Chapter 171: Ian And His Arch-nemesis
Under the blinding spotlights of the set.
Jordan stared at the endorsement fee that had just arrived in his phone’s bank app, his mouth nearly splitting to his ears. It was just a body double, and having been poor for so long, he didn’t care about the portrait rights of his private parts.
“According to Ian’s logic, as long as my body double achieves sleeping with ten thousand people, it’s equivalent to me having done the same. When I go to university later, I won’t just have no shortage of money but can also chat grandly with my roommate.” Jordan’s thinking was very forward-looking and clear. He really needed money, not just because his silicone girlfriend was expensive.
It was also because he had always had a dream: to have the capital to lend Ian a few rounds of usury and regain his dignity and personal charm as Ian’s second brother.
Just as Jordan was reveling in his future visions.
“Jordan! Get ready for the scene of Homelander drinking milk!” The director’s shout came from afar, and Jordan immediately put aside his daydreams, casually tossing his phone into the drawer.
“Coming, coming! Are you using my favorite flavor of yogurt? No? Good thing I brought my own.”
Jordan stood up, straightened Homelander’s cape, took a deep breath, recalled his old man’s usual teachings, and re-entered the role he was playing.
And then.
Jordan picked up the milk glass from the table, slowly bringing it to his lips, his movements elegant, his gaze profound, as if what he was drinking wasn’t milk, but the hope of all America.
Clearly, he had a special way of immersing himself in the role.
“That soulful gaze, that intoxicated demeanor—perfect!” The director clapped excitedly, and the assistant director gave a thumbs up. Jordan was holding back, yet they deeply felt the real-life image a comic character should have. This wave truly left the directors in awe of Jordan, the lead actor who got in through connections.
Indeed.
It was Oliver Queen with the discerning eye who specifically wanted this kid to play Homelander. No wonder he became a billionaire—just that eyesight alone was convincing.
“Buzz buzz buzz~”
The phone in the drawer was ringing.
But Jordan was fully immersed in the role, his mouth slightly upturned, basking in everyone’s praise. He felt like he had truly become that omnipotent, admired-by-millions superhero. With Second Generation Superman’s “super hearing” fully activated, he only heard compliments, completely ignoring the phone in the drawer vibrating wildly.
Meanwhile.
Ian in Demon Manor was fuming.
“Jordan’s gotten cocky! Daring not to answer Master Ian’s call! He’d better not let me catch him exercising his wrist at home again!” Ian wanted to find someone to share his anxiety but failed. Extremely annoyed, he stuffed the half-bitten phone into Demon Baal’s mouth, and Demon Baal quickly pretended to chew a few times.
In reality, it just stored the half phone in its throat for Ian. Seeing Ian pacing back and forth in the living room, Dr. Hannibal floated over, unaware of what had happened.
“I want to go home and see Misha. Maybe you can come with me, and she can prescribe some anti-anxiety meds for you.” In Dr. Hannibal’s eyes, Ian’s condition hadn’t improved despite knowing about Ian’s superhuman information. In fact, Dr. Hannibal felt he’d never seen anyone so terminally ill.
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Friday, good for taking meds. Then I’ll put you in a thermos and bring you to school—it’ll definitely be a great black tea surprise for Miss Misha!”
“Actually, if you’re patient, at Christmas I’ll put you in a gift box and give you to Miss Misha—that’ll be the most unforgettable thoughtful Christmas gift of her life.” While sharing his previous Christmas plan with Dr. Hannibal, Ian grabbed a shovel and started frantically digging a pit in the back garden.
The pit grew deeper and deeper.
Living corpses poked their heads out of the soil, looking puzzled at their master.
“If someone’s looking for me, tell them I’m dead.”
“If it’s my mom and dad and they’d be sad… tell them I’ll resurrect on time before school tomorrow.” He dug himself a standard grave.
Two meters long, one meter wide, one and a half meters deep.
Faced with the Creation Goddess’s relentless pursuit and the Creator God’s bizarre behavior, Ian turned into a real ostrich, tossing a mattress down before lying into the big pit himself.
The previously dug-out living corpses were woven by him like yarn into a massive “corpse blanket.”
“The quilt needs to be thick… it’s cooling down tonight.” He wove them into his quilt, then prepared to sleep until God and the Creation Goddess reconciled.
【Ian Kent】
【Cause of death: Gassed himself to death because he missed KFC Crazy Thursday today.】
【Resurrection CD: TBD】
Detail-oriented Ian even made himself a tombstone, then directed the Demon Butler and Demon Maids to bury him eighteen meters underground or deeper.
He was hoping the magic sealing the great darkness would also conceal his hiding underground, at least keeping the Creation Goddess from discovering it.
“Huff huff huff~”
The Demon Maids were busy.
Hannibal, Baal, and the King of Lies floated by the pit, falling into eerie silence. Even Demon Head Baal, wanting to flatter awkwardly, found his sycophancy still couldn’t match Ian’s level.
Yes, Ian’s realm had surpassed the demons’ comprehension.
“Perfect.”
Ian hid in the mud, planning to endure until the time to traverse the Marvel Universe—but heaven didn’t grant his wish. Outside the manor, Clark Kent returning from Africa slowly descended from the sky.
His red cape fluttered loudly.
He spotted at once the transparent oxygen tube sticking out from the grave, connected to an oxygen tank. When Superman landed at the grave, the Demon Maids were holding hands and wailing according to Ian’s script.
Clark, who had spent 23 hours and 50 minutes of the last 24 watching Ian, wasn’t fooled. He’d seen Ian bury himself with his own eyes. Even now, he could hear Ian’s heartbeat and the youth muttering 【Ian isn’t a coward; turning into spring mud protects the flowers even more】.
“Move aside.”
Superman gritted his teeth, his voice colder than the North Pole in the Batcave, making the Demon Maids tremble and scramble away from the set.
There, Superman stepped forward, pinched Ian’s reserved breathing tube—a decorative rainbow pony straw—yet waited ten minutes without hearing any movement from Ian.
No choice, Clark realized something and had to dig out Ian, who didn’t actually need to breathe underground and just wanted a grave decoration, with his bare hands. When Superman finally pulled Ian from the pit, Ian was sprawled on the mattress, flushed-faced and playing his game console.
He clearly didn’t need to breathe at all.
“No!”
Ian’s face changed dramatically upon feeling the light again.
Superman expressionless, grabbed him by the back of the collar with one hand, and shot into the sky.
“Ruthless Superman! How are you so skilled at grave-robbing!” The yanked-out Ian flailed his legs wildly like a reanimated corpse; with his plan failed, he could only transfer his stubbornness to his mouth.
“Clark, you got the wrong guy. I’m a clone Ian created; the real Ian has fled to that distant Namek. Hurry and figure out how to catch him.” When truly terrified, people are like this—Ian bluffed loudly, flailing his hands, still trying to burrow back into the grave.
Faced with the messy affairs of God’s family.
He really wanted to be a peaceful ostrich. But Clark knew problems needed solving, and Ian was the only one who could.
No wonder Superman’s super brain raced—anything involving God made him uneasy. During his day working in Africa, he’d been pondering why God was pranking him.
Finally.
He realized it might be a warning. Years ago, God instructed the Archangel to give Ian to him to raise—maybe Ian was God’s affair child!
Thinking this way, everything made sense. The Creation Goddess wanting to sleep with Ian was perfect revenge on God! This weak Superman could only choose to keep silent!
As for thwarting the Creation Goddess’s intentions, that was for God to handle.
This weak Superman dared not reveal the likely unknown “truth”; all he could do was give Ian a little hint.
“That goddess you mentioned is now your mom’s friend, new best friend.” Clark’s hint was meant for Ian to acknowledge her as godmother directly.
However.
The word “best friend” in Ian’s ears made the sensible youth face an enemy.
“I knew she had bad intentions! Being mom’s best friend makes her the most vicious!” Seeing Clark not getting it, Ian grumbled that his old man should pay more attention to social news.
“You admit you’re Ian?”
Clark always caught Ian’s logical flaws; Ian froze on the spot. Grabbed by Clark, he was gradually flying away, while the three onlookers in Demon Manor still floated in place.
Demon Baal’s head, the King of Lies, and Dr. Hannibal were dumbfounded, watching Ian flail like an octopus in mid-air, gradually receding.
“What was that?”
Hannibal was still unclear. With Superman’s bio-electric field activating when wearing underwear outside, he didn’t know the one grabbing Ian was his friend Clark Kent.
“The invincible Ian God was grabbed again by his even more invincible old man.”
Ian Cult’s elder Demon Baal’s head sighed softly.
“Why use ‘again’?”
The King of Lies turned in surprise.
“You’ll get used to it. It’s Krypton traditional family education, averaging 1.8 times a week. Just remember, at times like this, all we can do is play dead…” Demon Baal began sharing life tips, one after another Rules of the Game about Ian’s family spilling out.
“Rule one: Don’t take sides in Kent family civil wars; rule two: Never help Ian God curse his parents; rule three…” The rules Demon Baal shared were all experiences summed from blood and tears.
The King of Lies and Dr. Hannibal nodded repeatedly.
Greatly enlightened.
……
Night as dark as ink, galaxy hanging low.
Ian was carried single-handed by Superman like a chick caught by an eagle, breaking through the atmosphere, plummeting rapidly. Wind whistled by his ears; he wanted to keep bluffing—stand-in, illusion, quantum clone—but seeing Clark’s increasingly Africanized face, he wisely shut up.
When Ian was dropped by Clark holding his back collar onto the Kent Family Home’s new lawn, he still held the ostrich-burying pose, looking as wilted as frostbitten eggplant.
“Escaping isn’t a way to solve problems, Ian.”
Clark earnestly lectured Ian.
“Bang!”
Ian’s feet finally touched ground.
Familiar courtyard scent hit him. This wasn’t ruins or rubble, but complete, brand new, even more grand than in memory—Kent home.
Not much different from the home that hadn’t been bombed the first time. White walls, red tiles, as if never destroyed, though this restored home looked much newer— even in the human world, in a restricted skin, Lucifer’s great power could still overwrite reality.
“Since you say so, Dad, why do I feel your legs don’t dare step into our courtyard at all.” Ian looked down at Clark’s rooted legs. After hearing Ian’s account, Clark was hesitant to enter too. Luckily, his super hearing saved him then.
“Your grandfather’s military region has an incident; for now, you handle it yourself.” Clark stood behind Ian, arms crossed, brows furrowed.
His gaze fell on the brightly lit living room window, where Lois flipped out, rushing into Clark’s arms to urge him.
“Clark!” Lois Lane burst from the oak door, chestnut curls exploding like a startled bird’s nest. Her plunge into her husband’s arms was suspiciously exaggerated.
“Fly! Fly! Clark!”
Lois’s voice had the ups and downs of eight bottles of red wine today. Clark undid his top shirt button, as if the collar suddenly tightened.
He was about to take off.
When Ian yanked his belt.
Superman deftly discarded the belt—that was the poise and decisiveness of an old-generation hero.
“Wait, old man, you’re going to disaster relief—why take Mom along?” Ian saw Lois in the yard pounce into Clark’s arms and get flown off.
“Because I have an old man too, so I need to check on him. Yeah, that’s it… Ian, time to stand on your own. Oh, right, your eldest brother is off—be careful.” Lois showed her motherly love, then urged Clark to hurry. Leaving Ian alone on site.
The lone youth swallowed, staring at his restored home.
That didn’t seem like home.
But an abyss maw ready to devour him whole. Maybe Mom thought there wasn’t much danger inside, but what did Mom and Dad know.
Lucifer Mom—that was a goddess who’d really sleep with mortals, absurdly. Step by step approaching the home reshaped by Lucifer, Ian’s throat tightened.
He took a deep breath, cautiously pushing the door open.
Living room brightly lit, fragrance overflowing.
Dining table set for five, crystal chandelier refracting warm light.
In the living room.
“Jonathan” in custom suit elegantly poured black tea for Charlotte Richards. The straight guy who usually wore T-shirts backwards now moved with gentlemanly grace.
That wasn’t his brother—that was God, wearing his brother’s vest.
Yes, this “eldest brother” wasn’t human, but the supreme being who created countless universes and destroyed them personally. Now using Jonathan’s body to fawn on the Creation Goddess, serving tea, obsequiously.
His brother’s soul was still there, very calm, as if just lending his body—God surely paid for the skin, Ian guessed with plenty of benefits.
“Miss Charlotte, you are radiant, like a rose in the dawn.” God spoke exaggerated praise with Jonathan’s face, tone like reciting poetry.
“Oh, you’re Ian’s eldest brother, right? You sure know how to talk!” Charlotte laughed delightedly, then stood, “I’ll go check Ian’s room.”
“He must have been so cute as a little boy?”
Charlotte Richards said, heading straight upstairs. She either couldn’t recognize God in disguise or was mentally twisted, enjoying role-playing games.
Ian knew.
This ordinary dinner was doomed not to be ordinary. Meanwhile, in the system, Warhammer Universe reassembly continued, but Ian still checked his most useful cheat.
【Warhammer Universe repair progress: 15%】
【God created the world in seven days; the system is repairing the destroyed world in seven days.】
This progress didn’t need rounding; hiding behind his door pillar, Ian’s gaze toward his eldest brother Jonathan gained some toughness.
“Jonathan” spotted Ian but just shrugged, then followed Charlotte Richards upstairs, only to find her doing baffling things.
“What are you doing?”
“Jonathan” was utterly confused.
There.
Charlotte Richards wildly rolled around Ian’s bedroom, rubbing everywhere. Looking up at Jonathan, she clutched Ian’s childhood dinosaur puppet.
“I just watched 《Animal World》; those animals mark territory with scent during courtship.” Creation Goddess Charlotte Richards wore a deep blue gown studded with starlight, now clamping Ian’s long-discarded dinosaur puppet under her armpit in bizarre behavior.
She knew little of the human world, mostly learning on the fly.
“Oh, right, Jonathan, right? What kind of pillow does Ian like for sleeping? Any requirements for the fabric and look of these sheets on me?” The Creation Goddess lifted Ian’s quilt, pondering if hiding inside would let her ambush Ian at night.
“…”
“Jonathan”‘s expression fully froze, eyes nearly spewing fire. He whipped his head, gaze piercing the wall straight to the front door downstairs—where Ian now stood rigid. No help for it; Ian really had super hearing, even hearing urination dozens of kilometers away.
“I’m just a kid!”
Ian’s heart skipped; his invincible confidence shattered again. He turned to flee, but the door wouldn’t budge, as if welded shut.
“Not like this!”
Ian pounded hard.
Unlocking failed.
Physical dismantling failed too.
As if some mystical force sealed him in this small space. Just as Ian panicked, desperately finding even the sewer sealed.
“Oh, right, Jonathan, can that thing called a gas stove in the kitchen be moved to the bed? I heard African weaverbirds collect shiny things for courtship.”
“Oh, your old mom, my new friend Lois—how long to buy veggies? I’ll check the door!” Upstairs, Charlotte started clamoring.
The woman approached the corridor stairs. Ian paled, nearly shooting to the ceiling; glancing around, “thump thump thump” descending steps sounded.
Super brain raced.
Living room sofa seemed the last refuge.
“There!”
Ian slide-tackled inside, thinking the space ample to hide—yet his slide foot kicked something soft.
Ian looked closely.
Then fumed from all orifices!
“Damn it! Ian! Someone’s here!” Lucifer pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his cheek, then sneakily raised his camera.
Perhaps Ian’s brain was god-level; it chose the hiding spot even Universe Second Big God would pick—but realizing this, Ian couldn’t be happy yet.
“You… how are you here!” Ian eyed Lucifer’s contorted crouch, quickly distancing to the sofa’s right side.
“Collecting evidence!”
Lucifer’s eyes gleamed. “I want to snap God in human guise! Look at his hypocritical face! The world’s first liar was him!”
Still the Lucifer hating God to the bone.
“…”
Ian was speechless. Listening to Lucifer ramble about God’s “crimes,” while in the living room, “Jonathan” forced smiles, serving the Creation Goddess.
How could God not know what hid under the sofa.
But what could he do.
Only distract with serving food and praising his ex-wife. But Charlotte kept glancing at the stairs, seemingly wanting to “mark” again.
“I prepared 30 trillion wedding dresses; I can play with Ian until cosmic heat death…” The Creation Goddess bragged openly to God; his forced smile might not last.
“？？？？？？”
Ian huddled under the sofa, squeezed with Lucifer, hearing the absurd overhead dialogue, smelling dust mixed with Lucifer’s gritted-teeth expensive cologne.
He suddenly understood.
“Wait, Lucifer, your mom wants to sleep with me—how are you still here sneak-filming? Dark web Mr. Road, huh?” Ian’s mood was incredibly complex now.
He finally got 【mental illness】—100% a creation of God’s family. Outside, the wife-chasing old farm Creator was still trying hard.
“Charlotte, what music do you like?” The hijacked “Jonathan” flashed a perfectly fake smile, fingers tapping the dining table, asking knowingly.
“Classical? Jazz? Or?”
Charlotte Richards bent over the wine cabinet for wine glasses, answering without looking back: “I like the sound of heartbeats accelerating~ like little Ian’s when I’m chasing him—”
She seemed to tie everything to Ian, making him ever more terrified.
And just then.
Boom——！！！
A earth-shattering explosion suddenly came from outside.
Ground shook violently, glass buzzed, even foundations groaned. Not an ordinary bomb, but destruction-level energy burst to rip continents, evaporate oceans.
Of course.
It had just begun erupting.
The shockwave from the explosion center was about to spread when, in that instant, “Jonathan”—no, God in Jonathan’s shell—frowned toward the window outside.
While Charlotte Richards wasn’t looking, his right hand rose subtly under the table toward the window, pressing lightly————no light, no sound, no shockwave.
That planet-destroying explosion, like a flame pinched by an invisible giant hand, collapsed inward into twisted darkness, then annihilated into the void, as if never happened.
Everything returned to calm.
“What was that?”
Charlotte finally straightened, holding two wine glasses, bewildered.
“Nothing,”
God-version Jonathan calmly adjusted his cuffs.
“Probably the neighbor kid playing with firecrackers.”
He quipped casually.
Perhaps only Ian in the house was wide-eyed.
“What was that just now?!” Ian felt the terrifying cosmic energy wave, nearly biting his tongue, whispering to Lucifer.
Omniscient Lucifer didn’t turn, continuing 【parents’ peeping record】.
“Someone’s robbing Genesis.”
“Yeah, that old man’s inspiration recording device that came alive when he was a writer—not important. Think the aphrodisiac I add to the food later will work?”
“Should, right? They’re bound in mortal shells now—that’s their biggest weakness.” Lucifer self-Q&A’d, still obsessed with filming.
Few knew.
In any parents’ eyes.
He was a brattier brat than Ian.
“Oh, right, next scene’s not for kids—you can’t watch.” Lucifer smeared Ian’s eyelids; a black blindfold appeared on Ian’s face.
“？？？？？？”
Ian glared at the blindfold.
Brain blank.
“Did you forget I have ears?”
Reminding Lucifer, Ian regretted it.
Right now, feeling he should be sitting on the sofa watching television, not under it colluding with Lucifer, Ian really wanted to emigrate his whole family to Marvel.
In the living room, “Jonathan” gently poured wine for Charlotte, eyes glancing meaningfully through the window at the city outskirts explosion ruins that were erased.
He knew someone coveted Genesis, and it had slipped out long ago.
But.
The Lord didn’t care.
…
Night wind howled, galaxy like silk.
Superman Clark Kent carried Lois Kent like a red meteor streaking the sky, behind them the brightly lit but 100% turbulent home.
Night wind tousled his wife Lois’s blonde hair. Lois looked up at her husband’s tense jawline, alcohol dizziness fading somewhat.
“Will Ian really be okay?”
She asked softly.
Fingers unconsciously gripped Superman’s neck.
“God will protect him.” Clark’s gaze locked afar, pupils contracting to adjust focus; he thought of his terrifying guess but dared not share with his wife.
“So… the one occupying Jonathan’s body is God, right?” Lois’s wine haze cleared, voice trembling. “If he fights Ian… what then? Ian’s naughty, but he’s our child… and he didn’t actively err in this.”
“Even if Ian accidentally provoked that goddess, it must be God pulling strings behind— all world’s coincidences are his arrangements, right?”
Lois clearly sided with Ian; her words held reason.
Hearing this, Clark’s heart tightened. How could he not know? Ian was absurd, but his eyes held human warmth. God, that supreme being, acted on whim, no motive. If conflict arose, Ian might not even leave ash.
Of course.
If that guess held, Ian was safest.
“Don’t worry.”
Clark said lowly.
Voice carrying faint guilt. “I’m watching; if things go out of control, I’ll rush back first thing.”
No help for it.
He knew this lacked confidence.
Before the Creator, his super strength, super hearing, heat vision were barely tickles. He’d punched asteroids to dust, but God needed one thought to void the universe. Thinking this, his voice trailed, red cape snapping in airflow.
Lois knew her husband too well—that “first thing” hid how much powerlessness. Against the Creator, even steel body changed nothing? She sighed inwardly, leaning back to that broad chest.
Listening to the two hearts beating inside.
“I believe in you.”
Lois said softly still.
“Mm.”
Clark nodded firmly too.
He knew his combat power meant little before the Creator.
If God didn’t protect Ian.
Then only he would.
Not a choice.
“Still, I hope they communicate well.” Clark thought his prior guess likely, so he’d left home to Ian and the God couple.
Now, his wife’s trust warmed like a stream, dispelling chill. Clark breathed deep, veering toward the military region.
When they landed before Sam Lane’s command post.
The sight was suffocating.
Once a military stronghold, now ruins. Rebar twisted, concrete crumbled, air thick with ozone and rotting flesh. Soldiers scurried like ants through debris, clearing monster remnants—broken claws, solidified mucus, unrecognizable alien tissue.
The wrecked base like cake gnawed by a beast. When Superman landed on scorched earth, Sam Lane stood on a scrapped tank directing rescue.
“That side, damn, 160k entrenching tools this flimsy? High-ranking military officials only got 100k kickback! The remaining 60k shouldn’t all be on alloy crafting?”
The old general’s white hair glowed like bone-chilling fire illuminating America under searchlights. Seeing Superman, he tossed the broken entrenching tool and jumped off the tank.
“You’re here.”
Sam Lane’s army boots crushed a mucus-covered concrete chunk; he glanced at his masked daughter, then seriously at Superman.
“How do those monsters appear and vanish? I first thought you were testing holographic projection tech.” Clark shared his observed info.
This was why he hadn’t rushed; the disaster appeared and vanished in a blink.
“We don’t know details. After the lab lost control, I thought the world was done, was about to call you when light absorbed the rogue dangers.” Sam Lane pulled an encrypted USB, plugged into notebook terminal, pulling up surveillance footage.
“Surveillance caught a woman sitting in that chair, but no one saw her—even this footage seems to appear out of nowhere, eerie.”
Sam Lane handed the notebook to Clark and Lois.
Classified info in civilian hands again.
Surveillance footage: a white-veiled woman sat quietly under an oak in ruins. In floor-length gown, flickering like unreal from a painting.
Until the lab’s rogue monsters emerged, she stood as if waiting for this. As aliens, mummies, glowing things swarmed, she rose, raised a blurry object in hand—all monsters sucked into black-hole-like light, no screams.
Monsters vanished before nearing, like sand into light. Then she folded her umbrella, turned toward ruins beyond.
Steps light, as if just strolling.
“This footage… found after.”
Sam Lane’s voice tensed.
“No one saw her then! Not even sentries!”
“And… this file’s creation time is after the disaster, yet it records pre-disaster.”
Sam Lane’s tone carried horror. Indeed eerie—a non-existent person in non-existent surveillance.
Anyone would chill.
“Footage after disaster? That person wanted you to see it.” Superman’s pupils dilated, frowning, rewatching footage repeatedly.
Military region chaos, monsters rampant, flames sky-high. Soldiers fled. Yet under a dead tree, the woman sat quietly long before disaster.
In pure white gown, white veil, black long-handled umbrella, as if unrelated to disaster, just passing by waiting.
“This woman’s quite beautiful.”
Lois, still tipsy, praised the mystery woman’s figure and aura.
“She’s seeking something… but didn’t find it…” Superman’s super brain whirred; he noted she didn’t act first.
Only after monsters swarmed in chaos, still no find, did she raise hand with mystery item absorbing all. Then in flickering footage, woman left, vanishing ghost-like into jungle.
“Can you find her?”
Sam Lane asked for help; mainly, lab items were US Military property—losing them wasn’t just his responsibility. No one knew their weirdness better; mere deaths were lucky misfortune.
No one knew the mystery woman’s purpose with the experimentals.
“I’ll try.”
Clark gave no firm answer. He scanned around, activating super vision. Vision pierced kilometer dust, scanning every inch soil, rubble, shadow. Cheating vision extended hundreds of miles over wilderness, rivers, mountain ranges.
Retina like cast outward.
Covering Earth’s every corner.
Like an invisible net, Superman’s vision blanketed most of Earth.
“Not in America, not North America… found you!” Clark’s sight pierced buildings, deserts, oceans, locking Nile River bank—veiled woman palmed swirling chaos light. Bald man knelt single-knee, lips moving in oath.
Seeing this.
Clark was about to activate super hearing to probe her mind, judge friend or foe. But that instant, veiled woman sensed the gaze.
She suddenly turned her head.
Time seemed frozen.
Not toward wilderness direction, not sky.
But directly into Clark’s eyes. Despite thousands of miles, even in Metropolis America, the Egypt woman’s gaze precisely locked Clark.
In Superman’s pupils.
Her face reflected.
Under veil, golden pupils—not normal superhuman eyes; Clark felt history-time vastness in them.
Clark’s pupils mirrored those golden eyes, staring into endless time river. Super senses caught overlapping images—civilizations’ megaliths piled by invisible hands, stars born and annihilated in void, countless lives flickering like lantern show.
As bio-instinct sharply warned.
Veiled woman tilted head slightly.
Then.
Clark felt world spinning.
Ground underfoot vanished; military base, Lois, Sam Lane erased like pencil rubbed out. Replaced by endless gray-white mist swirling alive around him; even heat vision couldn’t dispel.
“I sense you mean no harm. Who are you?” Superman floated in this consciousness sea mist, radiating sun-like glow, illuminating only nearby inches.
“Where is this?”
He demanded loudly.
Rustle like silk from mist depths.
White figure flickered.
Voice like echo seeping from time cracks.
“I am the last note in the forgotten lullaby.”
Hearing, wind-like; Clark spun, voice from behind. Mist extended pale hand, fingertip brushing his cape.
“I am the ember burning at history’s page edge.”
Another voice from above.
Superman looked up, veil hem cascading inverted waterfall.
“Of course, I am also the echo stepping from a little boy’s dreamscape… the Time Lord who will accompany you to the end.” This voice near his ear.
Clark’s super speed shifted him ten meters instantly, yet distance unchanged—veiled woman stood nose-tip close, breath calm.
“You can call me…”
She raised hand.
Fingertip gathered shifting light.
“Paradox.”
Finger gently touched Clark’s forehead.
Contact instant.
Superman saw memories surge like film—Kansas wheatfields regrowing backward, Batcave receding to starry distance.
Even Krypton explosion flames retracting to core.
“Wait—”
Clark fell backward.
Into collapsing starry sky. Last sight: self-named Paradox woman withdrawing finger, veil under faintly upturned lips.
That curve matched exactly Ian’s when pranking succeeded.
