Meanwhile, in New Mexico's most luxurious desert-view suite, crystal chandeliers cast warm golden light onto the Persian carpet.
Damian slumped on the leather sofa, fiddling absently with the room's expensive decor—until he caught Diluc's icy glare. He quickly set down the gold-rimmed ashtray he'd been turning over in his hands.
Diluc sat cross-legged on a nearby armchair, his dark-red coat neatly draped over the back. Calmly, he said:
"Just as you predicted in your notes, Norman Osborn—disguised as the Green Goblin—attacked the carnival venue. Everything was proceeding according to plan… until your friend Peter Parker showed up."
Thanks to Peter's… exceptional efforts—and crucial support—the Green Goblin escaped unharmed.
Diluc's voice wasn't loud, but his disdain was unmistakable.
Damian fell silent. For someone from the Mondstadt Dawn Winery to criticize him so bluntly, Peter's actions must've been truly disastrous—less "local necrosis," more "full-system meltdown."
With a grimace, he muttered,
"This guy's practically Donghuang Taiyi's younger brother—Donghuang Taier! Shiranui Mai's little sister—who doesn't even know her own mortality!"
"Grandpa Lu, don't worry. Over the next month, this kid's gonna learn firsthand what it means when fatherly love hits like a landslide."
"I'll say it again," Diluc replied flatly, without looking up, "call me Diluc—or Lord Diluc. Not 'Grandpa Lu.' Never 'Grandpa Lu.'"
"Got it, Grandpa Lu! Absolutely, Grandpa Lu!" Damian agreed cheerfully, plucking an apple from the fruit plate and taking a loud, crunchy bite. "By the way… I might not wrap things up here anytime soon. There's a prince from another realm who hasn't left Earth yet—and I've got to ensure his safety."
If that prince were crippled—or worse, killed—on Earth, it would spark an interdimensional catastrophe.
Diluc's brow furrowed slightly. "Thor Odinson?"
At the name, Damian's expression twisted into something between pride and despair—like someone who'd spent a fortune on a "princess perm," only to resemble Isaac Newton more than any royal.
"Yeah, him. He's grown a bit lately, sure… but he's still light-years away from lifting Mjölnir and rolling back to Asgard."
"Then New York's in your hands—and Fischl's—for now, Grandpa Lu."
From the corner, Fischl—who'd been delicately sipping almond tofu—looked up, blinking slowly.
"Thy mortal whisper… did it just brush against my true name, 'Princess of the Judgment'?" she intoned solemnly. "Dost thou seek the guiding light of the Pure Land of Dark Night to illuminate thy lost and humble path?"
Damian and Diluc exchanged glances—then turned in unison toward Oz, who was mid-air, proudly displaying a cluster of golden fries.
Under their intense stares, Oz straightened his wings and cleared his throat with aristocratic grace.
"What Miss means is: 'Were you just talking about me? She's curious—what happened?'"
Damian's lips twitched. "It's fine. Just… listen to Grandpa Lu when the time comes. And Oz—if you've got a spare moment, maybe compile a 'Fischl Dictionary' for the rest of us?"
"...Hmph!" Fischl gasped, face flushing. "Thou insignificant wretch! Dost thou not know thy mockery threatens the very fabric of causality across countless worlds? I forgive all beings… but I shall not suffer thee to trample upon the majesty of this princess!"
Before Oz could translate again—this time mid-peck at a stray fry—Fischl lunged forward, flustered.
"Whoa—! Oz! No, no! Don't you dare explain that!"
---
New York. Osborne Industrial Rooftop Laboratory.
Beneath cold, sterile light, Norman Osborn stood shirtless before his workbench.
Blood-soaked bandages wrapped his torso, dark stains blooming across the gauze—but he seemed oblivious to the pain. His bloodshot eyes locked onto rotating schematics in the holographic projection.
"Sonic pulse module calibration complete. Carbon nanotube braiding now covers critical organ zones."
The AI's voice was clinical, emotionless.
Norman's fingers flew across the virtual keyboard, muscles rippling under torn bandages with every keystroke. Blood trickled down his ribs, spattering onto the metal floor like crimson petals.
"Load the thermal-imaging evasion protocol!" he rasped, voice raw as grinding stone. "I need to see that damned red owl—even in pitch black."
Robotic arms whirred to life. A laser etched intricate guidance channels into the dark-green chest plate of his armor.
Norman snatched an adrenaline syringe and jammed it into his neck. Veins bulged across his temples as the drug surged through him.
"Sir, your vitals are—"
"Shut up! I am the master of this body!"
He hurled the empty syringe against the wall. Glass shattered. Ignoring the shards biting into his knuckles, he staggered to the materials analyzer and input a new data string.
Deep in the lab, three industrial printers hummed in unison, forging armor components. A low-temperature plasma gun coated the alloy frame in matte-black polymer, while swarms of nanobots—like glowing fireflies—zipped through joints, welding with microscopic precision.
Suddenly, Norman grinned into the empty air, tracing the fresh blood seeping from his side.
"This time…" he whispered, voice trembling with manic glee, "I'll rip that bastard in the red trench coat off his feet. Melt his broken little dagger into slag!"
With a violent yank, he tore off the soaked bandage—exposing raw, freshly stitched flesh.
Alcohol hissed as he poured it over the wound. He shuddered… then laughed, wild and broken.
"Anti-Night Owl Armor…" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Perfect. I'm a genius!"
A robotic arm delivered a redesigned pumpkin bomb—its shell now honeycombed to absorb impact.
"Shockwave dispersion increased by 30%. Sufficient to levitate the entire dock district."
The hologram flickered:
[ALERT: NEUROTOXIN LEVELS CRITICAL]
Norman smashed the alarm console with a bare fist—glass embedding in his skin.
Staggering to the lab fridge, he grabbed a syringe filled with viscous green serum and muttered:
"Just a little more… just a little more… Then we'll crush every last one of those bastards!"
He laughed—a sound fraying at the edges of
sanity.
The moment the Green Goblin serum hit his bloodstream, Norman doubled over, gasping in agony.
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