Chapter 183: Joker Vs Ian! Ian’s Rescue!
The ability to identify people by their voice has finally come online.
“It’s the Joker who can’t jungle!”
Speaking of Ian’s fanbase, aside from Madison, the Gotham Joker stands out the most. Ian subconsciously uttered the taboo name in Gotham upon hearing that strange, eerie voice.
Joker.
That is, the Joker.
He is one of the top villains in the DC Universe. Compared to another top-tier Darkseid, the Joker’s life level is low, but he possesses a conceptual terrifying ability.
The DC Universe will always have a Joker. If the old Joker dies, the universe will breed a new one. For this reason, no one ever knows the Joker’s real name, nor does he need one.
People only need to know he is the Joker, the eternal nightmare of Gotham’s overlord Batman. In Ian’s view, the Joker should be a quantum lifeform representing a DC abstract entity.
Don’t ask Ian why he likes using the term “quantum”; his education is only high school level anyway, so of course he believes in the principle of turning to quantum mechanics when in doubt.
In short, the Joker is the embodiment of chaos, madness, disorder, evil, and degradation, a pure symbol of humanity’s inherent evil. Though he appears as a pure madman, he is clever enough to rival Batman, evil enough to tempt Superman to fall, and so terrifying that nowhere outside Gotham can hold him.
Even Ian doesn’t know how to deal with the Joker. Aside from stripping him naked and dumping him in an India slum, he can’t think of any legal way to curb the Joker’s arrogance.
How to deal with the Joker?
Ian doesn’t know.
He doesn’t have the spare time right now to think for Batman either.
“Your father still has about 1890 breaths left.”
Accompanied by the Joker’s voice ringing out again.
Ian was immediately shocked and pale—not greatly shocked, mainly because the Joker’s statement wasn’t exaggerated; Ian’s old man is indeed often on the edge of being beaten to death.
Great shock would seem too hypocritical for Ian; moderate shock fits genuine filial piety better.
“Bang!”
Ian instantly smashed through the alloy door, a bit anxious. Standing outside wasn’t some high-decibel speaker placed by the Joker, but a suited man wearing a multicolored stocking mask.
Stockings layered thickly—red, green, purple, yellow—like a twisted colorful pyramid, nearly covering his entire face. Through the only gaps, a pair of eyes gleamed with excitement.
It really was the Joker.
Those stockings, layered at least a dozen thick, each painted with exaggerated Joker makeup—heaven knows how many digits the Joker spends monthly just on foundation.
In Gotham, aside from Batman, no one can afford to keep the Joker.
“Surprise——!”
Just as Ian kicked open the door, the Joker anticipated and dodged the exploding metal. He sidestepped, then spun back, clapping his prepared hands hard on Ian’s face.
Powder exploded between them.
The system prompt sounded immediately in Ian’s ear.
【Inhaled mysterious toxic powder, Savage Tyrant Experience Points +339】
【Inhaled mysterious toxic powder, Savage Tyrant Experience Points +321】
【Inhaled mysterious toxic powder, Savage Tyrant Experience Points +322】
……
The Joker, who rarely had any goodwill toward humans, had planned to scare Ian then suck the laughing gas powder back into his own nostrils. But he found his nose wasn’t as good as Ian’s.
Ian’s nose was like a pump. If the Joker had time to inhale, he’d feel even the polluted gas already in his lungs being stolen by Ian.
“Hoo hoo hoo~”
There was really wind pouring into Ian’s nose, mouth, even ears and eyes—Master Ian’s signature trick was using all seven orifices.
Not at all sinister.
After all, if the seven orifices can bleed, they can naturally inhale too; it’s very scientific.
“Batman is nothing compared to a master pharmacist! You are the uncrowned king of Gotham’s chemical world!” Ian even used honorifics. He didn’t know the technical sophistication of the Joker’s petty tech, but he respected this skill more valuable than super enhancement drugs. Gotham’s true master pharmacist is indeed the drug god Joker!
“Ah?”
Seeing Ian’s expression not like he was infected—the other not only didn’t collapse but showed delight—even with his cultivation, the Joker was briefly stunned.
“Damn! I knew the Ian virus’s toxicity was fiercer!” He annoyed and “fearful” hammered his head, then smoothly shifted emotions as Ian stared at his face.
“Wanna touch my **? I mean this one on my neck, the twelve-layer surprise mask I prepared specially for today, making it look like a turtle head.”
The Joker must follow Stocking Superman daily, knowing Ian’s fondness for stockings, but the pervertedly thick foundation on that mask made Ian hesitant to touch.
Master Ian only likes pure natural stockings.
“Uh, next time for sure, next time for sure—first, tell me where my old man is?” Ian knows how to separate work from life.
He won’t let his fan meet affect his family happiness.
“Superman, right, Superman.”
The Joker’s green eyes rolled.
“Actually, I’m looking forward to seeing the Son of Superman’s death—without family, you’ll focus on writing, right?” He licked his smiling lips and asked “reasonably.”
Though the Joker felt he was trying hard to imitate vulgar ordinary people in thinking.
However.
This reasoning still didn’t align with the Family Hero’s worldview.
“Thud!”
Ian’s knee precisely hit the Joker’s crotch.
“Ow ow ow——”
The Joker instantly curled into a shrimp, face purpling under the stocking mask, eyes rolling back, cold sweat pouring, hands clutching his groin, voice twisted and confused.
“Unscientific! How… how can it hurt so much?! Even hammer smashes don’t hurt this bad! This isn’t pain… it’s discomfort! Like my soul being defiled!”
The Joker rolled on the ground.
Frantically seeking answers.
He wasn’t whining; he really felt awful.
“Because I know pain won’t threaten you, so I temporarily mutated you, adding extra pleasure nerve systems to your balls—now peeing feels like love’s fulfillment, shitting like family warmth together for three lifetimes—if you don’t tell me where my father is.”
“I can even make your breath taste of justice, turning you into Justice Joker, unable to resist helping grannies cross streets or holding piss for grandpas daily.”
With that, Ian pulled out the note he’d written earlier.
It bore text modifying reality after 【Write the World】. Though Ian’s pen power was weak, limited to temporary reality tweaks for now, it worked wonders on the Joker, who was just an ordinary man despite his weight in the DC Universe.
Who’s not heavyweight?
Influencing the Joker cost far less than powerful beings.
“Oh, the Ian who should be locked in a little black room—you’re vicious at such a young age, with boundless prospects!” The Joker clamped his legs and did a carp flip on the ground.
“This can’t pass without an extra chapter! I won’t yield to a junior like you!” The Joker always spoke with dramatic exaggeration.
His emotional rendering was off the charts.
“Then add ten chapters—cut the crap. If my father dies, I’ll go dark, become Gotham’s villain, and eliminate you!” Ian keenly noted the earlier mention of Ian virus.
This threat might not kill the Joker much, but it wasn’t small either. Ian stared him down: “Tell me, why can’t I find my father on Earth.”
While talking to the Joker, Ian multitasked with basics, using the black box to scan every Earth region.
However.
Nothing.
His black box even detected hard-to-hide old guys like ancient guardians and old gods, even forces like the red of all beings.
But no life signal from Superman.
Ian was really anxious now.
His words made the Joker clutch his head in breakdown.
“Oh damn, the most effective way against me is outdoing the master, making me forgotten, swept into dust? You’re not just vicious but savage!”
Suddenly conceding like a gambler, he pointed skyward: “Fine fine! Your father is on Mars! Playing ‘who’s the real man’ with some dark version of himself~”
With that, the Joker commented Ian’s old man didn’t seem like a real man; Ian felt shit spewing from his mouth, but urgency to save dad meant he’d sew the Joker’s mouth later.
Upon getting info from the Joker’s mouth, Ian smashed through the Batcave dome without a word—gravel rained, his figure breaking through as a streak of light shooting skyward!
“The Ian who should be locked in a basement black room—he must have drafts, spit ’em out, spit ’em out.”
The Joker staggered to the cave mouth.
Looking up at the figure vanishing into the stars, he yelled hoarsely: “Hey! Won’t you rent a mount?! My latest wild-caught mount has twelve wings! Flies faster than light!”
Watching the light spot vanish instantly, he annoyedly kicked a gravel.
“Damn! Couldn’t trick you!” Then, as if remembering, he whipped out his mobile and sent a voice: “Harley! Quick, take down the 《Gotham Gazette》 for me.”
“Tomorrow’s front-page headline! Title must be—’Shocker! Son of Superman, with Great Ugly Lord’s aid, saves his useless dad and even more useless Batman sidekick!’”
“Bold fluorescent pink font!”
This at least comforted the Joker. Squatting in the Batcave ruins, humming a pirated Gotham tune, he pulled out a gold-plated diamond-inlaid shovel and started digging.
【Digging in Gotham’s garden, dig dig dig~】
【Planting mad seeds, blooming chaos flowers~】
【With the most toxic fertilizer, watering it~】
【Who’s the madman? You? Me? Or him?】
Of course, this wasn’t the Joker’s original song, but Ian’s. Batman’s undetected surveillance didn’t mean Ugly Lord wouldn’t; he’d set many drones outside Ian’s Demon Manor.
When Ian dug living corpses to assemble a perfect body for Dr. Hannibal, the Joker was awestruck by Ian’s songwriting talent.
Now.
He’d adapted his big idol Ian’s song for fun in labor. Digging and laughing, mud flying, he searched the forgotten corner. Finally, his shovel hit something at an inconspicuous spot.
Soon.
He fully excavated the ruins, carefully brushing aside dirt to reveal the yellowed note.
“I knew there’d be a short story!”
Yes, this fueled his labor. He pinched the note with purple lace-gloved fingers, green eyes trembling excitedly in dim light.
The note was packed with dense text—Ian couldn’t control his creative outburst.
【In Gotham City’s haze-shrouded corners, once echoed only the Joker’s mad laughter and chaotic declarations.】
【But since meeting Ian, the boy with a gentle smile hiding firm light in his eyes, everything quietly changed.】
【At first, Joker Beast Joker scoffed at Ian’s “naivety”—fighting evil with joy? How laughable! Joker Beast Joker sneered.】
【When Ian first met him, the Joker was terminally ill.】
【Only knowing destruction and screaming.】
【Yet everything changed the moment he met Ian. Under Ian’s glory, Joker Beast bathed in glory, breaking the ultimate Gotham Baby’s evolution limit, quietly evolving amid invisible data chaos into an ultimate Digimon.】
【〔Crossed out here, rewrote ‘Gotham Baby’ four big characters〕】
【No evolution device needed—even one of Gotham’s two heavenly kings, the Joker, received this boon! Under Ian’s influence, the Joker unconsciously evolved a pleasure nerve system on-site, becoming a pile of Happy Joker Beast!】
The story was just that much.
The following text made the Joker a bit unhappy.
It not only described the wondrous pleasure nerve system change but mentioned a special gift—【Ultimate Invincible Super Concentrated Universe Limited Edition Joker Laughing Gas】.
Per the note, this laughing gas was made by the Joker on Christmas with sudden inspiration, specially for Ian. Its process was complex, collecting purest poison gas from Gotham City’s underground depths, refined via mysterious ancient alchemy steps.
Legend says one drop makes a city’s residents laugh uncontrollably till exhausted. Highly contagious and long-lasting, once released, it spreads like plague, inescapable.
Even more exaggerated, for uniqueness, the Joker added pollen from strange flowers blooming only on Gotham’s highest peak on winter solstice nights as catalyst.
“Quantum madness harvested from the tenth dimension!”
“Smelted from Laughing Man’s last words, Batman’s nightmares, and Lex Bald Luthor’s jealousy!〔Luthor is secretly hidden by Batman in a deeper lab—you found this yourself.〕”
“Eight million haha factors per cubic centimeter!”
“Bottled in antimatter crystal!”
“Even Darkseid would tap-dance after sniffing it!”
Truth be told, reading Ian’s descriptions, the Joker doubted life—he didn’t think laughing gas was made this way… or that he could make it.
This isn’t Ian’s story.
This is Ian’s wish.
“……”
Speaking of Gotham Ugly Lord, few can make him speechless. He crumpled the note, stuffed it in his mouth, chewed twice, spat it out for bad taste, smoothed it in his palm, then carefully tucked it into his purple suit’s breast pocket, patting to secure.
No one could explain what crossed the Joker’s mind in those brief actions. Then he swung his half-gold half-diamond-missing shovel, digging Batcave outer ruins till he breached the buried Batcave door, crawling in like a mole from its hole.
“Ah~ sweet home!”
The Joker looked around, coyly exclaiming.
The Batcave remained cold and damp, full of Bruce Wayne’s “I’m rich but like basements” odd aesthetic. The main console screen flickered with Injustice Superman paper-cut images looping “Miss me?”
The Joker ignored it.
He strode to the storage cabinet, pulling out barrels of colored paint—like coming home. Grinning, he prepped spray paints and pigments, wildly graffitiing walls, floors, even Batman’s bedding and quilt.
His theme was clear.
Namely 《Batman’s tragic abusive romance》—an 18+ doujin creation: 《Batman Top Me 10,000 More Times》, a 98+ artistic doujin comic.
Not recommended before lying in a coffin—eye-polluting.
“Hee hee hee——!” Laughing madly, ink flew like rain, wind from his brush; Batman and his poses grew outrageous, plot indescribable.
Batman’s cape torn into Joker’s straps, belt loose, muscles twisted submissively. Joker’s art was masterful, hyper-realistic, surrounded by watching Robins. His laughter echoed, mad yet mission-fulfilled joyful.
Then, a slight sound at the cave mouth—familiar footsteps the Joker knew without turning: light, bouncy with high heels clicking crisply.
“Newspaper agency sorted?” the Joker asked without turning.
“Of course, in ten minutes—now it’s yours.” Harley Quinn flipped in, in her signature red-blue Joker outfit.
This female Joker dual-wielded guns, eyes playfully amused.
“Good.”
The Joker still didn’t turn.
Continued painting “bondage play” on Batman’s battlesuit display.
“Huh? Where’s that boy?” Harley Quinn admired the wall art, then looked around for the author lately “enchanting” the Joker.
She couldn’t find Ian, of course.
Only her and the Joker in the Batcave.
“Oh, Ian Kent went to save his crybaby dad.” The Joker casually replied, spray paint not stopping, adding 108 shiny abs to comic Batman.
Clearly, as top fan, the Joker updated the Batfamily to the latest—Thomas Wayne’s full-body abs from Ian’s movie.
“You really let him save Superman?” Harley blinked, surprised: “I… thought you came to savor his pain, guide him to darkness.”
Hearing this.
The Joker’s spray paint halted.
“You mean ‘out of darkness,’ right?” he said softly, like to himself. “Sorry… I’m a bit powerless. Feels like… he wants to stay in the dark.”
Harley froze. This wasn’t her Joker—the chaos king delighting in crushing hope and guiding falls, now hesitant?
She stared, seeking familiar madness, twist, creepy pleasure—but this Joker was calmly alien.
“Puddin…” Harley hesitated, but voiced her confusion: he seemed unlike the Joker she knew.
“What’s wrong with you!”
A worried expression.
The artist Joker didn’t answer immediately, setting down the can, tapping chin with paint-smeared finger like pondering philosophy.
“Harley.” He spoke suddenly, low and calm. “What style am I?”
Harley was stumped.
She hemmed, trying public Joker perception.
“Uh… mad? Chaotic? Likes seeing breakdowns? Makes art from pain?” Counting fingers. “Like… drive good people mad, make heroes fall, world like you… happy? Give hope, crush it, show life’s meaningless—then he’s yours.”
Saying this, Harley hesitated but sincerely shared her Joker insight—somewhat piercing.
Of course.
Just somewhat.
As the Joker’s finest work, Harley could only guess. The Joker listened quietly, lips curving up but eyes deepening.
“Interesting.”
He said softly, then took brush, dipped pigment, slowly approached Harley.
Harley didn’t dodge, just watched curiously.
The Joker stood before her, gently brushing her cheek, tweaking her Joker makeup. His touch light, like fine art.
“That won’t happen, Harley.” He whispered gently—not like him—painting a Joker-style cracked smile he preferred on her pale cheek. “You’re talented… but only that.”
Harley froze.
“You won’t believe, Batman won’t, no one will…” The Joker continued, brush outlining her eye corner. “But I can see…”
His face neared, breath on her face.
Harley’s heart raced; she whispered.
“What… did you see?”
Heart pounding, expecting a kiss—but Joker’s lips didn’t land. He leaned to her ear, barely audible.
“I saw… the Ian virus is real reality.” Mosquito-soft, that word Harley’d heard from Joker lately.
Ian virus.
Harley’s pupils shrank.
Originally.
She’d thought it Joker’s joke, but his fearful whisper made her want to ask more.
But.
Joker’s hand pressed her lips first.
“Hee hee hee hee~”
No intent to explain. He stepped back, mad grin returning as if the whisper never happened.
Resumed wall graffiti.
……
In cosmic starfield.
Ian Kent burst through atmosphere.
He beckoned; two pitch-black bio-arms appeared, legs bound with Speed Force external legs—red arcs crackling in vacuum.
A gift he’d earned from Barry Allen’s Speed Force wife, now force-bound to mimic armor as speed boosters again.
“Activate!”
Next instant, he became a superluminal meteor piercing the galaxy, space warping ahead, time stretching behind, stardust bursting like fireworks.
His figure a light tearing the galaxy, trailing long energy wake—speed truly Flash-like, asteroid belt pulverized by shockwave.
“Old man, don’t you dare die… If you do, I temporarily can’t fetch from heaven—only remarry mom to parallel universe Clark uncle next door.”
“Can’t guard fatherly love, but will guard mother’s fidelity—not wasting my filial son rep.”
Ian muttered—not true big filial son, but believed if heard, it’d ignite dad’s endless fighting spirit.
At worst, persist longer. Pitch-black cosmos, stars like dust—Ian’s target Mars now a dark red disk in view.
Mars’ rusty red surface clear—but nearing orbit, anomaly struck. Deep starfield, dense light spots emerged.
Not alien fireflies, but familiar Ian figures.
Clone Supermen.
Thousands, locust-swarm dense. Uniform black battlesuits, eyes vacant soulless, faces rigid—only cold orders.
Annihilate incoming Justice League rescuers.
“Go back! Await sacred duel result!”
Injustice Superman’s voice, less human than last meeting, echoed in Ian’s ears—all clones swarming him.
Clones floated in space, muscles perfectly machined killers. Chest “S” marks scarred like violently torn.
“Tech and tricks crawl for me!”
Ian didn’t slow—accelerated into clone army.
In a flash.
He ignited his blood.
Body ablaze in pitch-black flames.
【World-Burning Pulse: Ignite 1% blood for attacks adding annihilation damage equal to max HP. At 100 stacks, optionally release “Final Shockwave”.
Deal 200% lost HP damage to all in range—your burning blood is all things’ abyss, prelude fireworks to eternal end.】
Annihilation-flame from Ian’s fists, iridescent black energy ripples spreading. Nearest clone just raised arm—Ian’s fist pierced its skull—first blood boiling in veins, fist through nearest clone’s head.
Power immense—not blood from fingers, but black annihilation fire; Kryptonian copy’s brains vaporized before splatter.
Not shatter, but annihilate. Head and neck up vanished, as if never existed. Black “annihilation mark” on Ian’s back. Skin under, black veins snaked alive, each heartbeat pumping annihilation.
“Bang!”
Second clone’s temple caved, black fire spilling from skull cracks.
【Annihilation stacks +1】
Ian’s figure blood-red blur in clone tide.
Each fist precisely crown-smashing.
Third clone tried heat vision intercept—smashed into eye socket; eyeball burst in skull, black flames erupting from orifices.
“Too slow! Worse than Zombie Universe degraded superheroes!” He spun, kicked fourth clone’s jaw, grabbed fifth’s head knee-smashing.
“Even human wave tactics shouldn’t beat my dad!”
One after another.
Each punch a clone’s erasure, black mark stacking behind. Fists no longer flesh—annihilation hammers. Swings tore space, black cracks; clones felled like straw, fearless successors.
Each clone kill stacked 【World-Burning Pulse】 layer.
【Annihilation stacks +17】
Tens of thousands clones rose from Mars surface, black capes blotting sky. Ian’s fist black fire scarring vacuum.
Blood burning, life draining—but each 1% HP loss stacked more annihilation, Berserker 【Reverse Blood Furnace】 triggering.
Weaker.
Stronger.
Far beyond 1+1=2.
Ian’s body cracking, black energy leaking skin gaps—but he ignored. Pain? Just fuel heat.
Power, momentum explosively rising.
A clone backstabbed, fist to spine.
【Berserker Experience Points +13】
Ian’s spine hit triggered upgrade, but unbroken so low points—self-healing restored action in blink.
【Wrath of the Undying: Any damage, recover 1% max HP per second, heals all including fatal.】
Heavier wounds, faster recovery. Below 10% HP, Rebirth from Fire instant fix—life’s carnival till energy depletes.
Death? A luxury for you.】
No instant kills—Ian unconcerned, no Rebirth from Fire trigger, pushing to Mars.
Head unturned, backhand grab crushed attacker’s skull—post-spine waist-striker’s head and torso ashed.
“Crack!”
Ninety-ninth skull crushed in palm, Ian’s skin webbed black. Veins pulsed violently under skin, heartbeats shuddering clones kilometer-wide.
A clone tried green kryptonite weapon sneak—Ian didn’t dodge, let green glow shatter on chest, then shoved shards in attacker’s mouth.
As idealism Kryptonian second-gen.
“Overcoming” kryptonite fear/weakness reasonable.
【Annihilation stacks +1】
As final stack collected, Ian froze—eternal end prelude fireworks descended; 100 annihilation stacks plus 99% burned blood erupted! Centered on Ian, black pulse ripples silently spread.
Not explosion.
Annihilation burst.
All clones stiffened, vacant eyes reflecting horror—the bloodied figure slowly spread arms releasing terrifying pulse.
“Final—”
100% blood boiled.
Veins bursting, billions black pulses erupted from Ian—not rays, but “nonexistence” incarnate, abyss etching vacuum.
“Shockwave!!!”
Black flood swept star domain.
Piercing all clones in vast starfield.
“Boom——!!!”
Mars orbit gripped by invisible giant hand, crushed.
Sunlight, starlight devoured; clone army snow-avalanched into melt. Scene like universe ignited, incinerated by Ian’s blood.
Flood scoured star sea.
Black tide receded—starfield clean like erased pencil sketch.
Surviving clones floated safe distance, instincts screaming—saw Ian reform from void, burning pupils locking final targets.
“Now.”
Black ripples underfoot.
“Trash cleaned.”
Ian dove to Mars—remaining clones fearless, blocking; Ian drew Gungnir, skewering them live kebabs.
“These cheap copies only beat Wonder Woman, so Injustice Superman brought them back to replace my dad?”
“Leveled in other universes, returned to beat boss? Succeeded already?” Ian worried, diving Mars atmosphere.
Right fist charged World-Burning Pulse remnant—but hit invisible barrier entering.
“Boom——!”
Gold-black energy ripples exploded void; he flew back like baseball off bat, smashing a dozen floating clone wrecks before stabilizing.
“What the hell?”
Ian shook numb arm, scanned planet—vision shrank pupils: Mars wrapped in chain-like layers.
Like magic.
Yet different.
Invisible, intangible chains pulsed vascularly, each contraction micro-collapsing space—like Mars locked, barring life entry.
“Damn! What the hell now!”
Ian tried thrice.
All failed.
Even trump 【Write the World】 couldn’t pen—pen power lacking, no reality mod; magic book amp same.
As Ian sweated bullets.
“Meaningless.”
Injustice Superman’s voice sudden. Voice like dozen overlaid—Clark’s rich tone mixed inhuman electronic noise.
Plus odd sounds on Phobos. Mars’ first moon’s shadow, familiar metal friction.
“Clack… creak…”
Hellbat Armor’s joint operation.
Armor Ian helped build—he recognized.
“Hm? Battlefield there?”
Ian whipped head, sight pierced dust, met scarlet eyes.
Injustice Superman.
This dark self floated silently on Phobos surface, black cape writhing alive, exposed skin rune-crawled, each glowing evil god whisper.
Under his battle boots—that figure struggled.
“Uh… lift foot? You’re blocking my eye contact with Uncle Batman.” Ian floated near, pointing underfoot—dark Superman one-footed Batman’s head. Hellbat visor half-shattered, Bruce’s jaw boot-crushed into rock, sole intact left hand stubbornly clawing ankle runes.
Batman disheveled.
Trying nano-blade leg hair shave?
Ian figured brain damaged.
Facing request, Injustice unmoved; deformed-mouthed Batman squeezed electronic tones: “Ignore me!”
“Go find your dad! He’s fighting…” Batman cut off as Injustice foot-stomped mouth—opening meant licking sole.
“Got it!”
Ian turned and flew.
Hellbat overload roar behind.
“You bastard… hesitate a second at least…” Bruce gritted inwardly, still scraping Injustice leg runes.
Yes.
Not leg hair.
Those weird runes.
Ian’s misunderstanding of people like that.
“Stay.”
Injustice concise, seeing Ian flee—head up, heat rays intercepting, surging wild. Two sun-core-hotter beams streaked, trajectories snake-weird like invisible hand, arcing slyly at Ian’s back!
“Wtf?! Heat vision auto-track? Curve assist? Adaptive cruise? 360-degree turns—damn! Science anymore?!” Ian emergency braked midair, rolling awkwardly—rays grazed cape, scorching vacuum spacetime folds.
“You cheating too! Cheat dog!”
Ian furious.
Injustice silent, runes wriggled skin-pumping eye energy. Next heat vision split dozens.
Scarlet net shrouding Ian!
“Endless, huh!”
Ian enraged, World-Burning Pulse black fire fist-exploded, shattering ray net. Fist wind smashed Injustice face, twisting cold features.
“Bang!”
Two superhumans cannonballed into Phobos rock, shock dust cloud—figures indistinguishably brawling.
“Destroy those runes on him—they’re emotion-suppressing shackles!” Batman crawled away, ignoring ear prompt to praise Ian for rescue.
He’s stubborn too.
Ian about to act.
“Damn!”
“Emotionless” Injustice suddenly emotional.
That instant.
Solar system froze 0.001s.
Then—
“Rumble!!!”
Mars exploded.
Red surface shattered omenless! Indescribable terror energy from core—planet glass-cracked, swelled, then boomed!
Dust-flame nebula swept orbit.
Threatening galaxy.
At destruction center.
Two golden figures flickered.
“Idealism Superman vs Idealism Superman!”
Ian’s eyes nearly blinded, but mouth exclaimed.
