Chapter 192: Belial’s Ass And Batman’s Mouth!
Ian’s will is like a high-dimensional camera.
He watches everything happening inside the library with great interest.
He saw Belial holding that book 《Alive》, his body trembling from stiffness to violent spasms, a mixture of ultimate anger, humiliation, and collapsed faith.
The Dark King has never felt such tangible anger.
“Outrageous! Outrageous!!!” Belial slammed the book in his hand to the ground, his sharp claws wildly slashing, tearing apart the surrounding quiet bookshelves!
“I am Belial! Monarch of darkness! Master of the universe! King of Ultra! How could I possibly be… some bullshit ninth-rate ordinary NPC captured and imprisoned by someone!!!”
Books fluttered down like snowflakes, wooden bookshelves torn into fragments, he kept roaring, trying to vent this misplaced rage in the most primal way.
Belial instinctively wanted to destroy this place that humiliated him. However, just as he was destroying vigorously, his left wrist suddenly transmitted a rapid “buzz” vibration.
Belial’s movements paused, he looked down, only then discovering that at some unknown time, a simple-styled wristwatch flashing with metallic cold light had appeared on his wrist.
The watch face screen clearly displayed lines of text, accompanied by emotionless electronic sound prompts.
【Warning: Citizen 『ninth-rate ordinary NPC-Belial』 detected engaging in public property destruction.】
【Damage list: Ancient book 《Alive》 x1（unique copy No. 10000874332）, oak bookshelf x343, and library serene atmosphere x several…】
【According to 《Super Grateful Ian Sole God·New Utopia, the best dimensional city management penalty regulations》 Article 114514, fined: 50,000,000 energy coins.】
【Your current account balance: 10 energy coins（new resident luxury gift）.】
【You are automatically in debt: 49,999,990 energy coins. Interest calculating…】
……
Somewhat like the main god space wristwatch designed personal terminal on Pinduoduo, listing extremely detailed punishment measures, good thing no one here can realize Pinduoduo is everywhere.
“Fifty million? In debt?” Belial was first stunned, then let out earth-shattering mocking laughter, he threw his head back, roaring at the invisible ceiling of the library.
“Hahahahaha! Stupid! Boring! Think a mere debt can bind me, Belial? Go ask those cosmic beings! When has Belial ever repaid a debt?”
“No matter which world, in any world, no one can judge me! No one can do anything to me! This world will eventually submit to my power—”
The trailing sound of “power” hadn’t fully fallen when his voice abruptly stopped.
“Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!”
Several figures instantly appeared beside Belial.
His power was dimensionally suppressed and sealed to an extremely low level, so he didn’t react at all before being firmly surrounded by a group of people and fitted with a mask!
These people wore uniform blue-black uniforms with an X mark, their movements clean and efficient, coordination tacit. The leader was a woman with long red hair.
Obviously.
The suddenly appearing group were X-Men.
They had finally become official enforcers, so they must be moved to death several times a day. And the leading woman was Jean Grey, known as Phoenix Woman.
Like every woman named Grey in Western countries.
Phoenix Woman was also stunningly beautiful.
Jean Grey possesses telepathic powers to read others’ consciousness.
She can control according to her own consciousness, or read multiple consciousnesses simultaneously, and in another personality can use mind control to make opponents lose consciousness. As the most powerful omega-level mutant among mutants, she is often called the “most powerful telepath and telekinetic in the universe.”
Of course, Jean Grey’s most famous identity is the host of the god-level power Phoenix Force, and her subtle status as the top of the must-eat list in the X universe.
But she definitely doesn’t know this herself.
“Criminal locked.”
Jean Grey’s gaze sharp, with just a slight raise of her hand, Belial felt an invisible, irresistible massive force twist his hands behind his back!
“Click! Click!”
Two pairs of special shackles flashing with energy suppression waves instantly locked his wrists and ankles. Once the shackles were on, Belial felt his already greatly restricted dark power completely suppressed, not even a ripple, even weaker than an ordinary person.
“You?! Who are you?! Let me go!” Belial was shocked and angry, struggling desperately, but like a crab clamped by iron pliers, to no effect.
“Destroying public property, massive debt, and resisting arrest?” Another burly man with Adamantium claws extending from between his fingers puffed a cigar and glanced at him disdainfully.
This was a man who needed no introduction, no one would have thought Wolverine Logan, destined for a lifetime of wandering, would one day get an official position.
“And an ugly heavy criminal… tsk, this look, mixed with blood from some abyss troll from the West Continent? Or mutated from radiation?”
Logan leaned close to Belial, using his nose. Though he was just a wolverine, without a classic dog nose, a wolverine’s nose wasn’t bad either.
And his fight-at-the-drop-of-a-hat personality wasn’t inferior to his distant cousin the honey badger.
“Smells strong too, like a mix of swamp lesser demon and ogre.” Soon, Logan pinched his nose, seemingly seriously evaluating.
“I think it’s like a two-headed ogre knight roasted by hellfire, the kind that lost one head.” Another man who could control ice, the most frustrated omega-level mutant Iceman Bobby, had his own idea.
He was top-tier omega, called Omega No. 2, ability second only to Omega No. 1 Phoenix Woman Jean Grey, his power to lower temperature to absolute zero could pry the foundation of the universe.
“Anyway, he doesn’t look like a normal human.”
“Maybe an alien?”
“No, I know aliens, most aliens look like us.”
The X-Men enforcers chimed in one after another, making “professional” and extremely hurtful racial guesses about Belial’s appearance, tone casual like discussing the weather.
I want to kill you all! I must kill you all!!!
Belial was so angry black smoke really rose from his head, lungs about to explode. This humiliation was ten thousand times worse than being sealed by the King of Ultra back then!
But no one paid attention to his impotent rage.
“Whatever he is, it’s none of our business, he is indeed a citizen.” Phoenix Woman just waved her hand: “Escort him away, send to citizen court, see what the judge says.”
Just like that, the once arrogant dark demon god was framed left and right by two X-Men like a chick, dragged out the library door.
Until outside the library, illuminated by the afternoon kindness sunlight, Belial slightly recovered from extreme anger. He seized a gap when an escort switched hands, using all his remaining strength for a headbutt at the nearby Wolverine! Obviously, Belial never made correct choices.
“Clang!”
A muffled sound.
Belial felt like he hit a steel plate, stars in his eyes, dizzy. In contrast, Wolverine, the truly hard-headed man, didn’t even sway.
He just “tsk”ed impatiently, lifted his foot, and unceremoniously stepped on Belial’s face with his heavy military boot, grinding his entire head into the cold ground!
“Behave, scum.” Logan’s voice had a heavy nasal tone, “Move again, and I’ll stuff you under Colossus’s ass as a cushion or daily necessity.”
This made one shudder upon further thought.
“Not bad strength… looks like a mixed breed from those brute races in the West Continent. Don’t know why their aesthetics are always so twisted.” Phoenix Woman looked down at Belial pinned to the ground still futilely struggling, muttering, her words slightly racist.
But also fairly accurate.
“……”
Belial gave up struggling, not from submission, but fear that more anger might make him the first Dark King to be directly angered to death by mere humans.
Thus.
Belial behaved, roughly dragged across the street under escort.
“Damn! What the hell is that scheming bastard!” Another certification collected, achievement up, such muttering mainly because Belial was desperately observing this bizarre world.
Distant buildings were bizarre and motley.
Some like casually stacked building blocks, defying gravity in suspension.
Others transparent soap bubbles, internal office figures blurred and distorted. The tallest tower completely built from a massive, constantly auto-shuffling deck of cards, card faces constantly changing.
“This… is this a madman’s dreamscape?!” Belial felt dizzy, his dark aesthetic paling here.
“Vehicles” were not metal constructs, but round, fluffy giant dandelion balls, driven by internal flashing firefly clusters, silently drifting along fixed airflow tracks, occasionally flinging “passengers” who landed lightly then cursing while chasing another dandelion.
For some reason.
All large trucks were marshmallows.
As if entirely cushioned.
No hard spots on the body, vaguely revealing the creator’s inscrutable affection for big trucks.
Not just that, roadside street lamps looked normal, but up close were actually giant lollipops, emitting soft glow.
Streets not paved with asphalt or stone, but compacted from huge, smooth, colorful crayon fragments, soft and waxy scented underfoot.
Very fairy tale.
Very eerie.
Eerie fairy tale.
Ian’s understanding of utopia clearly differed from ordinary people.
Even Belial, equally unusual, couldn’t quite accept it.
His escorting X-Men were accustomed to it.
Colossus whooshed by like wind, casually snapping a piece from a lollipop tree into his mouth. Iceman snapped fingers, freezing a drop of syrup rain about to drip on Jean Grey’s hair. Wolverine impatiently kicked away a blocking, whimpering emotional little cloud.
That cloud instantly turned from white to black, raining what smelled like vinegar.
“What the fuck is this ghost place?!”
Belial felt he was about to go schizophrenic. Finally, he was escorted into a relatively normal grand building—the citizen court.
The building like stacked from countless huge, crooked 3D fairy tale books, page edges glittering gold powder, lintel hung with a “justice scale” badge woven from crooked yarn.
Inside the court, the judge’s high-backed chair was a huge, dozing teddy bear.
At the clerk’s seat sat a fox wearing a wig, tail curled around a pen, jury composed of twelve clay dolls with varied expressions.
Belial was pressed into the defendant’s seat.
A spring bed constantly trying to bounce him up.
He glared fixedly at the judge’s bench, waiting for that insidious boy to appear. However, the side door opened, and the emerging person stunned Belial again.
A boy did sit at the judge’s bench, but not that cunning, sly, vicious, insidious, despicable, shameless… (omit ten thousand words) drama king boy.
But the slightly smaller little boy Belial had encountered earlier in the library.
Looked identical, but felt… slightly different. The library one had deep calm eyes, while this one, cracking sunflower seeds, boredly swinging legs, eyes occasionally glancing at a nearby floating screen playing 《Tom and Jerry》, seemed utterly unreliable.
“Clones too?” The thought flashed in Belial’s mind.
At that moment, the seed-cracking kid judge finally noticed the new face at the defendant’s seat.
Franklin lifted his eyelid.
Lazily glanced at Belial.
His gaze lingered especially on his dark skin and exoskeleton. Then, he spat out the seed shell, in a casual tone like deciding dinner.
“Oh, dark-skinned one.”
He scratched his head.
Seeming to conduct some “rigorous” judicial thinking.
Then slapped the lollipop armrest.
“Alright, dark-skinned one for labor reform, definitely assigned to ‘South Siberia’ to grow cotton! No doubt! They’re said to be good at it.”
This was obviously Franklin’s toolman clone created to align with Ian’s thinking, better grasping the “holy will,” and the verdict deeply inherited Ian’s true essence.
No wonder throughout history flatterers mix well, Ian witnessing this was in great mood, deciding to keep Franklin by his side as a favored minister once adult. As for waiting till adulthood, because eunuch grand director hard to approve with a minor.
“Decided so happily!”
Ian had a plan in mind.
The kid bro oblivious.
After speaking, without giving Belial any chance to defend, the kid judge picked up a chocolate gavel nearby, “bang” once.
“Case hearing complete! Court adjourned!”
He announced, then immediately lowered head, relish cracking seeds watching his 《Tom and Jerry》, muttering things like “Jerry run! Tom so dumb!”
Two X-Men enforcers expressionlessly stepped forward, dragging the utterly dumbfounded, mind-blank Belial from the defendant’s seat toward the portal at the court rear.
Belial dragged like a marionette.
Ears still echoing the absurd verdict—”South Siberia”, “grow cotton”, “good at it”… No, as Dark Great Monarch my skin is naturally a bit dark!
But I have so many red skin areas too!
Belial protested aloud, but in this solemn court, even shouting what is the presiding judge, I fear you presiding judge, still louder than silence.
No one paid attention.
Just like that, Belial was brought to the portal, the vortex of countless spinning remorse emojis and dried pigment traces, center a bottomless 【Labor most glorious】 shout.
“No! You can’t—” Belial’s roar swallowed by the vortex. He felt thrown into a tunnel of faded dreams and forgotten fairy tales.
Spinning.
Finally, the Dark King crashed to the ground, kicking up dust.
“Damn! How do they plan to torment me!”
He shook his dizzy head, struggling to open eyes. Before him endless barren gray-white plain. Sky low-hanging oppressive gray flannel, sewn with non-glowing button stars. Air dry, filled with old newspaper and dust smell.
In distance, scattered figures mechanically, numbly bending to labor. Holding various strange tools: some huge combs combing ground; some ladles scooping from soil; others pumping air into gray-white giant dandelion-like plants with pumps.
A supervisor-like figure approached.
A man in tattered suit, head a huge ticking alarm clock.
“Newcomer? Dark skin model?” Clock head emitted harsh bell-like voice, cold metal pointer finger poking Belial.
“Come get your tool! Today’s task: plant one million cotton flowers.”
Clock head supervisor’s cold metal pointer finger nearly poking Belial’s huge eyeball, also big in Ultraman ranks, ticking gears mixed with unquestionable command.
“Inspect at sunset, miss one, dinner minus one bite—per regulations, miss too many, you’ll owe for this dinner too.”
Clock head’s voice like rusty saw cutting air.
Utterly heart-rending.
“????”
Belial’s ferocious face froze. He even suspected his powerful hearing organ assimilated by this bizarre world.
“Ho… how many?” He subconsciously asked back, voice distorted by disbelief, “You said how many cotton flowers to plant today?!”
“One! Mil! Lion! Fluffy cloud wisps! Standard unit! Your auditory receiver clogged with earwax?! Need me to poke with a rod?! Dark skin 114514!” On clock head’s glass face, the “anger” red second hand jumped to max,
It emitted sharp “ding!” Entire clock head vibrated like overload, voice suddenly eight tones higher like a siren.
This supervisor very annoyed.
Confirming he heard right, Belial also felt blood rush to head, long-suppressed rage and humiliation erupted like volcano!
“Fuck!!!” He slammed the rusty broken comb to gray-white soil, sharp claws pointing at smiling sun in sky.
“When I enslaved entire planets! Enslaved light giants! Enslaved dark nebula monster legions! None as outrageous as you! One million cotton flowers?! Why not have me polish stars?! Comb part in black holes?!” Belial roared deafeningly.
Voice full of absurdity and ultimate indignation.
His roar echoed over plain, distant abstract laborers slightly turned heads, then quickly lowered, working harder on planting.
“Heh.”
Clock head supervisor seemed accustomed to such reactions. Far from scared, it shoved metal shell close to Belial, ticking faster and louder, almost roaring, sharp enough to pierce eardrums:
“Outrageous?! Who you calling outrageous?! Huh?! Don’t forget Sole God created you rainbow little ponies, not just one, one per person!”
“Not grateful, still committing crimes, whose fault?”
“I, clock head! Absolutely won’t allow anyone to ignore facts here!”
“You criminals, not growing more low-level materials, where do Sole God’s factories get raw materials to produce mid-level goods in another universe?”
“Factories no raw materials to produce, millions of starving angels eat what? Drink what?! Angels starve! Get skinny! Not shiny! What mood does Sole God have to spread kindness?! What energy to maintain fairy tales and fantasies of myriad worlds?!”
“Tell me! Can you bear this responsibility?!”
Series of soul interrogations, mixed with supremely “noble” reasons and utterly ridiculous logic, like chain hammers smashing Belial’s near-collapse cognition.
“?????”
Belial opened his mouth.
Found he couldn’t utter a single rebuttal.
He realized the long-silent King of Ultra was wrong, the maddest person in the world absolutely not him, every life in this cosmic world seemed madder than him.
Belial’s chest heaved violently a few times, finally shoulders slumped like boned. He arduously bent to pick up the dropped planting tool.
Under the roof, one must bow… endure humiliation… bide time… emperor’s revenge not late in ten years… as cosmic emperor his best skill is endurance.
Firming his belief, Belial nodded inwardly, but tried to regain negotiation rhythm.
“Supervisor… sir, if I… work full three years… that fifty million debt… can be written off?” Belial raised wrist showing the damn wristwatch.
Hearing this.
Clock head emitted harsh metal-friction-like scoff.
“Write off? Dream on! Dark skin kid, listen up!” Its pointer jabbed the watch screen, “Debt is debt! Labor reform is labor reform! Separate! Two different things!”
“Your food and board here.”
It pointed to distant weird green-smoke “canteen” of broken teapots and straws. Then to low flattened cardboard-box-like “shantytown”.
“And breathing this air! Stepping this ground! Receiving Sole God’s light! Which free?! Huh?! All extra charges!”
Clock head stated rules Belial never imagined.
Cosmic emperor shocked.
He listened dumbfounded, then new purer rage exploded!
“Paid jail?! I’ve rampaged universe tens of thousands years! Never heard such bullshit rule!! This is extortion! Blackmail!”
Belial furious, jail expert but never heard paid jail. Setting such rules not describable as dark mindset.
“Heh.”
Clock head shrugged indifferently, clock body tilting, metal shell creaking; “Oh? Now you know. Welcome to ‘South Siberia’, kid, rules set by Sole God, he says charge, that’s truth, harshest punishment for criminals.”
“Law-abiding citizens live very very well.” It seemed to remember something, adding with very rigorous tone.
“Oh, right, what did you say? Three years?” It pointed at Belial’s watch screen, “Bad eyes? Look again, three years?”
Belial stunned, hurriedly looked closely.
The small text on watch about labor reform term had changed somehow, or always was, just he was too angry to see?
Clearly written there.
【Heavy criminal labor reform term: three years and three years.】
Seeing this.
Belial completely dumbfounded.
Icy despair from soles to crown.
“Th… three years and three years?!” Dark King no longer dark, voice dry with final struggle, “Exactly… how many years?!”
Clock head ignored the stupid question. Impatiently tapped Belial’s broken comb with pointer, “clang clang” urging.
“How many years? Till your ‘fluffy cloud wisp’ output catches your debt interest growth! Now, immediately! Start ‘brainstorming’! Go plant your cotton!”
Clock head issued command.
“Brainstorm?”
Belial not recovered from “three years and three years” blow.
“Use that rusty brain, unleash abstract imagination!”
Clock head roared, “Think ‘grow cotton! Grow lots of cotton!’ Think harder, grows faster! Sole God’s blessing on this land! Don’t waste! Think!”
Belial held the broken comb.
Looking at endless gray-white barren, feeling absurd task to “imagine” one million cotton flowers, plus watch’s despairing “three years and three years” and rolling debt interest… for a moment, Dark King’s heart desolate, still not understanding how he fell to this in blink.
No choice.
Still gotta work.
After all, 【endure】.
He raised comb in wrathful fury against barren ground, starting his first day in “South Siberia”. No Ultraman in Ultra world would imagine this.
Belial, former dark demon god, now wielding rusty crooked-tooth giant comb on gray-white barren land for “mental labor”. Needing to wildly imagine “cotton” growing while physically combing ground.
As if turning abstract “imagination” into real harvest. Double torment! Mental humiliation and physical fatigue like two venomous snakes!
“Damn false god! Damn clock head! Damn broken comb!” Mechanically swinging comb, low cursing with his universe’s filthy language, hoarse and vicious, “When I get out… regain power… turn this… that kid’s divine kingdom… all to scorched earth!!”
“Make you all kneel planting dark spores for ten thousand years!” His curses drifted over plain like pebble in dead water, no ripple. Surrounding varied figures numbly labored, as if lost complaint reception function.
The more he worked.
The more Belial realized he was a total waste.
Efficiency too slow.
“Damn! From birth, destined not for this!” Belial’s alien huge eyeballs irritably rolled, flashing unwillingness and scheming.
This won’t do!
Needs allies, needs chaos!
Belial abruptly stopped, deeply inhaled cotton and sweat-scented air, using remaining energy to make voice inciting.
“Hey! You!!”
He roared at nearby laborers.
“Look at yourselves! Enslaved like livestock! Laboring like machines! For bullshit ‘fluffy cloud wisps’ and endless debt! Content?! Where’s dignity?! Rebellion spirit?! Rise! With me! Overthrow this absurd rule!”
Belial awaited response.
Even faint echo. But silence, only wind whining over plain and tool-ground rustles.
“Really a bunch of hopeless humans!” Belial nearly snapped comb: “Cowards! You humans all cowards! Deserve eternal slavery!”
He cursed loudly.
Iron not steel.
Then, slightly hoarse, cynical voice from behind.
“No, friend, you’re wrong.”
Hearing, Belial whipped around, saw man pausing work—tool a huge chipped glass cutter, laboriously cutting huge transparent sadness crystal.
“We’re not cowards, not enslaved, just criminals atoning, seeing reality clear.” Man in ragged leather jacket, bulging muscles, scarred face, eyes with weathered beastly defiance.
Of course, deep down a hint of resigned fatigue. He emphasized “criminals” and “atonement”, tone mocking.
Belial curiously sized this finally responding, leader-like human, “Atonement? Hmph, I’m innocent! Framed by that insidious kid! Not one of you, I’ll escape! Join me or rot here!”
He tried to bewitch.
Showing former dark monarch’s domineering aura.
But no effect.
“Yeah, newbies all like that.”
Man scoffed, finding Belial’s bravado childish. Slowly pulled thick quality cigar from jacket pocket, vintage copper lighter, lit expertly, deep puff, perfect smoke ring.
“You… got money for that?” Belial stunned, he learned fast, knew luxuries hard in this hellhole.
“Of course not.”
Man grinned smugly, showing sharp canines: “My brother… local ‘civil servant’, some privileges, regularly sends supplies.”
He wiggled cigar, “Want?”
“No, human, use your brain, look at me, can I smoke?!” Belial eyed burning cigar, pointed at his exoskeleton-covered, no normal lips/mouth ferocious face, annoyed Ultraman eyeroll.
“…Uh… sorry, didn’t notice.” Man stared at Belial’s pleasure-proof face, dry laughed, awkwardly pocketed cigar.
Not Belial’s social focus, urgent Belial pulled back: “So? Join me? Together, we’ll find a way!”
Suppressing human contempt.
Emotional camouflage again.
“On that.”
Man didn’t answer directly, cigar hand pointing to nearby young boy diligently ladling multicolored paint on gray-white plant with ladle. Boy focused near pious, movements standard like sacred rite.
“See that kid?” Man puffed smoke rings, “When he arrived, wilder than you, people call him Legion, extremely dangerous mental illness patient.”
Saying.
He showed slight fear.
“Hm?”
But Belial’s huge eyeballs lit up! Mental illness? Strong ability? Destructive? Perfect rebel material!
Easy to incite, high utility!
“Oh? Mental illness?” Belial interested, lowered voice: “What kind? Paranoid? Manic? Antisocial? Exact ability?”
Scheming conspiracy again.
However.
Man defied expectations again.
“None important now.”
He interrupted Belial, tone oddly reflective.
“Not important?” Belial puzzled.
“Yeah,” man deep puffed cigar, slowly exhaled, gazed at Legion boy, complex eyes, “Because here… he stayed only three months.”
“Guess what?”
Man turned to Belial, word by word: “His mental illness, cured. Completely. Gentle as lamb, works harder than anyone, no more ‘episodes’. Heard his thousand personalities now meet daily discussing higher cotton yield.”
Words out.
Belial thunderstruck.
“……………………” One sentence like ultimate kill ray, instantly bombed Belial’s bewitching, scheming, rebellion zeal to slag.
Silenced dry.
Long silence.
Dark King opened mouth, all words pale. Finally squeezed dry words.
“I… think you’re fucking sick too.”
Belial’s heartfelt evaluation. Man not angry, instead burst laughing, echoing far over plain.
“My brother often praises me so.” Laughed enough, wiped tear, extended rough scarred strong hand to Belial.
“Nice to meet, Victor Creed, but here they call me—Sabretooth.” Man very weak, but only to former Belial.
Now Belial sizes up everyone how many he could take.
“Uh…”
Belial hesitated, still extended exoskeleton claw, shook. Sabretooth gripped hard, claw hurt a bit.
“I am Belial! Dark ruler! Once controlled…” Belial habitually rattled long glorious outdated titles, trying to overpower aura. But intro halfway, voice choked off.
No help.
Sabretooth suddenly leaned close.
Beast pupils fixed on Belial’s dark scaled arm and claws, nostrils twitching, face odd expression.
“Your… claws so nice, lines, texture… and you smell… so good…” Sabretooth’s voice low.
With ambiguous tone.
“??????”
Belial multi-thunderstruck, petrified, huge eyeballs bulged round, nearly popping. Indescribable bone-chilling chill mixed extreme absurdity and physiological disgust swept him!
At this moment, dark demon god Belial, first time profoundly, painfully, abstractly understood “alive”.
Yes, dark demon god Belial finally thoroughly understood—why that book 《Alive》 could be his refreshment mental solace.
Honestly.
Belial would rather fight King of Ultra thirty thousand rounds again than stay one more second here, evaluated “nice claws” and “smells good” by beast-like man!
Misses Ultraman.
After all, no Ultraman men like that in Ultraman!
……
“Wonderful~~~”
Ian’s will like audience after satisfying comedy, contentedly withdrew from Black Adam’s “joy”-filled consciousness space.
Real world, eerie silence broken.
Ian and Black Adam bodies simultaneously convulsed violently!
“Jie jie jie~” Ian’s convulsions rhythmic, like electrified dance king, corners occasionally cracking silent extremely satisfied smile.
“Kekeke~”
Black Adam’s more wild, limbs flailing, throat “heh heh” weird sounds, like about to laugh to death, possessed fool—just as said, Ian’s joy filled Black Adam’s mind.
Not without impact.
Of course.
Just temporary.
Sudden change tensed Justice League onlookers.
Wonder Woman gripped Lasso of Truth, warily eyeing Black Adam lest he erupt. Superman more concerned for son, furrowed brows ready to check.
“Looks ending soon.”
Batman’s wheelchair silently slid half meter, white lenses sharp as ever, but fingers tightening armrest betrayed tension.
Ian’s convulsions stopped first.
He snapped eyes open, eyes still retaining joy, fluid sit-up, sat patted non-existent dust.
Radiant.
Almost same instant he sat, nearby Black Adam snapped eyes open! But unlike Ian’s clarity, Black Adam’s pupils dilated, mouth exaggerated grin, deafening meaningless roar of laughter, drooling while laughing.
Obviously mental world “pollution trauma” not small.
“Issue resolved?”
Assessing Black Adam, gazes shifted from crazy Black Adam to normal-looking Ian.
Ian scanned, facing approaching Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, standard commercial just-finished-high-difficulty-surgery expert face.
Cleared throat, serious tone announcing big event.
“Everyone, on this ancient emperor Your Majesty’s ‘outer universe parasite’ issue, I’ve completed preliminary diagnosis and… um, very proper handling.” Deliberately paused, building suspense, then slowly extended two fingers, somewhat cautiously.
“Now, one good news, one bad news, which to pay for?” Ian added word to common line seeking opinions. But eyes like precision laser-guided missile, locked on Batman.
Almost as Ian’s tone fell.
“Swish!”
Batman’s hand magicked out matte black no-bank-mark card, tiny bat corner, handed to Ian.
Fluid, no hesitation, experienced, prepared.
“Uncle Bruce, as always prescient, foreseeing my foresight.” Ian grinned, unceremoniously took card, produced odd POS, swiped—beep! Transaction done.
Taking back card, Batman’s masked voice emotionless, choice per style: “Good news first.”
Voice low.
“Yeah, guessed.”
Ian smugly raised chin.
Thumbed nearby still dumbly laughing drooling Black Adam.
“Good news—he was indeed invaded by outer universe dirty thing, high level, nearly opened chain store in his brain.”
Pausing, chest out, “praise me” face: “But! Lucky to have me! Ian Kent, cosmic tough case expert, casually uprooted entire threat, thoroughly purified! Hide merits, no need too thankful.”
Superman slightly relaxed, Wonder Woman vigilance eased.
But Batman frowned tighter.
Knew this little bastard too well.
“Bad news?”
Batman pressed, voice lower.
“Bad news, every letter I said, you paid ten thousand US dollars.” Words fell, ruins dead silent.
Only distant Black Adam dumbly laughing drifting in wind. Superman hand to forehead. Wonder Woman opened mouth, wanted say but just helpless sigh.
And Batman.
Batman still alive.
All clearly heard from cold metal mask, extremely heavy, suppressed, like using all strength barely controlled.
“Huff……………”
Shock!
Batman publicly gasped audible big breath, sign of ascending steroid planet!
