The eerie sound of the Mimicry mouth opening and closing, mixed with the piercing bell-like sound emanating from the Black Box, seemed to come from the abyss, creating a scene that could drive anyone's sanity crazy.
"..."
Seeing Ian's Mimicry, Clark Kent couldn't find a way to reprimand him, so he could only cover his face, pressing his fingers so hard they almost left marks on his handsome face.
To be honest...
Even the invincible Superman is utterly insecure at times like this; he can feel his nerves, which have remained as steady as a rock even after a stellar explosion, groaning under the strain before Ian.
This is what a midlife crisis looks like.
At least Ian was much better and kinder than those disobedient children in traditional America families—that was the only thing Clark could console himself with.
"So..."
Clark's voice squeezed out with difficulty from between his fingers, trembling almost imperceptibly, "Why didn't you answer the phone and see what Bruce wanted to talk to you about?"
It was clear he really wanted to change the subject.
Ian nodded vigorously with his head, which served as his main body, and connected the communication with his fingers. However, the Mimicry mouth on his abdomen responded cheerfully to the Black Box first.
"Hey? Uncle Bruce? Is the signal okay? My dad's asking you, did you call me without permission to start smelting virginity? How's the Sulfur bath in Hell going? Should I burn some limited-edition sports cars, paper doll wives, or that little hard drive you hid deep in the Batcave that you didn't have time to format, and send it over to Hell?"
Batman was able to access Ian's Black Box thanks to Lord Ian's great mercy; after his Half-Phone was moved, the task of allowing Ian to make free calls was handed over to the Black Box.
A series of soul-searching questions burst forth like a Gatling gun blast, precisely covering moral questioning, environmental concerns, and end-of-life care in the face of the ultimate social threat of death.
There was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone, with only the faint background buzzing of some high-frequency energy weapon charging and the urgent alarm of a computer.
certainly.
Batman's panting was also very noticeable.
However, he shouldn't be at the point of being furious yet. Ian believes that his Black Box can help him manage his social relationships. The Black Box is a magical tool that is very good at social skills. With a little setting, it will automatically help Ian judge the situation of the caller and thus considerately block, connect, or hang up calls from outsiders for Ian.
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh~"
Now is the time for Batman to be verbally attacked to the point of exhaustion.
After a long while.
Only then did a rough, extremely suppressed voice come from the other end of the Black Box, as if the throat were filled with Hellfire, each word spoken with the force of gritted teeth.
"Besides that damn thing you're holding that can receive signals even in a cosmic rift, do you really expect me to call your old man's Nokia?" He emphasized the word " Nokia," clearly not referring to the phone brand, but rather describing Clark Kent's phone as being too old-fashioned.
Finally, the voice added stiffly, with an unquestionable tone, as if worried that Ian would spread rumors about them if they didn't explain.
"Also, I'm not dead."
Batman isn't afraid of rumors about him, but he's genuinely worried that if he doesn't record himself explaining his physical condition today, he might end up at his own funeral on the streets of Gotham that very night— Ian is the kind of guy who really wants to throw him a funeral and collect money from Gotham's villains.
Batman knew he had figured out the youngest son of the Kent Family.
"Fine, if he's not dead, he's not dead."
Ian switched the interface and canceled the Funeral Service Package service he had booked for Bruce Wayne. Ian wasn't actually that surprised that Batman wasn't dead.
He was, after all, a believer in the [NPC] law, and he also knew that Batman, a pivotal NPC in the DC Universe, was not someone who could be killed by a mere aftershock.
God always has to arrange a grand and magnificent event. Of course, the discerning Ian could see through this, but he always sensed a hint of regret on his taciturn father's face.
It was as if a fleeting dream of "the world finally being peaceful" had just been shattered. His expression was so subtle that only a master of facial expression management like Lord Ian could discern it.
"Tell your dad to wipe that regretful look off his face." Although Ian didn't say a word, it was as if there was a 24/7, 360-degree surveillance system on the other end of the phone.
Batman is also a master of facial expression management and the only expert on Earth who studies Superman. He doesn't actually need any monitoring; he can simply calculate Clark Kent's psychological state with a few simple calculations.
It's fair to say that even Ian's mother, Lois, doesn't understand Superman as well as Batman does.
"Cough cough..."
Clark coughed sharply, instantly adjusting his facial muscles to switch to a standard " God of Mankind " expression of solemnity and slight impatience, even raising his voice as if to cover it up.
"So what's wrong with him? I'm busy!" Clark's face was turned towards Ian, but he was actually trying to change the subject to the person on the other end of the phone.
The acting lacked soul; zero points.
However, Batman clearly didn't intend to bother with this clumsy performance; in the background, there seemed to be a very faint sound, like Batarang cutting through the air.
"There's been a problem, I need you back immediately." His voice quickened, and in the background came clear explosions and the shrill roars of some inhuman creature.
The words had barely left his mouth.
"Boom--!!!"
A tremendous explosion suddenly rang out, almost making the Black Box bounce in Ian's hand, and then communication between Batman and Ian was immediately cut off.
This is definitely not a problem with Ian's Black Box.
"Um?"
Clark's Super Hearing had already picked up the chaotic sounds from the other side of the world. His ears twitched almost imperceptibly as each sound wave constructed a picture of the disaster unfolding in Gotham in his mind.
Yes.
Super Hearing combined with Super Brain is just that powerful. The reason why Michael Jordan uses Fleshlight without lubricant might actually be related to this powerful associative ability.
"Looks like there's never a moment to rest, is there?" This question seemed directed at Ian, or perhaps at Destiny. Clark Kent truly felt utterly exhausted. He took a deep breath of the vacuum of space and sighed helplessly, a sigh so heavy it seemed capable of crushing a small asteroid.
"Alright, time to go back to Earth." Clark's large hand, like the iron clamp of Destiny, precisely gripped Ian's nape—a classic technique honed through countless battles of capturing unruly children, combining control, portability, and a precise blow to the child's dignity.
This is a long-standing tradition of the Kent Family.
Ian was used to it and had resigned himself to his fate. However, just as Clark tensed his leg muscles, preparing to instantly break through the atmosphere and temporarily leave the mess in space behind him...
"Wait a minute."
Ian suddenly raised his hand, his voice carrying an unusual seriousness, as if he had suddenly remembered that the gas at home was still on. Clark's hand unconsciously loosened slightly. In that split second, Ian broke free like a slippery eel and appeared in a flash beside Injustice Superman, who was still lying face up, staring blankly at the shattered starry sky.
"Come on, experience the hardships of ordinary people. I'm talking about my hardships. Pretend you're a chicken, well, not the kind of chicken you get at KFC."
"It's a free-range chicken."
Before Clark and Injustice Superman could react, Ian did the same thing, extending his hand—far less powerful than his father's but equally precise—and grabbing Injustice Superman's muscular nape! Then, he flew back to Clark like a life-sized human pillow.
As mentioned before, Ian was already used to having his throat gripped by the back of his neck. He naturally placed the back of his neck back into his father's grasp, even adjusting the angle to make it easier for his father to hold, his face full of nonchalant "Okay, all done, let's go."
"???"
Clark's expression instantly became extremely strange. He looked at his resigned son in his hands, then at his parallel universe self, who was being carried by his son like a cat, still gazing at the stars, exuding an aura of philosophical despair. He felt that his Super Brain's CPU was a bit overloaded.
The scene was too beautiful for him to contemplate.
Finally, the God of Mankind took a deep breath of cosmic dust and decided to temporarily ignore this incomprehensible scene.
All I saw was...
Clark pretended to exert force with his legs even in the starry sky where there was no ground.
"Boom!"
It could no longer be described as supersonic; the speed was exploding towards the speed of light. A streak of light tore through the starry sky and shot straight toward that blue planet.
During their high-speed flight, the surrounding nebulae stretched into long, colorful ribbons. Along the way, Clark secretly observed Injustice Superman, as did Ian, who was staring at Injustice Superman's belly.
finally.
I've been holding it in for ages.
Clark couldn't hold back any longer.
He tilted his head slightly, using his super vision to observe the Injustice Superman, who was being held like a chick by Ian —no, like a giant cock—without offering any resistance or uttering a word. The other man remained absolutely still, not even his eyelashes trembling, only the two lines of icy tears at the corners of his eyes telling a story of silent sorrow.
"What... what happened to him?" Clark's voice, traveling faster than sound travels, Ian's mind in a somewhat idealistic way.
"This is what contemplating life is like. It's the prelude to enlightenment, an essential stage for the sublimation of the soul. Try to understand it." Ian was being held by the neck, his posture awkward and his eyes darting away.
Since we're now speaking with Mimicry giant mouth, we can ignore the rules of sound propagation. Anyway, in the DC Universe, most scientists have to replace their coffin lids tens of thousands of times a year.
"But he looks more like he's lost all will to live?" Clark's brows furrowed even more; he had a bad feeling, but he couldn't help asking again.
"Wrong!"
Ian immediately corrected him, his tone carrying the rigor of an academic discussion, "That's not suicidal, that's 'not daring to have too many emotions'! Inner energy needs to be absolutely stable; any intense joy, anger, sorrow, or happiness can trigger energy tides, interfering with the stability of embryo implantation! In Earth terms, it's about being afraid of disturbing the fetus."
Clark could understand each word he uttered individually, but when put together, they created a complexity that made him feel like he had stopped thinking.
It's not just about creating a mystery.
The main issue is... what the heck is this "fetal energy" thing?!
"!!!!!??????"
A series of huge question marks almost materialized and slammed into Clark's head.
Fetal development? Embryo? Implantation?
He recognized each of these words individually, but when put together and applied to Injustice Superman, they created a terrifying meaning that would make even the Krypton genes tremble.
Clark Kent, who can look directly into the Solar Core and withstand the gravity of a black hole, is now somewhat hesitant to look at the Injustice Superman who was harmed by Ian under the guise of moral blackmail.
He opened his mouth, only to find that all his questions were stuck in his throat. His Super Brain kicked in again, making him realize that every question might lead to an answer he absolutely did not want to know.
then.
Clark decisively shut his mouth, deciding to use the Kryptonian ' Super Intelligence in a more meaningful way. Just then, Injustice Superman, who had remained unresponsive like a finely crafted statue, finally showed a slight change in expression. It was no longer pure despair or philosophical contemplation. His eyes moved extremely slowly and with great difficulty.
Finally, that gaze, filled with endless complex emotions, fell upon Clark —a mixture of fear, bewilderment, humiliation, and the deepest, inexpressible plea for help.
That look in his eyes.
Clark had seen it countless times.
In the eyes of civilians about to be buried by collapsing buildings, in the eyes of the desperate people trapped by disaster, and in the eyes of the innocent people being pursued by incomprehensible terror.
Who would have thought?
At this moment, such a bewildered and helpless look appeared on the face of another "self". Injustice Superman looked at Clark Kent, looking like every pitiful person who asks Superman for help.
"..."
This moment.
It wasn't just Clark Kent who didn't know how to comfort the other person; even Ian had exhausted his entire vocabulary of psychological manipulation techniques. Injustice Superman still couldn't truly realize that Ian was offering a form of help.
Clark felt uneasy under that gaze.
Just as Clark was about to say something to break the suffocating atmosphere, Injustice Superman's chapped lips trembled very slightly, emitting an extremely hoarse sound like rusty gears grinding together, "I think I finally understand something."
Clark instinctively held his breath and listened intently.
Injustice Superman's eyes slowly rolled, his incredibly complex gaze shifting with difficulty from Clark's face to Ian, who was also being held up and trying to use his Super Speed to catch the surrounding streaks of Ian. His eyes were filled with indescribable shock, lingering fear, and a hint of... eerie awe.
"I finally understand why you're so powerful," Injustice Superman continued, speaking in a broken, lifeless tone.
His gaze was fixed on Ian, and the meaning of his words was self-evident—to survive in this universe and successfully raise such an unpredictable "dirty thing" requires mental resilience, survival skills, and combat prowess far exceeding any battle against Doomsday or Darkseid.
This isn't even in the same dimension of power! It's a kind of resilience that transcends the laws of physics, reaching deep into the soul—a truly miraculous resilience!
Clark Kent of this universe should be invincible.
otherwise.
That's truly a no-pay-to-play learning experience!
"Forehead..."
An extremely unnatural embarrassment flashed across the face of the God of Mankind in this universe. He forced a couple of dry laughs, his voice sounding somewhat unsteady.
"Heh... hehe... this... um... when we get back, I'll have Bruce give you a full physical exam. He has all the equipment, he can definitely... uh... help you figure out the situation." Clark tried to steer the conversation toward a seemingly scientific and rigorous direction to cover up the absurdity and bizarreness surging through his mind.
Upon hearing this, Injustice Superman did not respond to the suggestion about a physical examination. He simply gave Clark another slow, profound look.
His gaze seemed to say, "Examination? You think that's the important thing? Do you think the core problem with my current condition can be detected by medical equipment?"
That one glance contained so much information.
Silence descended once more, broken only by the deafening roar of the wind breaking through the atmosphere.
A long time passed.
Just as the azure blue of the Earth had filled the entire field of vision, Injustice Superman spoke again, his voice still hoarse, but with a different meaning, a calmness that was almost resigned to fate.
"You didn't really defeat him, that golden one... you and me." Injustice Superman continued, his gaze fixed on the deep universe, as if he could see through space to the Golden Superman who had escaped earlier.
"He's only retreating temporarily. He'll definitely come back... to settle things with you. To prove his 'perfection,' or... simply to put an end to you, the greatest 'abnormality.'"
" The Supreme Alliance leader's brainwashing ability with all Clark is virtually irresistible." This statement already contained the information, Injustice Superman dared not utter that name.
His words struck Clark like a cold stone. It wasn't a threat, but a precise judgment from an individual with the same origins, possessing the same Superman intelligence and obsession.
"Yes."
Clark also understood "himself".
That battle was far from over.
"You need to help us understand what you call the Supreme Alliance." Clark stared at the Injustice Superman captured by Ian, his voice not one of inquiry but of firmness.
Injustice Superman remained silent.
I simply looked up at the starry sky.
When Superman brought Ian to Earth.
His exceptional eyesight allowed him to detect something unusual.
In a corner.
A familiar shadow was flowing within him.
Golden Superman hovered in absolute shadow, a place that seemed to be a dead node in the universe, where even the faintest photons were greedily devoured. The dazzling golden light around him, enough to illuminate galaxies, had completely subsided, clinging to his skin and forming a thin but tough Idealistic Barrier, stubbornly resisting the all-pervasive shadow encroachment and the incessant, maddening Whisper.
That was a murmured poem of the Batman Who Laughs.
Before him, the densest shadow churned and stretched violently like boiling asphalt, eventually coalescing into a terrifying face that twisted and contorted without a fixed shape. The face had no features, only countless tiny, writhing dark tentacles, and a huge rift that opened and closed, emitting a silent, maniacal the Batman Who Laughs.
The scene was incredibly bizarre; the Batman Who Laughs didn't travel through the air, but exploded directly in the deepest part of his mind, like ten thousand rusty needles scraping against his soul.
"Something's wrong with the Superman in this universe. He might have already defected to some Outer Universe." Golden Superman's opinion was similar to Darkseid's. He didn't know who he was talking to, nor did he respond. Instead, shadows rolled, and a huge metal box was delivered to him.
The box has a bizarre shape and is made of neither gold nor iron. Its surface is covered with constantly changing and incomprehensible geometric patterns that seem to be altering the surrounding space and logic.
"You want me to use the power of the Outer Universe to fight against the power of the Outer Universe?" Golden Superman's brows furrowed tightly, his dazzling gaze instantly piercing through the conceptual metallic shell.
He saw what was inside the box.
It did not belong to any universe it was aware of; the aura of Outer Universe was exceptionally strong.