever since Ian took a trip to the Time Variance Authority, the law enforcement departments of the extra dimension had acquired quite a few highly practical pieces of equipment.
Do not misunderstand; Ian wasn't practicing the exact same unity of knowledge and action of taking without asking like Tiga and Golden Superman. Within this extra dimension, the authority he possessed was equivalent to a "Creator."
As long as his personal magic reserve was sufficient, whatever he wished to "plagiarize," he could cobble together purely by relying on the power of his imagination.
"..."
"..."
Faced with Wolverine's stance, Golden Superman and Tiga exchanged a glance, both reading helplessness and resignation in each other's eyes.
In this entirely unfamiliar dimension governed by bizarre rules, resisting a fellow who appeared to be an "official" representative capable of snapping steel claws from his knuckles was evidently not a wise move.
After all, regardless of whether it was Golden Superman or Tiga, neither could hold their ground right now. Both were brawlers, and if one truly discussed sophisticated martial arts techniques, they genuinely lacked any real technical finesse.
Having figured this out.
The two silently stood up, following Wolverine out toward the exterior of the alleyway.
This submissive attitude actually caused Wolverine to feel a trace of surprise. Clamping his cigar, he offered a mumbled evaluation: "Tsk, out of the last few batches of new immigrants, you two are currently the most law-abiding."
Hearing this, Golden Superman and Tiga.
Suffered immense bitterness inside.
But what else could they say? They could only exchange a bitter smile.
Both were fundamentally orderly, righteous hero figures. Except, the most massive issue right now... was that judging by the rules of this world, it didn't look like a righteous world at all!
Following Wolverine out of the gloomy alleyway, the exterior revealed a "city" street that was surreal to the absolute extreme. Various uniquely shaped aircraft floated across the sky.
Some resembled teapots, others looked like slippers. The pedestrians on the street were also a bizarre mix—there were mutants sporting wings, as well as muscular hunks sporting mushroom heads.
By comparison.
Tiga's appearance as a "costume man" actually didn't seem all that conspicuous anymore.
At most, he merely drew a couple of extra glances from passing organisms, accompanied by a few remarks like "He definitely ate a rare mushroom," or "I'm going out to trample mushrooms tomorrow to test my luck."
"This way."
Wolverine led the two new immigrants toward an old-fashioned police cruiser that looked straight out of the 1940s.
It was called a police car, but it looked rather comical. The tires of this cruiser were rainbow-colored, and the siren light on the roof was a continuously spinning lollipop.
"Get in, back seat." Logan pulled open the driver's side door, gesturing for them to occupy the rear—the area in front of those rear seats was actually installed with sturdy metal bars, which was explicitly the configuration for transporting convicts!
The electrical arcs crackling across it were sticking their tongues out at the two outsiders, looking like the type of setup where a single touch could save someone a massive amount of hair-perming fees.
Golden Superman did not wish to obtain an afro.
Tiga didn't even have hair available to perm.
The two exchanged a glance once more, silently pulling open the rear doors and seating themselves inside the "paddy wagon."
The police car produced a siren sound akin to a music box, then wobbled as it levitated, flying toward the suburban direction at the city's periphery.
"So, the tires are a form of decoration?"
Riding inside the flying car, Golden Superman couldn't resist a complaint. Perhaps he truly was suited to have a tuft of ahoge installed on his head that belonged to a Planet of Complaints native, capable of absorbing complaint energy to convert into imagination power.
Wolverine displayed his signature aloofness toward this, offering no response. Along the journey, Golden Superman and Tiga peered through the barred windows, witnessing even more sights that delivered a strike to their worldviews.
Streetlamps that danced on their own accord.
Cloud houses that were as fluffy as cotton candy and capable of sneezing, with various tiny people residing inside whose daily employment was solely responsible for wiping the face of that massive smiling-face sun.
They could be considered civil servants.
Even more preposterous sights followed. The liquid flowing inside a river wasn't water, but carbonated orange juice bubbling away. Several organisms looking like Playing Card Soldiers were currently watering a colossal tree that sprouted currency leaves.
A genuine, bona fide money tree.
"I feel like this world..." Golden Superman ultimately couldn't stop himself again, complaining to the silent Tiga beside him.
"It feels identical to the world I witnessed when I was very young on the Kansas farm, after accidentally consuming uncooked wild mushrooms... filled with unrealistic absurdity and colors."
The moment his words landed.
Wolverine Logan, who was driving up front, actually chimed in. He cast a glance at Golden Superman through the rearview mirror, saying.
"You like eating mushrooms? We have plenty of mushrooms in the wild too. Some allow you to summon tiny people to dance together after eating them, though others will turn you into a dwarf yourself. Of course, if your luck is exceptional, you can turn into Snow White."
Logan's tone was entirely flat, as if introducing local specialties.
Golden Superman: "..."
Tiga: "..."
Although the Ultraman remained expressionless, his eyes flickered slightly. The two locked gazes in silence once more, both reading a deep sense of powerlessness in each other's eyes.
What a godforsaken worldview.
So the mushroom people on the street earlier were genuinely transformed after eating mushrooms?
The freedom of racial changing was this absolute.
It truly left one hard-pressed to evaluate.
They basically confirmed that the sovereign of this dimension seemingly desired to construct a fairy-tale universe. Yet due to a penchant for free expression to showcase "talent," the constructed world had deviated slightly from fairy-tale elements.
One couldn't exactly call it a dark fairy-tale; it was simply the type of imagery Golden Superman felt his brain couldn't formulate even if he consumed ten pounds of mushrooms.
Silence.
Continued silence.
The rainbow-tired police car carried Golden Superman and Tiga, flying past that surreal urban district, ultimately descending upon a suburban area that looked relatively "normal."
If the urban district was a wild, abstract oil painting, then this location was a slightly unpolished pixel-art farm simulator scene.
Large tracts of land were orderly partitioned into squares, with uniquely shaped crops emitting faint energy ripples cultivated inside. Various "people" wearing uniform coarse cloth work attire were lowering their heads to labor across the fields.
Among them, figures familiar to Tiga were not lacking.
"Isn't that the Belial from the Land of Light?"
Tiga's gaze locked onto Belial.
He genuinely found it hard to believe that the grand antagonist—whom that group of "debt kings" from the Land of Light frequently borrowed his power to combat—was actually in this place as well, and looking every bit like a diligent old farmer.
Engaging in zero trouble-making, purely burying his head in hard labor.
"Ran into an acquaintance? Normal enough, don't make a fuss over nothing." Logan parked the vehicle in front of a simple wooden cabin that looked like a combination warehouse and office.
Standing at the cabin entrance was a freakish humanoid organism that possessed a tall, thin frame and wore a foreman's uniform, but whose head was an old-fashioned mantel clock ticking away—Clockhead.
Logan exited the vehicle, jerking his chin toward Clockhead, brief and to the point.
"The two newcomers. Handing them over to you. You know the rules."
He enjoyed acting aloof. Clockhead's dial turned toward Logan, the minute and hour hands shifting slightly to produce a muffled "click-clack" sound as a response.
Logan offered no further words, turning on his heel to walk toward the other side of the farm, where the entrance to a mine shaft appeared to be located. His cigar-clamping figure quickly vanished into the darkness.
This fellow was evidently heading to locate his brother, Sabretooth, who was likewise undergoing "rehabilitation through labor" in this location.
Following Logan's departure, Clockhead finally projected his "gaze" toward the newly arrived Golden Superman and Ultraman Tiga. No expression could be discerned on his metallic dial, but an underlying scrutiny was self-evident.
The markings on his dial seemed capable of focusing.
Just as he prepared to allocate assignments according to standard procedure, his entire clock body suddenly stiffened completely!
The pendulum ceased its swinging, as if he were concentrating his mind to listen to something.
A humble emotion was showcased to the absolute absolute limit across this Clockhead. He lowered his dial slightly, appearing to listen to a direct mandate from a supreme existence.
This process persisted for approximately a dozen seconds.
When the pendulum resumed its swinging, Clockhead's attitude toward the two underwent a subtle transformation. He first looked toward Golden Superman, the pointer on his dial directing itself at the man.
"Your debt... the sum is far too immense. Utilizing ordinary labor methods, I am afraid you would struggle to repay even one-ten-thousandth of it even if you exhausted your entire lifetime." Clockhead produced a voice carrying the texture of metallic friction.
Golden Superman's heart sank, harboring a terrible premonition.
Clockhead continued: "Let's do this. Head over there first."
He pointed toward a cultivation sector where Ultron was spraying medicinal powder. Ultron had visibly upgraded a few of his configurations for himself, currently capable of acting as a drone.
"Follow them to learn basic cultivation and familiarize yourself with the environment. Later on... the Master has other arrangements for you." Clockhead voiced Ian's arrangements to Golden Superman.
"Master?" Golden Superman captured this critical keyword, the unease inside his heart amplifying exponentially. "What arrangements does that Master of yours... have for me?"
He was genuinely terrified!
Terrified that the son of Superman from this universe—whose thinking skipped tracks to an eerie degree—would dig some bottomless pit for him yet again! The prior loan and skill tree had already left him close to suffocating.
However, his inquiry was like a stone dropped into the ocean.
Clockhead's pointer shifted slightly, his tone completely devoid of ripples: "When the time comes, you will naturally find out."
He naturally wouldn't inform Golden Superman.
His magnificent "Master" had recently felt envious that certain worlds possessed nine Golden Crows, so an astounding grand blueprint had gestated within his heart—the magnificent Master intended to gather nine Supermen of different models and different attributes, hanging them across the sky to serve as nine suns! To achieve the brilliant conception of an "Empire on which the sun never sets" in his mind!
"As long as they don't make me entertain clients or something... it's fine." This was a worry that surfaced inside Golden Superman's mind purely because he didn't know Ian actually possessed bottom lines.
Harboring a belly full of doubts and an intense ominous premonition, Golden Superman accepted a rust-covered hoe handed over by Clockhead, walking toward the designated field while turning his head back with every three steps.
Watching Golden Superman depart, Clockhead finally turned his "gaze" toward the continuously silent, towering Ultraman Tiga.
"As for you..." Clockhead's pointer swept across Tiga, his voice seemingly carrying a trace of... an indescribable tone? "The Master has other arrangements for you as well."
He gestured for Tiga to follow him, walking toward an independent, sturdier stone cottage adjacent to the wooden cabin.
"Evidently." Clockhead spoke as he walked, a hint of "you hit the jackpot" actually leaking from his metallic pitch.
"The Master holds quite a favorable impression of you."
Tiga: "..."
He genuinely failed to perceive how the fellow who sent him into this dimension held a favorable impression of him.
Clockhead continued speaking.
"Therefore, even though you previously... well, let's count it as 'screwing over' the Master once, the Master is magnanimous, willing to offer you an exceptionally meaningful employment that benefits both you and the Master."
With that, Clockhead pushed open the heavy door of the stone house.
The interior space of the stone house wasn't large, the furnishings exceptionally basic, one could even call them solemn. The most attention-arresting image was a uniquely styled "seat" positioned in the center of the room.
That item was entirely dark gold, its structure complex and majestic, possessing a towering backrest and wide armrests. The backrest even appeared to have some incomprehensible runes carved across it.
The overall style fused dark gothic with the technological sense of some interstellar empire, appearing exceptionally similar to the wheelchair Batman currently occupied, subtly casting the shadow of that Golden Throne which bound the Emperor of Mankind in *Warhammer 40K*.
"This is..."
Tiga transmitted a bewildered thought.
Clockhead walked to the side of the throne, the pointer on his dial directing at it.
"Few individuals know that aside from this 'Super Continent' you currently see and the adjacent 'Magical Beast Paradise,' our world actually possesses a third continent that naturally 'grew' out not long ago."
His voice carried a hint of mystery: "However, that continent suffers from a few... 'minor' issues. The energy field is extremely unstable, filled with the resentment of ruin and despair, capable of corroding normal sanity. Therefore, the Master exerted grand might to temporarily conceal it; we internally refer to it as—the Land of Divine Concealment."
"Right now, that location requires you." Clockhead gestured for Tiga to occupy that Golden Throne.
"Requires me?"
Tiga hesitated for a fraction of a second.
But considering his astronomical debt and his currently exceptionally weakened state—caused by just being revived and having the intercepted light confiscated—there didn't seem to be too many alternatives.
His massive frame slowly seated itself upon that throne which was incomparably icy, yet felt as though it were custom-tailored for him.
And the exact instant he sat securely—
*Buzz!!!*
An indescribable, icy, and colossal stream of consciousness—akin to a bursting dam—violently linked into his core through the throne connection! He felt as though he had instantly traversed countless spaces, projecting his perception into a world that was gray, deathly still, and filled with endless despair and agonized wailing!
That was precisely the so-called "Land of Divine Concealment"!
A corner that appeared abandoned by all hope!
"In this place... has hope ceased to exist."
"But fortunately, I have a premonition that hope once existed in this world, therefore..." Tiga's instinct was triggered. Following that, the despair energy permeating that ruined world—sufficient to drive any organism insane—began to actively and tempestuously surge toward Tiga, who sat upright upon the throne, like a hundred rivers returning to the ocean.
The moment these energies contacted Tiga's body, they appeared to encounter some natural purifier.
Tiga's essence as an "Underworld Trickster."
Even under circumstances where he was severely weakened, it still exerted its function.
In the process of flowing through his body, that turbid, negative despair energy was forcibly converted and purified, transforming into a relatively pure, warm light that represented hope and rebirth!
This newborn "Light of Hope" bifurcated into three segments.
One segment, relatively faint, flowed back along the connection into that Land of Divine Concealment, nourishing that parched, despairing soil like sweet dew, beginning to cause the world to radiate new life.
"So that's how it is..." Tiga sensed that faint yet definitely existing warm current within his body, as well as that hollow sensation from having the vast majority of his labor fruits forcibly extracted.
His mind gradually comprehended everything.
"The reason my talent wasn't entirely stripped away like that human (Golden Superman) is because this capability of mine can be put to use here..."
Being capable of aiding a ruined world.
This was far easier to accept for Tiga.
Furthermore, aside from this, he wasn't all that gloomy either; after all, the opposing party had genuinely given him a bit of a "sweetener," preventing him from immediately suffering a "light dying and life ending" scenario.
Another segment of the light, likewise not much, remained inside Tiga's body, slowly replenishing his nearly depleted energy core, causing his weakened state to experience a trace of alleviation.
Realizing what he needed to execute, Tiga also achieved a bit of enlightenment—this was likely the "remuneration" promised by that boy named Ian Kent.
As for the remaining segment—which was also the lion's share of the light—Tiga was incapable of tracing its destination. After flowing through his body, those lights genuinely vanished into thin air in an exceptionally eerie manner!
Compared to his prior trepidation, Tiga—realizing he was rescuing a ruined universe—was currently more curious about where the vast majority of this "Light of Hope" he converted was actually heading.
One had to know that this light differed from the lights intercepted previously; its nature was exceptionally pure, resembling some symbolic spiritual energy, making it difficult to directly convert into powerful divine might.
In that case.
What unique utility did that large chunk taken by the boy actually possess?
...
While Tiga was filled with curious bewilderment.
Concurrently.
On the reality plane external to the extra dimension, Ian Kent was comfortably reclining across his luxurious grand bed, which was legendary for being imported from Hell and possessing countless invisible demonic hands offering massage services.
While enjoying a relaxation service comparable to an emperor's, he held his phone, engaging in a video call with his secretary Madison, who was persistently trying to conceal gold inside factory walls far away.
"Yes, yes, Madison, my excellent friend." Ian faced the screen, his face beaming with a "noble" radiance. "You must comprehend the magnificent significance of this enterprise of ours!"
"Perhaps you aren't aware of how much light that giant looking like a bodysuit owes to little children anyway. You merely need to know that Master Ian isn't very fond of lying."
"Right now, we are performing good deeds and actions, aiding him in fulfilling the uncompleted promises he owed in the past! We are rescuing the dreams of children!"
"We are heroes!"
"Therefore, please pull an all-nighter. Overtime pay is fully covered. Contact those Hollywood big-shot directors you are acquainted with; we need to film a genuinely thought-provoking commercial."
"Correct, exactly what I stated just now—the 'Childhood Guardian Series' Spark Lenses we are about to launch. The materials must absolutely utilize eco-friendly, biodegradable materials for production."
"It isn't a question of tax deductions, it's about emphasizing green and safety... after all, the United Nations is issuing a call, and for the sake of the Nobel Environmental Prize, I can love environmental protection too."
"Returning to the commercial, your Hollywood is professional at this. I possess solely a single requirement: the focus must be trained heavily on America's school bullying and tragic shooting incidents!"
Ian's eyes sparkled brilliantly.
Talking eloquently.
"Study the essence of that Rifle Association's rhetoric! We must cause those parents to recognize the crisis America currently faces!"
"Make them realize that what they are purchasing for their child isn't merely a toy Spark Lens, but a guarantee of safety! It's the protection and hope that enables a child to instantly transform into a mini Ultraman when encountering danger!"
"Correct! The commercial slogan will be scripted precisely according to my requirements: 'When the alarm sounds, when danger descends, your child deserves to possess a beam of light belonging to themselves!'"
"As for the price... let's set it at a monthly rental of $199.99! Nostalgia and a sense of security are priceless!" Having arranged all of this with an uninterrupted flow of speech, Ian hung up the call in satisfaction.
He let out a massive yawn, turning over under the gentle massage of countless invisible hands, falling peacefully asleep while hugging a customized pillow stamped with the words "I am the logic."
Despite so many occurrences having transpired.
Dawn hadn't even broken yet.
Therefore, he prepared to catch a bit of extra sleep.
*Zzz... Zzz...*
Even snoring quickly resonated.
Merely amidst the grogginess of being right on the verge of plunging completely into deep sleep, a thought seemingly flashed across his brain.
"Hmm... did I... forget something?"
For instance, family bonds.
On the other side, Metropolis, amidst the ruined walls and broken debris of St. Caesar's Church.
The night wind was bleak, causing the broken stained-glass window frames to creak and groan.
Forgotten in this location and remaining firmly bound to a pillar, Damian Wayne couldn't resist a shudder, feeling as though mucus was close to being frozen out of his nose.
He lifted his head, peering at the sparse stars across the sky, then glanced toward the adjacent Jonathan and Jordan Kent, who were likewise bound and wore expressions completely devoid of attachment to life.
"Are we... supposed to stay here for a full night? Or perhaps more than a single night?" The young master of the Wayne family finally couldn't stop himself from speaking upon realizing their predicament.
He, Jordan, and Jonathan had already been bound and suspended here for a considerable duration.
As though forgotten by the world.
The three resembled three puppies abandoned in the freezing wind.
"I feel like Ian, Dad, and Uncle Bruce collaborated to set up a situation, precisely to teach us certain principles." This was the conclusion Jordan formulated after pondering.
Except as for what the parents intended to teach them, his super-brain hadn't quite figured it out yet.
"..."
The oldest and most mature Jonathan offered no extensive thoughts, merely remaining silent as he lifted his head to look at the night scenery outside the broken window.
He hadn't witnessed Los Angeles at 4:00 AM.
However, Seattle at 4:00 AM was something he got to witness today alongside his good brothers.
***
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