Ian accepted the teacup offered by the Demon Butler, leaving the opportunity to bestow favor upon Shiva to himself.
He gently rubbed the rim of the cup with his fingertips, and steam rose up, carrying a hint of Sulfur in the aroma of the tea—a special tea from Hell that ordinary people could not drink.
Only those of high quality who owe God Ian a favor have the opportunity to taste it.
What's wrong with your Three-Eyed Mysterious Person?
Ian didn't offer tea immediately; he simply held the teacup, letting the down-on-his-luck deity watch him intently—a classic example of applying psychological principles.
After all, tea that is too easily obtained will not be appreciated by uninvited guests.
"My eyes? Oh, yes, my Eye of Destruction." Shiva subconsciously touched his swollen third eye socket, his lips twitching as he sobbed even more.
"Your father hit you!"
Shiva is filing a complaint.
"Oh?"
Ian raised an eyebrow.
The steam from the tea made his eyes appear even more strange.
"See why I only have two hands? If I hadn't cut off my hands to survive, I wouldn't have been able to escape at all. He almost used this avatar to find my real body!"
"Damn super vision! I knew there were alien monsters!" Shiva's expression still carried a hint of lingering fear, and his voice was filled with resentment.
"My dad wouldn't hit people under normal circumstances." Ian knew perfectly well which side he should take; the Indian deity in front of him was practically an acquaintance.
Upon hearing this...
Shiva grew increasingly indignant.
"He said I disturbed the wild elephants he was interviewing! And he wouldn't listen to my explanation at all! I said I am a legitimate god, and he said he was beating up a self-proclaimed legitimate god!"
Shiva's face was filled with grief and indignation. It was not surprising that he was beaten, after all, Clark was not in a good mood when he learned that morning that he was going to interview African elephants.
"So you didn't fight back?"
Ian blinked.
He tried to keep his laughter only echoing in his throat.
"Fight back? I did fight back! Didn't I tell you I left two hands behind before I ran away?" Shiva's expression instantly fell.
It was as if a sore spot had been hit.
He actually had a special plan to fight back.
As expected of Ancient God.
"If it weren't for that disaster back then, also caused by alien monsters, which crippled all of our kind and greatly reduced our strength,"
"If your dad punched me, my eye definitely wouldn't swell up." Shiva's tone was full of frustration. He firmly believed that with his strength at his peak, he could withstand at least several thousand punches from Superman.
"You're really amazing!"
Ian nodded sincerely, giving a thumbs-up. Shiva straightened his back, displaying a confidence characteristic of creatures from the Indian side.
"Of course, I am the most powerful god on Earth." As the saying goes, one doesn't need to think before boasting, and if the lower beam is crooked, the upper beam will definitely be crooked as well. Shiva clearly also has a strong belief in his own assessment.
"Hearing that, I'm really not surprised at all—well, let's talk about my brother Jonathan. You mean my brother borrowed too much power, leaving you completely drained every day?" Ian already had a general understanding of the situation.
He has just summarized the cause, process, and result from Shiva's 50,000-word lament.
Ultimately, it's because the free will given by God went too far.
"Is that borrowing? That's robbing!" Shiva's voice rose several octaves. He finally got the tea Ian offered, but he didn't realize what Causality he would incur by drinking a cup of Ian's tea.
The god, who symbolizes reproduction and creation and holds the power of Destruction and rebirth, became increasingly aggrieved as he spoke, drinking tea to calm his nerves while continuing to lament to Ian in yet another round of tears.
Ian already understood the content very well; it was basically about God giving Jonah a belt so that his older brother could truly transform into Armor Hero.
However, what the elder brother thought was the protection of the gods was actually just him forcibly borrowing power from the god he "believed" in. Free will can be interpreted in many ways.
The will to gain power through freedom is also a form of free will. Since the one who bestows the blessing is a being whose word is law, Shiva has no way to change it even if he is unwilling.
"Could you go back and talk to him? After all, I wasn't the one who stole your brother's curry rice last night." Shiva looked at Ian with a long face and a wronged expression.
The air suddenly became quiet.
Hannibal's the Spectre drifted away silently, pretending not to exist. The same was true of Chihuahua Belial and the Demons Baal; smart people know to play dead when discussing matters related to God and Ian.
"Cough cough."
Ian coughed twice, trying to change the subject.
"That's not important."
He spoke seriously, feeling a little guilty, but Ian didn't think it was his fault. Everyone knows that staying up late makes you hungry, and it wasn't unreasonable for him to eat two bowls of his family's curry rice after saving the Marvel Universe.
"How can this not be important!"
Shiva jumped up in a panic, leaping from the sofa, his withered fingers trembling as he pointed into the air.
"Whoever ate his curry rice should borrow his power! Anyway, it wasn't me who ate it!" This Ancient God was indeed trembling with anger and coldness, looking as aggrieved as an Evil Spirit.
Ian blinked.
He astutely grasped the key information—he could tell that Shiva didn't actually know who had stolen the curry rice.
"It's different." Ian realized the other person was bluffing, and immediately became righteous and indignant. He gently shook his head, lowered his voice, and whispered in a serious tone, "That god who steals curry rice has too many followers, and he's petty. I can't let my brother believe in him."
It's not that I think having faith makes me look bad.
Ian was mainly worried that Jonathan would complain to his parents. Besides, even bunny girls don't date the nerdy guys in their neighborhoods, so he certainly couldn't recruit his family as his followers.
Otherwise, family bonds can easily deteriorate.
"Many believers? Petty?" Shiva gasped, as if he had instantly grasped some universal truth. "Hiss~ So it was him who stole the curry rice!"
He deflated instantly, like a punctured balloon, and slumped to the ground, his eyes glazed over, clearly thinking of the most unapproachable being in the world.
"Yes, it's him, it's definitely him."
Ian nodded emphatically, his expression serious. He realized that Shiva might have thought it was a wonderful misunderstanding, so he immediately used the strategy of going with the flow from the 3,600 strategies.
The results were outstanding.
Shiva didn't suspect a thing. The two tacitly avoided mentioning that name. Ian, in particular, was extra cautious, and when shifting blame, he wasn't as direct as he usually was when passing the buck to others.
After all, petty people understand petty people better.
At this moment, Ian also realized a problem once again: the Goddess of Creation was clearly in love with him because God was similar to him in more than just loving to write.
Even in terms of personality, they're probably about the same.
In a sense.
God could even be called "Little Ian ".
Although this made Ian feel somewhat wronged, he still showed his magnanimity and decided not to dwell on it. Just as he was immersed in his own magnanimity, Shiva suddenly sat up, charged forward, and slid to his knees, rushing over to hug Ian's thigh.
This guy immediately burst into tears.
"You have to help me! Ian Kent! You have to! If you help me, I'll give you as many Indians as you want!" He seemed to be living in the last century, unaware that traditional slavery no longer existed in the 21st century. Besides, even in the last century, Indians didn't fetch a good price!
"..."
Ian rarely has such a speechless moment.
"Who wants Indians? What would I do with Indians?" He couldn't help but sigh and rub his forehead. "I don't have a farm that needs Scarecrow planted in the ground to fertilize my crops from time to time."
Ian didn't dream of becoming an agricultural tycoon; he knew he only wanted to be a tech giant. Looking at the effects of those home appliances and furniture, a surge of Divine Power began to flood Ian's mind.
This is far more efficient than planting crops, spreading famine, and then coming out to save the world, and Ian's conscience, which has a surface area of about five square centimeters, would feel much better.
Seeing that Shiva clung to his leg and wouldn't let go, Ian could only patiently persuade him, " Asian Dance King, my brother is lending you his strength to uphold justice."
"You deserve at least a tenth, no, about half a tenth, of the merit. So, you can't be too petty as a god. Haven't you heard MacArthur say that peaks breed fake users, and twilight witnesses devout believers? These days, faith is lost, and devout believers like my brother are rare."
Ian looked down at the creator of the cosmic dance, the master of Destruction and rebirth. He was truly considering the other's feelings; the other had only given up Divine Power, but Jonathan had been deprived of his faith!
"Who is MacArthur? I don't know him, he's talking complete nonsense!" Shiva's face turned blue, and his teeth clenched so tightly they were grinding.
Finally, he managed to squeeze out a sentence through gritted teeth.
"It's not that your brother can transform by borrowing power, but once he transforms, he's indiscriminate in his desires! Whatever outrageous wishes people make, he'll say, ' Shiva will answer you!'"
"Do you think I don't know whether I want to respond or not?!" Shiva became more and more agitated, his voice almost choked with tears. "He answered the prayer on my behalf, and my Divine Power flowed out like crazy—"
He started making pottery again, tears mixed with ashes, leaving ridiculous muddy marks on his face.
This is truly a case of being wronged.
Jonathan's free will is reminiscent of the universal ideals of America's beacon; the victim truly had no say in the matter.
He could even answer prayers on behalf of Shiva. Of course, Jonathan himself was certainly unaware of this; one can only say that his free will was indeed as free as it could possibly be.
"That thing"
Ian took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as if he were comforting a heartbroken friend in a coffee shop, "I'll think of something for you later, you—you let go of my leg first, okay?"
This is Ian's gentleness.
Of course, it's also related to his deep understanding of the nature of people who cling to others at the slightest disagreement—you can't provoke such people, otherwise, who knows what body part they'll grab next?
As an expert who frequently curries favor with others, Ian is well-qualified to speak on this matter.
"Really?" Shiva looked up, his eyes blurry with tears. His iconic grey body now seemed to be covered in mud, Three-Eyed Mysterious Person were filled with tears of grievance.
"Really, I promise."
Ian made a firm promise, then did something that completely baffled Shiva —he extended his little finger and hooked it with Shiva's little finger.
"???????" Shiva stared blankly at the two's pinky clasped fingers, not yet realizing whether this kind of contract between human children was effective for gods.
"So what do I need to give in return?" Shiva finally calmed down, his divine reason returning, and he tentatively asked Ian with a hint of trepidation and wariness.
Ian looked Shiva up and down.
From the Three-Eyed Mysterious Person on Shiva's forehead, to the venomous snake coiled around his arm, and then to the tiger-skin skirt around his waist.
I heard you're a good dancer?
The boy suddenly broke into a bright smile.
"Dance?"
Shiva nodded blankly.
He then instinctively puffed out his chest, and Three-Eyed Mysterious Person lit up.
"The dance of the universe originated from me. The Dance of Destruction, the dance of rebirth, the dance of balance—I am the dance itself." It's clear that Shiva truly loves to dance.
He also loves to boast.
"Marvelous!"
Ian beamed with joy.
"I have a group of live streamers who need a dance teacher. I believe you can definitely train them well!" He didn't care whether the other party was exaggerating their abilities or not.
Ian was primarily attracted to the other person's dancing skills.
Ian was unaware of Michael's self-awakening, so Ian wanted to mold Michael into a good older brother who had trained for two and a half years.
Shiva breathed a sigh of relief. Dancing? That was easy for him, even a display of glory.
He wiped his face, ashes and tears mingling together. "Of course, this is no problem. Ian Kent, you really are the helpful and kind person the rumors say you are."
"Thank you for your help." Fearing Ian might change his mind, he quickly stood up and bowed, then took the address Ian handed him, glancing back at Ian repeatedly with his eyes.
You have to help me!
Shiva's eyebrows seem to dance, expressing his inner prayers. He truly deserves the title of Asian Dance King, Ian is increasingly convinced that he can teach those Angels well.
"Don't worry, I keep my word! If you don't leave right now, I'll call the immigration office to arrest you. You definitely don't have the noble America citizenship! I mean, I mean nationality!"
Ian waved goodbye.
When Shiva's figure completely disappeared.
A gasp of surprise came from the corner.
"Oh, the God-Emperor Ian, actually has a brother favored by God! Indeed! Following you! The future is limitless!" The Chihuahua-like " King of Lies " trembled all over.
It seemed to see a bright future for itself.
"Poor guy, he probably doesn't even know who he'll be teaching to dance. Michael doesn't just like smashing people's eyes; he might even gouge out Shiva's Three-Eyed Mysterious Person."
Ian hung Demons 'Baal head beside the fireplace, savoring his feelings of pity and pride in being different from other Demons.
Just then, Ian turned around, his gaze sweeping over the King of Lies in the corner and Baal on the fireplace.
"Now, we should think about how to help Shiva." Ian didn't want to betray his family's interests, so he decided to use his external Demons wisdom.
Belial immediately raised his tail.
"Woof! I can weave a colossal lie for you to fool him for a lifetime!" The King of Lies puffed out his little chest, his words brimming with confidence in his abilities.
As for Baal, it hesitated for a moment.
" God Ian, we can find Shiva's true form and make a living statue for your brother—that way he'll never have a moving mouth to worry about losing Divine Power again!" It must be said that perhaps the Demons Baal's actual age isn't that old, but in the path of Demons, he definitely has a very promising future.
Two Demons, a newcomer and an old man, offered drastically different "help" solutions.
The difference in quality is immediately apparent.
"Sigh, this isn't the kind of help I wanted to offer." Ian simply sighed softly, shook his head, and placed one hand on the Bone Piano with a hint of melancholy.
The elderly believer Baal, immediately and skillfully gave a response.
" God Ian, this sin is on my head."
Baal's head spoke with a tone of devotion, caution, and unwavering resolve that made it difficult to refuse.
Ian didn't say anything, but silently took out a few small snacks made from Demons corpses that he had obtained in Hell and stuffed them into Baal's already burning mouth like snacks.
" Shiva has a good personality, and after all, he's the god my elder brother worships, so—we should be kind to him. I think that once he senses my kindness, he'll surely choose to become Jonathan's source of power one day." Lord Ian reprimanded the Demons's poison while simultaneously demonstrating his benevolence.
He genuinely felt Demons Baal was too ruthless and did not align with his values as a teenager, and that Shiva himself could have developed into a valuable broadcaster.
How can such a high-quality Pal be turned into a statue so easily? Ian is a compassionate person with a warm heart, so he's not actually that cold-blooded.
The reward I just gave Baal was merely to encourage him to try and figure out what I was thinking.
"Make that guy feel the kindness of God Ian? Okay, I understand!" The Demons Baal didn't know what he understood. He had indeed mastered the art of understanding "Ian's heart" to an unparalleled level. In fact, even Ian was now somewhat unaware of what thoughts the other party had discerned that he himself didn't know.
"..."
Hannibal, who had been watching silently, had his the Spectre hovering on the ceiling. It opened its mouth, but before it could utter a word, Ian pulled it down. After seeing Shiva off, Ian turned around and clung to Hannibal's the Spectre again, continuing to enthusiastically promote his "assembled corpse" service.
"Doctor! Look at these sutures, how neat they are!"
He turned the pieced-together body around as if it were a limited-edition figurine.
"Honestly, if there's anything you're not satisfied with, I know people in several morgues in Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City. Whatever style of body you want, I can get it for you!"
Ian's tone was filled with pride, reflecting his extensive online network.
However.
"Actually, I have OCD." Hannibal's the Spectre hadn't quite managed to break free from Ian's tangible little hand, his face deathly pale, and he drifted a tiny distance away in mid-air.
They practically crawled into the fireplace.
"A germaphobe?"
Ian suddenly realized.
He remembered that Hannibal did indeed have obsessive-compulsive disorder related to cleanliness.
"This is no big problem. I can soak it in disinfectant, or even let disinfectant flow through your new blood vessels, and it won't be a big deal!"
Ian clearly misunderstood the other person's obsession with cleanliness.
Hannibal's expression was as if he'd seen someone making tea with Formalin.
"Oh, that's not the reason."
He sighed heavily, not wanting to dampen Ian's enthusiasm too much.
"Ah?
Ian clapped his hands again.
"You like freshly made corpses, right?" He pulled out his phone, once again showing off his connections. "I know several Reaper. I'll go ask around now which hospital has freshly made, still-warm Deadman!"
He had barely finished speaking when...
" Ian!"
Hannibal was initially puzzled by how many strange beings Ian knew.
He then spoke in a heavy tone.
"Perhaps the dead shouldn't have returned to the human world." A rare weariness appeared on his the Spectre face as he began to reflect, not just because he felt that the body Ian had chosen didn't suit his taste.
"Hmm? Nonsense. Jesus didn't think so." Ian spoke righteously, citing scriptures, which naturally left Hannibal speechless and unable to refute.
Just as the atmosphere became awkward...
Ian's phone suddenly started playing a cheerful Christmas carol.
"Dear Grandpa!"
Ian switched to obedient mode in a second.
"Are you here to ask me what I want for Christmas?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. Aside from holidays, Sam...
Ryan doesn't really like contacting his family.
The other party did indeed have something to say when they called. Sam Lane's voice on the other end was so serious it could freeze lava. " Ian, has your father been neglecting you lately?"
"I'm here to ask you why you're acquiring enough chemical raw materials to submerge a small country." This is indeed an exaggeration, after all, the chemical raw materials Ian acquired only accounted for one-third of those in North Korea.
"Maybe it's because I love to drink, and I like to drink a lot. My Krypton genes make me stronger just by drinking water," Ian honestly replied.
At least, this is a principle he firmly believes in.
"Nonsense! Utter nonsense!"
The old general's roar made the phone vibrate, "The health product patent you applied for is clearly the formula for a certain Zhe's serum that can create super soldiers!"
"The raw materials you've purchased are enough to arm a real army!" My grandfather's tone was serious, his judgment decisive. He held considerable power.
They are clearly paying close attention to the Kent family's movements.
"I just wanted to reward myself, and then reward those who have ambition as well..." Ian blinked, and Yuzhe felt guilty that his little secret had been exposed.
He definitely needs a group of exceptional security guards, cleaners, and support staff —Ian of the New Justice League has always been attentive to this, so he needs exceptional support personnel for stability. After all, if the New Justice League headquarters were to be blown up by the jealous Batman, the severance pay for ordinary employees would certainly not be a small sum.
"Ambitious individuals?"
Sam's voice suddenly turned dangerous.
"Do you know that after those old guys in Congress saw this procurement list, they held several secret meetings overnight? The Pentagon has already marked your file as a potential national threat!" Grandpa Sam Lane warned Ian in an unusually stern tone, inadvertently revealing a wave of top-secret information.
"Isn't there you here?"
Ian walked to the window.
They gazed at the Demons maids grooming the Hellhound in the manor.
He lowered his voice.
They started praising their grandfather excessively.
There was a three-second silence on the other end of the phone.
"I'm just a general, not a marshal."
Sam's voice suddenly became subtle.
"I can't protect you now."
His voice remained unusually stern.
However, Ian keenly detected the sour smell of vinegar.
"Grandpa, why do you seem to have a problem with me?"
Ian tentatively asked the question.
"Of course I have an opinion!"
At this moment, the old general finally erupted, "You want to use religion as a stepping stone to do something big, and you didn't even consult your grandfather? You don't trust me?"
Do you still feel that I can't help?
Upon hearing this...
Ian grew increasingly guilty.
He believed that his plan to implant the " God Ian " faith had been exposed.
"Um... Grandpa, is there anything you can do to help me?"
He asked cautiously.
The sound of papers turning over came from the other end of the phone, followed by Sam's extremely low voice.
"Listen, kid. As long as you're willing to pay—increase the basic military allowances, compensation for casualties, and improve the food standards... I can bring you a hundred thousand troops to help you in no time."
The old general's voice was very soft, as if he were whispering something to Ian.
"Huh? What's going on?" Just as Ian was wondering what he was doing with an army of 100,000, he realized he wasn't God of War, nor did he have a daughter who had been sold into a brothel.
"Stop pretending! Ian, your grandfather has been a soldier my whole life. I've seen through all your tricks. I'm perfectly capable of offering you some help."
"To be honest, although you're still getting used to it, your company's strategy of using seemingly outrageous but inexpensive daily necessities to attract poor people is quite good."
"You can subtly influence users' thoughts—it must be said that with the increasingly intense conflict between the rich and poor, you have found a real breakthrough."
"Believe me, our current system won't last more than a few years before it collapses. Then, the economic debt will bring a real winter, and that will be your opportunity to rise. I'll have my intelligence agencies stir up conflicts on every continent, and you can then seize the opportunity to rise up—yes, a New America."
"Success is just around the corner."
Sam Lane spoke clearly and forcefully, and his line of thinking was undeniably insightful. It was not that America lacked officials who could clearly see the situation.
only.
Splat~
Ian's phone fell to the ground with a thud.
His Super Brain has always been very useful, but it hasn't been this useful yet. Heaven knows why Sam Lane could associate the role of Ian's Greatest Technology Co., Ltd. with this philosophical place!
He swallowed hard.
Ian noticed it too.
His maternal grandfather is only a general now, but he definitely wants to be a marshal!