aircannonsinc Page 437
Page 437
His uniform twitched unnaturally in his abdomen, the skin and fabric twisting and deforming, quickly outlining a crooked, distorted "mimicry mouth" with only lips and teeth and no nose.
"Holy crap! Uncle Bruce is amazing! He's come back from the dead! He made an escape call from hell!" Suddenly, the mouth on his stomach opened wide.
It actually let out a gasp exactly like Ian's real voice, but with a strange, reverberating quality. The mimic's mouth opened and closed, making Ian's father feel his sanity plummet.
"??????"
Clark really finds it hard to comment on this, wondering why a child brought by God and the archangels and raised by himself and Louise could stray into such a bizarre art style.
Chapter 188 Bruce's Funeral! The Bat Who Laughs Returns!
The eerie sound of the mimicking mouth opening and closing, mixed with the piercing bell sound emanating from the black box as if from the abyss, created 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.
Say something.
Even the invincible Superman is 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 in front of Ian.
This is what a midlife crisis looks like.
At least Ian was much better and kinder than those disobedient children in traditional America's families—that was the only thing Clark could console himself with.
"so……"
Clark's voice squeezed out with difficulty from between his fingers, trembling slightly, "Why didn't you answer the phone and see what Bruce wanted to talk to you about?"
It was clear that 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 mimic 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 Ian's great mercy. After his half-cell 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 threat of social death.
There was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone, with only the faint background noise of some high-frequency energy weapon charging and the urgent alarm from the computer.
of course.
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 or connect and hang up calls from outsiders for Ian.
"Huhuhu~"
Now is the time for Batman to be verbally attacked to the point of exhaustion.
After a long time.
Only then did a rough, extremely suppressed voice come from the other end of the black box, as if the throat was filled with hellish volcanic ash, each word spoken with the force of gritted teeth.
"Besides that damn thing you have 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 and explain 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'd love to throw him a funeral and collect money from the Gotham villains.
Batman knew he had figured out the youngest son of the Kent family.
"Fine, if you're not dead, then you're not dead."
Ian silently switched the interface and canceled the funeral 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" principle, and he also knew that Batman, a pivotal and essential NPC in the DC universe, was not someone who could be killed by a mere aftershock.
God always has to arrange a grand, momentous event. Of course, the discerning Ian could see that, 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. The expression was so subtle that only a master of facial expression management like Mr. Ian could discern it.
"Tell your dad to wipe that regretful look off his face." Although Ian didn't say anything, 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 Lane, 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-like" 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, and in the background, there seemed to be a very faint sound, like a batarang cutting through the air.
"There's been a problem, and I need you back immediately." His voice quickened, and the background began to be filled with clear explosions and the sharp roars of some inhuman creature.
The words just fell.
"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.
"Ok?"
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 a super brain is just that powerful. The reason why Jordan uses a jet without lubricant may 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 fate itself. 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 fate, precisely gripped Ian's nape—a classic technique honed through countless real-world experiences of capturing unruly children, combining control, portability, and a precise strike on the child's dignity.
This is a long-standing tradition of the Kent family.
Ian had gotten used to it and accepted 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 abruptly 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 slipped away 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, but not the kind of chicken you get at KFC."
"It's a free-range chicken."
Before Clark and Injustice could react, Ian did the same thing, extending his hand—far less powerful than his father's but equally precise—and grabbing Injustice'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 "All done, time to 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 bear.
Finally, the god of the mortal realm took a deep breath of cosmic dust and decided to temporarily ignore this incomprehensible scene.
I saw.
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; it 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 intently at Injustice Superman's belly.
at last.
I held it in for a long time.
Clark couldn't hold back any longer.
He tilted his head slightly, using his super vision to observe the Unjust Superman, who was being held like a chick by Ian—no, like a giant rooster—without offering any resistance or uttering a word. The other 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... happened to him?" Clark's voice, traveling faster than sound travels, entered Ian's mind in a somewhat idealistic way.
“This is what it’s like to contemplate life. 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 a mimicking 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 the question.
"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 and interfere 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 making things mysterious.
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 Kryptonian genes tremble.
Clark Kent, who can look directly into the core of the sun and withstand the gravity of a black hole, is now somewhat afraid to look at the unjust 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 Kryptonians' superior intelligence for something more meaningful. 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 on Clark—a mixture of fear, bewilderment, humiliation, and the deepest, inexpressible plea for help.
This kind of look.
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.