Under the night sky of Metropolis.
There were no dark clouds.
The stars were shining brightly.
A Boeing passenger jet was flying steadily at a high altitude.
Of course, even though it was flying steadily now, it did not change the fact that all the oxygen masks had deployed inside the cabin, and the windows had been cracked by the earlier engine explosion.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking." A voice that had clearly given up trying to reassure the passengers came over the loudspeaker. "We are still flying very, very high... so we won't die immediately."
He no longer knew how to comfort the frightened passengers. Even the most experienced flight crew would probably exclaim that they had never encountered such a bizarre situation in their lives.
From fear.
To shock.
Then from shock to disbelief.
Now the passengers, like the captain, had more or less given up on the strange ordeal they were experiencing tonight.
"Mommy, did we already die in a plane crash?"
A little boy innocently asked his mother.
"About to die, but not dead yet. Perhaps, this is akin to death." The woman in uniform seemed to have become a philosopher. Everyone on the plane was now in a very peaceful mental state.
Gone was the panic and chaos from when the plane's engine exploded moments ago.
[My dearest wife...] In the luxurious first-class cabin, a business elite in a suit was writing frantically on parchment with a pure gold fountain pen.
Many people had written wills before.
This particular will was the tenth revised edition by the business elite. The first nine versions were too emotional, this one included a detailed asset distribution table and tax optimization plan.
Naturally.
He also deleted the inheritance rights of mistresses number three, four, five, and seven.
"I told you earlier, listen to me and don't get on the plane. I saw it, I saw the plane losing control and crashing. This is the pursuit of Death. None of you believed me." The freckled college boy's voice was hoarse. He slumped in his seat, having lost all strength to struggle.
"Death has never come. We must believe in God."
A priest took the opportunity to preach to the boy, but the boy only rolled his eyes in response. However, the priest was persistent, dedicated to spreading the glory of God to every boy.
The atmosphere in the cabin was slightly heavy.
The passengers' ears were not filled with music, only the "whoosh whoosh whoosh" sound drifting in from the broken windows, accompanied by a "woo woo" sound like a giant vacuum cleaner sucking up a fishbone.
Outside.
Beneath the plane, where no one could observe, Ian held the aircraft with both hands, happily circling above Metropolis. He wasn't just celebrating his identity upgrade and newfound ability to fly.
This was a form of training.
Originally.
He was merely looking down at the night view of Metropolis, but the aircraft's engine exploded right before his eyes. As the Son of Superman, he naturally could not stand by indifferently like Homelander.
After kicking away a red-robed Death God who was clinging to the window, poised for action, Ian demonstrated his great power. His bio-force aura had activated the moment he took flight.
This bio-force aura could be activated as long as Ian was airborne. As long as his feet did not touch the ground, he could extend it out, performing the true traditional family art.
Saving the jumbo jet.
At first, Ian struggled slightly to wrap the entire plane in his bio-electric aura, but now he was doing it with ease. The reason was that his bio-electric aura was growing stronger.
Yes, growing stronger.
Not merely adapting.
Under the condition of "one proof is eternal proof," Ian did not have to worry about his ability spiraling out of control. Once he learned it, it was as easy as moving a limb. Thus, Ian would not use excuses like that to torment the passengers and crew.
The reason he flew around holding the jumbo jet for several laps was different from the reason he circled his house hundreds of times. The latter was simply because he wanted to celebrate learning to fly.
As for the former.
It was, of course, because he discovered that Perfect Divine Body, which possessed growth potential, might also be affecting his other Savage Tyrant skills. Now was an excellent opportunity for growth.
Even in Metropolis.
It wasn't every day that Ian could pick up a crash-landing jumbo jet for leveling up.
After all, that was Superman's main line of business.
"The world laughs at my madness, I laugh that the world cannot see through me."
Ian held the plane, skimming the surface of the 'sea.' He just glanced at the brightly lit city on the other side of the moat before flying straight to the Metropolis airport.
This time.
Ian learned his lesson.
He didn't call either of his journalist parents.
He only called reporters he didn't know.
"Hello? Is this the Daily Planet's social news department? I'm a citizen of Metropolis. I just saw a passenger plane with 237 people lose its right engine and was about to complete its daily crash, but thankfully, the new generation guardian of Metropolis, the invincible stocking Superman, appeared in time and held up the plane with his strong arms."
"Is this the Daily Mail? I witnessed a disaster, but stocking Superman saved everything! He held the plane and completed a high-difficulty three-and-a-half somersault spin in the air... Don't worry about whether the passengers threw up, Superman definitely couldn't do that. Wait! I haven't gotten to the best part yet!"
"Metropolis Times? I have a scoop. Huh? What? My voice sounds like the person who reported fake news earlier, slandering Batman for engaging in illegal transactions with a woman in an alley?"
"Stop messing around, this is real news."
"No, you heard wrong, I didn't admit to anything—no, what do you mean you can help me find a lawyer? Do you think I can't afford a lawyer myself?!"
...
Batman's phone was still as functional as ever.
Even though Ian had bitten off half of it, the remaining half was still solid enough. WayneTech lived up to its name, at least in terms of quality, it surpassed most tech companies.
While on the phone.
Ian flew toward the Metropolis airport. He flew super-low, skimming the lake that bordered Metropolis and Gotham. The high-speed flight generated spectacular water curtains below.
At the same time.
Because Ian was approaching the city boundary line.
In the other city across the big lake.
The atmosphere in the Batcave was gloomy.
Bruce Wayne was staring at the computer screen.
He was racking his brain over how to crack Ian's black box permissions.
And how to take down the Gotham Must-Eat List hanging on various gay social networking sites worldwide.
However.
As Ian approached the boundary line.
"Buzz buzz buzz~"
The alarm sounded like a symphony orchestra performing a "Rhapsody of Alarms."
At that moment.
Bruce Wayne, who was always poker-faced, instantly panicked.
He was greatly alarmed.
He quickly picked up his communicator.
"Quickly take Damian to my newly renovated safe house," Bruce instructed Alfred, the Butler-Knight, in an extremely serious voice.
"Has something terrible happened?"
Alfred was also startled. Normally, whether it was the Arkham riot or the Joker acting up again, he had never heard Bruce's voice sound so grave, even wanting to hide young Master Damian away. What kind of crisis required Batman to take such solemn precautions?
Had aliens invaded Earth yet again?
"Do as I say." Batman's tone was very anxious. After all, Ian's threat still echoed in his ears, and he had indeed investigated Ian's social circle over the past few years.
Ian loved surfing the web.
His friends list did include members of an organization that liked to take the children of rich people and castrate them.
That boy.
He really wasn't lying!
"The Kent family is simply my nemesis!" Bruce changed into his battle suit, transforming into Batman, while quickly executing a series of commands on his computer.
Consequently.
The large screens on buildings along the 'sea' border of Gotham were almost all hacked, displaying the large characters [KEEP OUT]. Fireworks also continuously erupted in the sky.
Forming icon after icon meant to ward off "filth."
Ian, however, knew nothing of this.
"Is Gotham celebrating New Year's Eve tonight?"
He merely saw the fireworks above Gotham during his flight and looked surprised, but then he thought about the mental state of Gothamites and decided it seemed perfectly reasonable.
That wretched place.
All sorts of bizarre events happen daily.
Unlike Metropolis.
It was quiet and peaceful. At Metropolis International Airport, reporters had already set up their long-range lenses and microphones. Ian slowly descended, holding the plane, ready for an interview.
"Hiss, he's still flying. His feet are... one centimeter from the ground?" A sharp-eyed reporter noticed the issue with Ian's posture and voiced his extreme confusion.
"It's normal. If I didn't fly a little, how would the world know that I also stand in the sky?" In truth, Ian didn't want to expose his weakness. He could only set the jumbo jet down while maintaining a flying state.
The moment his feet touched the ground.
The cessation of his bio-force aura would surely cause the passenger plane to break apart, and he would be embarrassingly crushed by the massive aircraft. He was only able to lift the plane now thanks to the "flying" buff provided by his Flight skill. Ian slowly lowered the plane onto the runway, completing the landing, and thoughtfully tore open the emergency exit for the passengers.
"Thank you for flying with us." Ian believed that in the hyper-competitive DC Universe, a superhero needed not only a good performance record but also excellent customer service to stand out.
However.
When the last passenger fled the plane, Ian still hadn't received the hug he wanted. Moreover, his Dimensional Demon God magic didn't increase much amidst the passengers' shouts of gratitude.
Sure enough.
Abilities not tied to the system are unreliable. There's no strict monitoring mechanism. Who knows where the passengers' gratitude went!
Was it embezzled by some DC Universe Magic Commissioner?
"Abilities monitored by the system are still more reliable to use." Ian's perspective was slightly different from most transmigrators, though it was hard to say who was right or wrong on this matter.
Watching the passengers flee as if escaping a disaster, Ian refocused his attention on the reporters.
"Was it you who called me just now?"
A reporter asked.
"No."
Ian replied in a muffled voice.
His voice was clearly different from the one on the phone earlier.
He faced the cameras.
Composed and at ease.
After all, he still had a lot of unspoken truth quota left for today.
"You must be quite young, I feel like you're still in school." This reporter's judgment resonated with many others, as keen observation was the most important quality for a reporter.
Those who lacked it were all assigned to Gotham.
"Although I'm young, it doesn't affect my career. Superheroes must start when they are children." Ian, knowing he couldn't hide this fact, tried to argue.
However.
No one listened to his sophistry.
"I know you! The superhero in the city center this afternoon was also you!" A reporter recognized Ian, and Ian was about to praise the female reporter when she said:
"Yes! Masked Braggart! People gave him that nickname because he claimed he drove Superman away!" The female reporter exclaimed, educating her bewildered colleagues.
Ian's smile froze on his face.
"Correction, you should call me Silk Stocking Superman. My official name is Silk Stocking Superman—Good heavens, don't you people check the Superhero Popularity Center?"
Ian felt that these reporters were derelict in their duty. How could a serious reporter not pay attention to that website? After all, superheroes were the true main theme of the entire DC Universe.
"Hello, stocki... Stocking Superman. You seem to have become active only recently, right?" The reporters ignored Ian. They were more concerned about his origins.
Seeing the reporters' curious expressions, Ian immediately began to educate them.
"Yes, yes."
The boy was well-prepared.
The information was actually available for viewing on the Superhero Popularity Center.
"Thirty million years ago, in the super ancient period, humans already existed and created a highly advanced super ancient civilization. However, many, many powerful metahumans were vying for territory."
"Ultimately, the Dark Superman and his three hangers-on achieved victory. However, due to the invasion of evil creatures, the Dark Superman and his three hangers-on were buried in the river of history."
"Of course, the Dark Superman might have died, but his power never vanished. This power was purified by the light of human minds, becoming an immensely powerful force of light."
"It has always existed, until a human with the highest moral standards appeared. Thus, it bestowed its power upon this human, making this human the embodiment of light."
"Which is me."
Ian gave a vivid account. Weaving tales was a talent he was born with. The spotlights flashed, and the reporters frantically recorded everything with their voice recorders and notebooks.
Not a single person among them doubted this claim.
"So, Kryptonians are actually Earthlings, just ancient humans who migrated away?" Not only did they not doubt him, but some even pondered, thinking they had found a universal explanation.
"Exactly, exactly."
Ian's backstory had been effectively supplemented.
He prepared to update the information on the Superhero Popularity Center tonight when he returned home.
"I see, no wonder Kryptonians look so similar to us. It severely violates the hypothesis of cosmic biology." The thoughtful reporter looked truly cool.
Ian gave him a thumbs up.
Of course.
Not everyone accepted Ian's story. After all, not everyone would choose to abandon their brains and independent thinking ability just to pursue a hot topic.
"Stocking Superman, even if that is truly your name... some people say you are an Arkham escapee. What is your take on that?" This annoying reporter was from Luthor's media empire.
Ian knew how to handle this.
"That question, you should ask Batman, not me—if I really came from Arkham." Ian was a child raised in a journalist family. He knew well that when facing a reporter's interview, one must never fall into their questioning trap but must maintain one's own Q&A rhythm.
The reporters also sensed Ian's proficiency.
However.
"Ding ding ding~"
Ian's phone rang.
[Gotham Weirdo]
The caller ID was a jumble of characters, but Ian had labeled it. He hadn't expected Batman to actually be watching the live stream and to have already broken through the New Tony Stark's black box lockdown.
The speed was too fast.
It exceeded Ian's prediction.
He had underestimated Batman. He hadn't expected that even without relying on his fear of the "Family" to unleash his potential, Batman could still break through the New Tony Stark's digital blockade so quickly.
"New Tony Stark is not Tony God after all."
Ian sighed inwardly.
He hung up the phone.
"This is the first time I've seen a superhero carry a... pager." The man standing in front, holding the camera, sincerely commented before looking at Ian's face.
There.
Only his eyes and nose were visible.
A superhero dressed like a robber was also a first for him.
"Is it an emergency?"
The female reporter with the microphone was curious about Ian's private life.
"Nothing, just being harassed by a gay man."
Ian calmly took out the black box again and performed a second encryption on his phone. The half-phone, which had been vibrating madly and mistaken for a pager, was quiet once more.
Always have a backup plan.
That was something he learned from Batman.
The black box had many miraculous uses.
"Where were we?" Ian put his phone back in his pocket, only to look up and find the reporters silent, all staring at him with strange expressions.
"We were talking about a gay man pursuing you madly? And you were about to tell us why you know gay men?" This is why this group was considered the most seasoned reporters in Metropolis. Look at their rhetorical flourish, it was so powerful that it made Ian speechless.
Of course.
The deafening silence did not come solely from the reporters.
Ian looked at the live camera.
He noticed that his magic growth rate was much more rapid than when he was telling the backstory of the "Silk Stocking Superman." It was growing several times faster.
As expected of America.
Superheroes who are politically correct receive more adoration. Clearly, the Ancestor persona path was the right choice, but Ian still had some true bottom lines.
"Let's talk about me saving the jumbo jet instead." He had found a shortcut, but he didn't want to take it. After all, he would rather not have politically correct magic like that.
"Okay, okay."
Many media outlets echoed him. After all, not every reporter wanted to capitalize on that kind of sensational traffic. Many in the industry had already suffered backlash from it.
Seeing the conversation return to the main topic.
Ian immediately began to exercise his innate talent.
"It was a thrilling battle..." A thousand words could be omitted here. Ian used his words, blending elements from Speed, The Matrix, Star Wars, Titanic, and even Mission: Impossible, to truly recount a magnificent and epic story for the reporters.
The reporters were stunned, feeling that something was off, but the story was indeed spectacular. Not only did they find it exciting, but the viewers watching the live stream were also dumbfounded.
Besides reverence.
What else could they offer?
Ian's mind was filling up madly, and his magic quickly reached the level of a small well.
"And just like that, it looked like I just caught a big plane, but in reality, I defeated Death." Ian used a part of the truth as the conclusion of his story.
He truly defeated Death.
The red-robed Death God he had kicked away was still in a state that no one else could see, standing a few hundred meters behind the reporters, leaning on his scythe and staring at him.
"We can't escape. If we escape once, there will be a next time. The pursuit of Death never ends." Even when a boy muttering "Death is coming" walked past him.
The red-robed Death God did not spare the boy a glance.
His face was shrouded in shadow, invisible to others.
But those two red eyes were fixed plaintively on Ian. It wasn't scary, instead, it looked like he was about to cry from being wronged. Ian chose to pretend he saw nothing.
The Death God's performance metrics.
Clashed with his own merit points.
Ultimately, only one of them could slightly increase.
Ian finished his story.
"Clap clap clap~"
Warm applause immediately erupted at the scene. The reporters knew clearly that no matter how much truth or fiction was in the story, the level of excitement would surely bring super-high ratings to their news.
Such a talented person.
He chose to be a superhero.
Instead of writing books.
Could it be true that he was chosen by the force of light from the ancient metahumans? Everyone could tell Ian was a boy, no older than eighteen at most.
This age indeed carried significance.
A reporter began to murmur inwardly.
Meanwhile.
Ian also checked the time.
"That's the whole story. It's about the merit needed to build 1,659 churches. I don't like to nitpick these things. It's getting late, and everyone needs to rest early."
Ian spoke. Before the reporters could react, they saw him pull a pitch-black metal box from his pocket and tap it a few times quickly with his finger.
With a soft beep, all the cameras at the scene suddenly went black, the drones fell like broken kites, and even the mobile live stream screens turned to static.
The New Tony Stark's black box had endless miraculous uses.
This maneuver stunned the reporters.
They had thought Ian was a superhero who relied purely on mutation or was truly blessed by ancient power. They never expected this guy to have such an overpowered piece of technology in his hand.
A Hexagonal Warrior?
While the reporters were bewildered.
"Remember to get up early tomorrow and put me on the front page!" Ian genuinely instructed them while handing out expense money for the night to the reporters one by one.
Again.
To climb up as a superhero, one must understand social etiquette. Since it wasn't Ian's own money, he gave it out without a second thought, very generous.
This move confused many poorly informed reporters.
Was this how one was supposed to be a superhero?
A reporter with more information suddenly realized that their colleague's boasting at the newsroom was true: there really was a super-rich person playing superhero just for fun.
"You're too generous."
A rookie reporter even used an honorific for Ian. How could she not know if this superhero was genuine? How could she not feel whether he had truly helped the public?
The reporters exchanged glances.
Many of them understood.
Although the hero in front of them had a slightly unconventional style, he was genuinely sincere. Both his simple wish to be on the front page and the Franklins in his hand were sincere.
*Shock! Plane Crash! From Ancient Times! The Embodiment of Metropolis's Will! Apostle of Light Saves the Day!* A reporter had already begun writing furiously.
She wanted to justify Ian.
And incidentally create a sensation for her own benefit.
A win-win moment had arrived.
And right then.
"Ding ding ding~"
Ian's half-phone rang again. He thought it was Batman breaking through his latest block, but he still overestimated Batman's speed.
"It's Dad..."
Ian looked at the caller ID and, after some thought, didn't dare hang up.
If he didn't answer, and Superman rushed over, stealing the spotlight would be a minor issue. The main problem was the fear that the "Masked Braggart" might truly be confirmed—that was a nightmare he dared not imagine.
"Okay, Dad, I'll be right back."
Ian hung up the phone.
He nodded to the reporters with a blank face.
"Sorry, I have to go home and get beaten. Next time I'll share a new true story with everyone—my abusive father." After speaking, with a sonic boom.
Ian shot straight up into the sky.
Disappearing from the dumbfounded gaze of the reporters.
He was not in a good mood.
Because he had heard his mother's voice on the other end of the phone. His hoard of silk stockings was being confiscated by his mother, and judging by his father's tone, the Stocking Superman account was likely going to be permanently banned.
"Don't follow me!"
Ian stripped off his silk stockings.
He kicked the red-robed Death God, who was following him into the sky, away.
The feeling of kicking the Death God was quite satisfying.
He was sent spiraling to the ground, giving Ian a moment of pleasure.
"Switching to Ancestor, well, that's not bad either." Ian thought of his many other personas, and his newly developed melancholy immediately vanished. He happily flew toward the parking lot.
The night sky hung high.
Soon.
Ian, moving at the speed of a fighter jet, landed on the asphalt ground of the parking lot. The slight sound of his boots scuffing the ground announced his arrival. He walked toward his unique Hellcat.
It was parked quietly there.
Its paint gleamed with a dark red luster under the moonlight.
Like a dormant beast.
As Ian approached, his keen hearing caught unusual breathing sounds inside the car—it wasn't Madison's rapid sleeping breaths, but two unfamiliar, steady breaths.
"Was it zero-sum looted again?"
Ian frowned, his golden pupils slightly contracting in the darkness. He walked around to the front of the car, hooked his fingers under the edge of the hood, and slowly lifted the Hellcat's front bonnet.
"..."
Ian fell silent.
He saw two unconscious boys curled up in the engine compartment.
The smaller one had brown curly hair and a handsome face stained with some oil. It was his classmate Sam Winchester, whom he had fiercely threatened before.
The older blond youth beside him was obvious—Dean Winchester, the elder brother of the demon-hunting duo, the backup vessel for the angel Michael on Earth.
Sam was the same.
Sam was the human vessel for the Devil Lucifer. However, since Lucifer was currently having a blast in Los Angeles, Ian didn't know if that particular plot point still held true.
Regarding the story of the two brothers.
The only thing Ian clearly remembered was that Dean would sleep with a beautiful woman every now and then. The actresses were genuinely pretty, and even the female extras who died were often captivating in their own right.
They were the kind of women who could be the female lead in other stories.
"I have to say, Dean does possess about a third of my handsomeness and looks exactly like Soldier Boy." Ian grabbed the two unconscious brothers and tossed them into the trunk.
He planned to drop them off where they belonged.
At Dean and Sam's home.
Ian was intimately familiar with the brothers' residence. For reasons known to all, he knew exactly where and with whom many of his schoolmates lived.
"They must have sensed something was off with my Hellcat, came to investigate it, and were then counter-killed by my little car." Ian didn't even need to examine the scene to make this judgment. The Winchester brothers were not simple. They were natural-born demon hunters, as that was their destiny from birth.
The fate of being pawns for Heaven and Hell was already closely intertwined with them. The entire Winchester family was like this; their family members possessed the genes to be vessels for angels and demons.
"Buzz buzz buzz~"
The Hellcat's exhaust pipe suddenly "pfft" out a puff of hot air.
As if responding.
"Throw your brother in jail~"
"Everybody gone bad~"
"Situation, aggravation~"
...
The radio also played a song in sync.
The Hellcat was expressing that it had followed Ian's teachings well, only locking the bad guys in a "jail." However, its understanding of "jail" was slightly different from Ian's.
"Good girl. Next time, don't hide the prey in the engine compartment, their saliva will contaminate your engine oil." Ian didn't blame it, instead, he showed concern for his Hellcat's health.
The Hellcat was overjoyed.
"Let's go home first. I have to go to bed in half an hour."
Just as Ian was about to get into the car, a faint, lingering fragrance suddenly filled the air. In surprise, he also heard the subtle sound of wings flapping.
"Evil God."
A deep voice came from behind.
Ian turned and saw a man in a beige trench coat standing three meters away. His posture was unnaturally straight, and his eyes glowed with a rich golden light in the shadow.
Even brighter than Ian's eyes.
"An angel?"
Ian raised an eyebrow.
He looked at the gradually retracting wings behind the man.
"Castiel?"
He thought of the two brothers he had thrown into the trunk. Their destiny would indeed include a guardian angel, and the angel before him looked very much like that angel.
"Evil God."
The angel Castiel did not respond to Ian. He simply took a step forward. "I don't care that you're stealing human faith, but these two carry a mission bestowed by the Lord."
"You must release them." The angel Castiel's tone held a hint of irrefutability. His golden eyes stared intently at the boy who was slightly shorter than him.
"Tell me more about stealing human faith."
Ian did not avoid the stare.
He thought of his magic, which had been growing madly just now.
"Do not play dumb in front of me. You cannot deceive an angel. Release those two, or else you are attempting to war with our entire Heaven..."
Castiel's wings shot out again.
Attempting to intimidate.
However.
Before he could finish his threat.
Another sound of wings unfolding interrupted his threat. A Black angel rushed out, seemingly appearing out of thin air, and immediately clamped his hand over the angel Castiel's mouth.
"Have we met before?"
Ian felt a sense of familiarity with the burly angel.
"No, we haven't. How could we have?"
The burly angel quickly denied it. He was the angel Amenadiel.
"I apologize. He's not an angel, he's just a poor soul, and I'm taking him for treatment now. You carry on. By the way, remember that there is no such thing as Heaven in the world."
"We live in an age of science. Believe in science, believe in aliens." The angel Amenadiel finished with a smile for Ian, ignoring the muffled struggles of Castiel.
He immediately dragged Castiel a few steps back.
The two of them gradually vanished into the air like a drawing being erased.
"..."
Ian was silent for a long time. He had recognized the identity of the second angel, and precisely because of this, he found the events that had occurred in the blink of an eye to be absurd and bizarre.
"God's firstborn son? Are there mentally ill people among the angels too?"
It took Ian a moment to blurt out this sentence.
He couldn't help but suspect Amenadiel of being mentally ill. As an angel, to deny the existence of Heaven? What could that be other than flagrant disloyalty to Heaven?
Only the explanation of mental illness, which fit anywhere, could account for such a strange situation.
"It can't be a hallucination, right? I didn't go pick up small mushrooms by the roadside to eat because of a creative block tonight." Ian had lived in this world for nearly fifteen years.
He was genuinely questioning his own sanity for the first time. He knew both angels, yet he was still perplexed by what had just happened.
"Weird, weird." Ian scratched his head and reached for the car door handle again—Vroom, the Hellcat suddenly moved on its own. It seemed very anxious and sped out of the parking space.
It simply moved itself to a different parking spot.
"??????"
Just as Ian couldn't help but wonder why his beloved car had suddenly "rebelled" and began to suspect whether mental illness was contagious, his legitimate super-hearing picked up an anomaly.
"Rumble rumble~"
Dust flew, and sparks scattered everywhere.
A red figure smashed through three SUVs in the parking lot.
He finally lodged himself into the door of the fourth car.
Amidst the screeching of twisting metal, the masked figure, covered in golden electric arcs, fell limply to the ground like a ragdoll—it was Barry Allen, The Flash!
The man's red suit was tattered, and the golden electric arcs on his body were flickering extremely unstablely. His struggling face was filled with panic and urgency.
"Run, I..."
The Flash did not finish his sentence.
The asphalt ground suddenly glowed with a bizarre blue electricity.
Immediately after, a low buzzing sound, like thunder exploding nearby, came through the air. Then, a tall, imposing figure seemed to instantly teleport in front of The Flash.
It was—an armored monster!
"Barry Allen, your speed is like a toddling child before me. How dare you defy my will with this little bit of skill? I am the God of Velocity!"
The armored monster's metal boot stomped on The Flash's chest.
The blue Speed Force radiating around its body illuminated its hideous mask.
"Savitar?"
Ian saw one of The Flash's archenemies appear. He instinctively took a step back, jumping eighty meters away, but Savitar didn't seem to notice him.
"Accept your destiny, Barry Allen. Accept that gift." Savitar's voice was deep and inhuman, like a cold and merciless overlap of thousands of synthesized electronic voices.
The sense of oppression was overwhelming.
"Superman..." The Flash wanted to call out for help toward the sky. Perhaps this was why he ran to Metropolis. However, his cry for help received no response.
The after-effects of the angel's descent were still lingering.
They might be interfering with certain things.
Clark's super-hearing was not an ability that could not be blocked.
"Superman isn't here, but the Son of Superman is always here." Ian only slightly weighed the situation in his heart before making a decision. Since The Flash came looking for his old man in a crisis, he couldn't leave his old man's little brother to die. Otherwise, if the story got back to Gotham, people would think the Superman family couldn't save a fallen comrade.
"Sizzle sizzle~"
A scorching golden beam of light erupted directly from Ian's eyes.
The brilliance, like a solar flare, illuminated the entire night parking lot.
However.
The speed of the heat vision might be very fast.
But Savitar's speed was clearly much faster.
The moment the laser was about to hit, Savitar's figure instantly disappeared, like a torn illusion. When he reappeared, he was already standing in front of Ian.
"..."
Ian chose to extinguish his heat vision.
He couldn't help it.
He hadn't seen the guy dodge at all, but no matter how he shook his head, the heat vision seemed unable to hit Savitar, even up close.
If he kept firing, wouldn't he just be humiliating himself?
"Golden heat vision. Decent strength, but there is no place for you in the future." Savitar did not attack Ian, but spoke with an extremely contemptuous tone.
He stood directly in front of Ian, looking down at him. The armor he wore amplified the Speed Force, emitting a cold, powerful, and mysterious aura.
It seemed not to belong to this reality.
It was more like a piece of high-tech war weaponry from a distant future, yet it carried the authority of a war god's armor from ancient mythology. Countless blue Speed Force currents flowed and flashed across its surface, and the surrounding air seemed to slightly distort from the armor's immense energy.
"Who are you?"
Ian asked knowingly.
His brain was spinning rapidly, considering countermeasures.
He couldn't even secretly call his dad.
The opponent was too fast.
"I am the God of Velocity!"
Savitar used the same line he had used for The Flash to answer Ian's question. He did not know that Ian was fully aware that he was merely a future Time Remnant of The Flash—the so-called God of Velocity was just a dark version of Barry's future, representing what Barry could become if he continued to misuse the Speed Force.
"As a superhero, I am willing to die now. Do it." Ian looked at the weapon in Savitar's hand. The highly futuristic armor held several cold weapons crafted with high technology.
He wanted to use Savitar's weapon to level up.
However.
Savitar did not fall for it.
"A noble spirit, but no one will remember your sacrifice... A life as lowly as an insect will only have an unremembered death and end."
Savitar let out a cold laugh.
Immediately after, he adopted a voice full of temptation. "Surrender to me, and you can change your destiny. Glory and honor will be within reach. You can stand amidst the cheers of everyone and become the person you desire to be."
How to put it.
Ian would bet this guy used a future version of a voice modulator.
He perfectly nailed that demonic tone.
"Don't be like The Flash. Dying for nothing is meaningless."
While speaking to Ian, Savitar didn't turn his head, but his metal glove suddenly shot backward, precisely gripping The Flash's throat as he tried to sneak attack.
The Flash's feet thrashed futilely in the air.
He gradually lost strength.
"Uh..."
Ian tilted his head.
He looked at The Flash, who had once again become a soft-legged shrimp.
"Okay, I surrender."
He decisively chose to agree.
Such a straightforward answer even caught Savitar slightly off guard.
"..."
Savitar fell silent.
After a moment.
"Very well." He let out a low chuckle, his tone softening slightly. "I like people who know how to size up the situation. Only people like you can have a place in the new world of the future."
It was unclear if this was praise or criticism, but Savitar was certainly very satisfied with Ian's attitude. He looked down upon the boy before him with an arrogant gaze.
"Now, bow down. Bow down to me, bow down to your God, and welcome the descent of the stars with me." Savitar's tone carried an unquestionable authority.
"No problem, anything you want."
Although Ian said this, his body honestly did not move. Under Savitar's unfriendly gaze, he quickly pinched his throat and spoke.
"I would certainly and willingly surrender to you, but... may a great being like you help me take a little revenge?" Forgive Ian for not knowing how to make his voice sound flattering.
He could only slightly imitate the voice of old eunuchs.
Pretending to be obsequious.
Fortunately, Savitar didn't seem to mind this.
"A reasonable request. I will let you witness my power, so that your surrender will be genuine." Savitar nodded, displaying his generosity.
Ian immediately showed a happy expression.
"Thank you, Almighty God of Velocity. It's like this, there's a bar in Los Angeles called the Light Bar. I hope you can help me smash it up."
"Of course, don't touch the collectibles, just smash the storefront. Actually, if I were to tell you the story..." Ian's sob story and the reason why he couldn't take revenge himself had not yet been fully formed.
"I do not need to know your past."
Savitar spoke coldly, forcibly interrupting Ian's story.
He was like a true CEO.
"One breath, and you will understand whose feet you have submitted to." After saying that, with a surge of the Speed Force, Savitar instantly vanished from the parking lot.
One breath passed.
Two breaths passed.
Fifty breaths had passed.
"Where is he? Where is Savitar?" The Flash struggled to prop himself up, smoke still wafting from the collar of his suit. He looked around. Besides the crashed cars, the entire parking lot was eerily quiet.
Savitar had gone.
Waving away the Speed Force.
It seemed he had no intention of returning, or perhaps he was no longer able to have intentions.
"He's probably gone. Time for a funeral feast."
Ian quickly walked toward his beloved car.
"I've seen pictures of your family. You're Ian... What did you do?" The severely injured Flash was utterly confused. He limped and stumbled after him with a broken leg.
"I used my super brain." Ian opened the trunk and began tying ribbons onto Sam, his classmate who had brought him bad luck, as if packaging him as some kind of apology gift.
The Metropolis Gambler had to take another gamble.
"You're... you're not committing a crime, are you?" The Flash was bewildered again. He didn't know why there was a person in Ian's trunk, nor what Ian was doing now.
"Don't talk about that, Uncle Barry. Quickly use the one leg you have left that isn't completely broken, use your Speed Force, and hop over to buy me a large box."
Ian had already wrapped Sam up festively.
"?????"
Barry Allen removed his cowl.
His expression was one of extreme astonishment, as if he had just seen a devil. Indeed, what kind of person would think of asking a cripple to hop to the store to buy something?
"I... I might not be able to move much."
Barry Allen declined Ian's request.
"It's not just that I've broken over a dozen bones. You should get me a stretcher. The biggest reason is that I'm still being affected by this corrosion. It has reduced my speed by at least half, even before I was injured."
Saying this.
Barry Allen showed Ian his arm. There was a hideous scar on it, looking very strange, and now it was glowing with a faint blue light.
"Then I'll go buy one myself right away." Ian didn't insist. He didn't have time to look at Barry Allen's arm because he knew exactly what he had done.
"I took a huge risk to save you. By market value, you owe me at least twelve thousand favors. If you try to deny it, you'll end up on the Must-Eat List with Uncle Bruce."
Ian's tone was serious, more than ever before.
"What Must-Eat List?"
The simple Barry Allen opened his mouth but still couldn't understand Ian's words. He wasn't particularly taciturn, but he didn't know how to communicate effectively with Ian either.
The two of them seemed to be on completely different communication channels.
Was this.
The so-called generation gap?
Barry Allen felt utterly lost.
And at this moment.
Ian was just about to fly away.
Suddenly.
The night wind fell still.
As if something had just arrived in the area.
Even Barry Allen could feel it, so Ian naturally couldn't be unaware. The ten-year-old boy quickly looked around at his surroundings.
"Hmm? Speaking of favors..."
He saw Sam Winchester, who Ian had dressed up in ribbons, suddenly sit straight up in the trunk. Like a corpse being reanimated, the boy's brown curly hair was still stained with oil, but the eyes that suddenly opened were blood-red.
"Gulp~"
Barry Allen felt a chill run down his spine.
And the person hadn't even looked at him. Sam, who seemed to be possessed, looked at Ian.
"Now, you owe *me* a favor."
He spoke softly.
A smile that did not belong to that age curved on his lips.
In short.
A fiendish smile.
***
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