Chapter 153: The Emperor And Ian’s Enterprises!
In the desolate Warhammer Universe.
Ian’s dimensional projection flickered at the edge of the broken universe, like an old television with a poor signal. He stared with wide eyes at the absurd scene unfolding at the edge of the shattered world.
His father, who led the way in being a pervert and always wore his underwear on the outside when he was Superman, was working together with a giant in golden armor to shove Uncle Bruce Batman onto a golden chair.
“A ‘fun chair’ is still just a chair! Is this a plot a minor can watch with parental accompaniment?” Ian’s already large eyes widened in disbelief.
Bruce’s clothes were torn.
His body was covered in at least nine kilograms of mysterious mucus, which, apart from its strange color, was just like the mucus that only appears in Japanese adult films.
Seeing this, Ian…
couldn’t help but put on sunglasses.
This way, he wouldn’t overthink things with his biased eyes.
“Where did they bring me? The Warhammer Universe?” Ian looked around, confirming his surroundings. Blood-red storms churned in the sky, the ground cracked into endless abysses, and the air was filled with decay, madness, and despair. Of course, the most recognizable elements were the man in armor and his toilet, which hadn’t been washed in years.
This wasn’t an ordinary Batman consciousness space; this was a fragment of the Warhammer 40K universe, one of the core pollution sources from the outer universe. No wonder Batman had been emotionally unstable recently.
“Where are Slaanesh? Nurgle? Tzeentch and Khorne? They could be my capitalist essentials!” Ian, wielding his dimensional projection, began to search everywhere.
He couldn’t even imagine how wonderful it would be to trap Tzeentch’s brain in a cage and have him develop a strategy game for him every day. Slaanesh was also crucial for promoting the decline of global birth rates.
If he could add some Khorne to the munitions and some Nurgle to the bioweapons—forget Wayne Enterprises or Stark Industries, he, Ian, would be the most capitalist arms dealer in the American Comics Universe!
There are no terrifying evil gods in the world.
Only the controllable and uncontrollable evil gods of Master Ian.
“Where are my lucky cats?” Ian, with grand ambitions in his heart, was filled with a longing to become a capitalist, but his gaze swept across all the shattered universes without finding the hidden warp gods.
“Roar—”
Bruce suddenly let out a non-human roar.
His pupils split into five vertical slits, reflecting Khorne’s blood axe, Tzeentch’s grimoire, Nurgle’s pustules, and Slaanesh’s rose, along with the fifth chaos taint.
“Let me go! I’m fine! I’m going to kill you two lunatics!! I’m going to have Alfred sue you!! I’m going to lock you in a mental hospital!!”
“Believe me! I can do it! I am Bruce Wayne! The richest man in the world! If I wanted to! I could even buy the whole of America!” Batman struggled, his eyes filled with chaos and pain, letting out a low growl as an invisible force seemed to erode his soul.
His desires and brutality could no longer be suppressed.
“No, Bruce, you are not fine at all!” Superman’s soul projection had an unshakeable strength, and he held down the Batman, who was erupting with a strange power, with all his might.
“Don’t be distracted, restrain him.”
The Emperor’s voice sounded like thousands of overlapping harmonies. At this moment, the Emperor seemed to sense something and slowly looked up in Ian’s direction.
Their gazes met.
Ian winked at him with his right eye.
“…”
The Emperor did not respond. He looked at his throne and continued to softly instruct Superman. Upon hearing this, Superman increased his grip, his Kryptonian muscles shimmering with a healthy glow in this broken universe.
His unscientific bio-electric field actually protected him from the contamination spreading from Batman, suggesting that Ian’s long-held aspirations were on the path to success.
“I will help him suppress the contamination.” As the Emperor infused the Golden Throne with psychic energy, the chaos in Batman’s eyes gradually receded, but the mucus solidified into crystal-like scars.
“What’s happening to me?”
The previously roaring Batman gradually calmed down, the chaos and darkness in his eyes slowly dissipating, replaced by a brief moment of clarity and bewilderment.
“Don’t let him up.”
The Emperor said in a low, firm tone.
“Understood.”
Superman nodded, still firmly suppressing Batman. Meanwhile, Ian quietly approached the edge of this shattered universe, a dim blue dimensional silhouette appearing behind him.
As if ready to act at any moment.
“What happened to my Uncle Bruce? Did he eat something bad, mutate on the spot, and then get caught by you guys?” Ian looked at Superman with one eye.
And at the Emperor with the other.
It was that skilled for an evil god to use multiple eyes at once; his eyeballs didn’t even need to move. He leaned in like a curious cat, hesitated for a moment, but still didn’t attempt to swallow the mucus on Batman.
Master Ian truly did not have pica.
He always ate some things and not others.
“Bruce went mad and tried to die with the evil gods of this universe, but he didn’t succeed completely. Instead, he was influenced by the power of the four evil gods.”
Superman was not surprised that Ian could enter this place like himself. He looked at Ian, who was taking out a black box and filming Bruce, and responded in a deep voice.
“It was five.”
The Emperor corrected Superman’s statement.
Psykic flames formed a protective matrix around the throne.
Upon hearing this, Superman turned his head in surprise: “You’re counting the Cthulhu contamination he brought in himself? I’ve already resolved that contamination with special means.”
When mentioning special means, Superman glanced at Ian, being very careful with his wording so as not to let his own son realize there was a place where he could collect royalties from both him and Batman.
“The erosion of the realm of destruction has merged with his soul and cannot be eradicated. My psychic energy can only maintain balance for about a hundred years. Before then, you must find a solution.”
The Emperor’s golden armor made a heavy clanking sound. He pointed to the crystallizing scar on Bruce’s chest, somewhat mistakenly thinking that Batman had a chance of living to be a hundred years old.
As Superman and the Emperor explained it back and forth, Ian gradually began to piece things together. It was clear that Batman had messed up some risky maneuver.
“As expected of my Uncle Bruce, he likes to self-destruct with a single word, just like me. It’s a shame his life isn’t as tough as mine.” Ian thoughtfully looked at the golden toilet beneath Batman’s buttocks.
Of course, that was actually the Warhammer Emperor’s throne, a life-sustaining device for the Emperor.
Through the Golden Throne,
the Emperor’s life, severely wounded, was prolonged for humanity.
Even though his body was still slowly decaying.
This device traced its history back to the Dark Age of Technology, or even earlier.
In the history of the Warhammer Universe, during the Great Crusade, the Emperor discovered this ancient relic beneath the ruins in the Asian desert and repaired and modified it. It was a powerful psychic amplifier, allowing the Emperor to continuously emit the Astronomican’s light, providing navigation for ships traveling through the Warp.
This ensured the safety of interstellar travel for the Imperium of Man. Of course, the Golden Throne also undertook the task of suppressing Warp daemons attempting to break through the psychic barrier around Terra and flood into the real world. However, for a universe that was already shattered, such a function was clearly meaningless.
Its only value was perhaps in sustaining the Emperor’s life as a human.
“The toilet is for my Uncle Bruce to sit on, so you’re going to go anywhere and relieve yourself too?” Ian was surprised that the Emperor would let Batman sit on the toilet until he died. He remembered that the Emperor in the Warhammer world couldn’t leave the toilet, or he would cause a great disaster for the entire world.
“Oh?”
The Emperor looked at Ian, who was familiar with his world, with a meaningful gaze.
“Look at the world around you, child. So desolate, no sound, no laughter… I no longer need it. Let it go with you as a trace of our world’s existence,” the Emperor said, gripping his greatsword, his eyes showing an unprecedented resolve.
“My kin disappeared countless years ago. If I weren’t unable to make the decision alone, I would have personally shattered this world of endings long ago.”
The Emperor’s voice was low and firm.
It was as if he were passing his final judgment.
On himself.
Ian fell silent.
This was not an emperor speaking of his helplessness, but a deity proclaiming his end. The Emperor walked to the edge of the floating palace, his eyes reflecting the utterly desolate world. His golden armor began to peel off, revealing pale skin underneath, and his exposed body began to transform.
Pieces of armor wreckage continuously fell.
Like an old man on his deathbed,
trembling as he unfastened his patched old coat.
Between hero and evil god,
there is often only the distance of faith.
And at this moment,
the Emperor was ready to abandon his obsession. This being, once seen as humanity’s hope, began to ascend, now emanating a suffocating pressure.
“What’s happening to him?”
Superman finally spoke. He realized that Ian seemed to know the man in front of him, so he asked Ian, his tone carrying a hint of unease.
“He’s that fifth evil god.”
The young evil god, uncharacteristically, wasn’t grinning.
The life form metamorphosis visible only to dimensional gods flowed within his pupils.
This statement struck Superman like a bullet, shattering all his perceptions. He watched the Emperor’s crown melt, the gold dripping like liquid, revealing a gradually contorting head underneath.
“Evil god?” Superman repeated the word in shock, looking at the Emperor in disbelief. He had always felt the Emperor was full of goodwill; could such a being be an evil god?
“This is a world that would have ended in tragedy even if it hadn’t been broken,” Ian gazed at the figure not far away, the Emperor’s power beginning to surge.
Not an outburst of combat, but an older, more terrifying awakening. The Emperor’s eyes burned with a deep flame, as if reflecting the destruction of the entire universe.
Endless destructive power surged upwards.
He would no longer be the Emperor of Mankind.
But would become the new Dark King.
“Why help us?” Superman felt the Emperor’s transformation and realized that Ian had spoken a rare truth just now. He also looked at the figure ahead with some disbelief.
“Perhaps because I haven’t seen humans for too long…” the Emperor’s voice sounded again, but it was no longer as stern as before; it carried a hint of gentleness.
Even a trace of nostalgia.
The Emperor’s sanity was fading.
Therefore.
He did not turn around.
“Take Bruce Wayne and leave. Now, I must face my destiny.” The Emperor’s power erupted completely, and endless destructive energy surged out like a tide.
It directly tore the surrounding space into fragments.
As the Dark King’s domain of corruption expanded, the entire universe let out a sound like shattering glass. It was not the roar of destruction, but the final sigh of a dying world.
The entire world was being swallowed.
When the last trace of sanity vanished from the Emperor’s eyes, his body was completely consumed by darkness. What was once a symbol of humanity’s last hope had now become the universe’s deepest nightmare—the Dark King. He no longer existed under the name “Emperor,” but had transformed into an embodiment of pure will to destroy.
The figure of the Dark King loomed over the center of the shattered world.
Batman had ultimately succeeded halfway; he was the last evil god remaining in this universe, destined to fulfill the fate he had already foreseen.
Only.
He was not destroying a vibrant universe, but a fragment of a universe that had long rotted, was barely clinging to existence, and struggled to survive in the cracks of time.
This was a delayed judgment.
A feast belonging to despair and death.
Terrifying power surged within him, endless dark energy sweeping out like a tide, tearing apart the sky, devouring the earth, and even space itself wailed.
This was not revenge, not anger, but an ultimate mercy.
“We need to leave here.” Superman Clark grabbed Bruce with one hand and the eager version of Ian, who was about to charge forward with his dimensional projection, with the other.
“No! Dad! You can’t do this! I’m also an evil god! I should join this destruction too!” Ian was held by the scruff of his collar and, unwilling to use dimensional power to defy him, flailed his limbs like a startled black cat being picked up by the nape of its neck. He was being led away from this universe by Superman using idealistic means.
“Nihilus! I love you! Quick! Quick, tear up your universe and give a taste to your decade-long fan!” Ian, unwilling to gain nothing, frantically confessed his love to the Emperor.
This name was already an obscure secret.
This absurd request made the Dark King’s movements pause for a hundredth of a second.
He turned his head. His face was already blurred, but those eyes—those eyes burning with the embers of all galactic civilizations—suddenly flickered with a very faint fluctuation.
However.
The Emperor did not grant Ian his wish.
But in this fleeting moment,
Ian saw what He was holding—it was not a weapon of destruction, but a tattered copy of 《 The Stars Are Shining, Humanity 》, with dried olive branches pressed between its pages.
Superman seized the opportunity to pull the two of them away from the shattered universe.
The final image was seared onto Ian’s retina: a collection of human civilization’s carriers, countless civil texts perishing along with the Dark King and the entire universe.
《 The Iliad 》
《 Analects 》
《 Nicomachean Ethics 》
《 The Three-Body Problem 》
《 Batman: The Dark Knight 》
《 Superman: Origin 》
《 Superman and Batman 》
…
The pages fluttered in the destruction.
As if making a final farewell.
They carried the knowledge, faith, history, philosophy, poetry of the Warhammer Universe… all the thoughts and dreams about humanity. And now they would return to nothingness along with the Human King of the Warhammer Universe.
“I need to say thank you to you all. Thank you for letting me, in humanity’s final moments, perceive and remain in this moment where the light of humanity still shines upon all heavens.”
Darkness completely enveloped his body.
The newborn evil god stretched his limbs, every inch singing the beauty of destruction, like the final struggle of a candle about to burn out. He whispered softly to the outside of the universe.
Perhaps the Emperor proved his will could overcome the erosion of ascension.
Only.
No one was left to witness this miracle.
“Sigh~”
Ian didn’t know if he was mourning his loss or lamenting the decay of a universe. Regardless, his low sigh did not echo through the Warhammer Universe.
Superman, along with Ian and Bruce’s souls, returned to the Batcave.
When they finally returned to the real world, everything seemed as if it had never happened—except for the throne-toilet welded beneath Batman’s buttocks.
The Batcave remained quiet, the instruments still running, and the alarms long since cleared. The Flash rushed in like a red streak, his uniform still stained with uncleaned coffee spills.
“How is it?” Barry’s gaze swept between the three of them, finally settling on Batman’s bizarre posture—Bruce was lying on the medical bed in a way that was utterly unlike Batman.
From the waist down, he was unmoving.
Because his butt couldn’t leave a certain precious item.
“There are some minor lingering issues, but overall, the problem is resolved.” Superman, unable to bear Batman’s tragic state, stepped forward, lifted Batman, and placed him and the throne on the ground.
Of course.
Pinching Batman’s philtrum hard to wake him up was a necessary procedure.
“Hiss~”
Batman woke up in pain.
The philtrum area felt like it had grown a small mustache.
Bruised, bruised.
Pitch black.
“A hidden danger? You mean Bruce grew an organ on his butt that looks like a seat?” The Flash ran a few laps around Batman without finding any way to separate Batman from the throne.
“It’s a toilet, made of pure gold.” Ian was stuffing dried mushrooms he’d taken from a dimension into his mouth, trying to calm his regretful and slightly heavy mood.
“What will happen if I pry it off?”
Barry couldn’t help but gesture with his hand.
“I’ll be instantly corrupted into an evil god.” Bruce’s weak voice was full of regret. He adjusted his sitting position and indeed felt like his butt was welded to the throne.
“So, you won’t be able to walk anymore?” The Flash asked in surprise, unable to imagine how Bruce would maintain Gotham’s order as Batman in such a situation.
“Only until I find a solution.”
Bruce shook his slightly dizzy head.
“At least add a mobility device. Batman could become Wheelchair Batman, maybe he’d scare those Gotham Freaks even more.” Ian unleashed his incredible wisdom, trying to console Batman.
“I think Dr. Wells will definitely find common ground with Bruce.” The Flash’s mouth began to twitch uncontrollably. He suddenly turned his back, his shoulders shaking suspiciously.
“You think it’s funny?”
Bruce cast a Death Gaze at everyone.
“Look on the bright side.” Barry tried hard to control his facial muscles, trying to compensate for his inability to hold back. “You can at least apply for disability benefits.”
However, this slightly teasing “humorous” attempt didn’t seem to be a product of the Speed Force flowing through his brain. Bruce’s Death Gaze focused solely on The Flash.
“Who do you think issues disability benefits in Gotham?” Batman’s voice was not only low but also angry. The entire Batcave instantly became so silent that the sound of machinery could be heard.
“Actually, if you can’t go out, the de-platformed Batman might be able to punish evil in Gotham for you.” Ian’s self-proclaimed brilliant idea made both Bruce and Superman look at him several times.
“Who was that person who helped us?” Bruce didn’t dare to answer, only changing the subject. Even now, he could still see many discussions about the Batman of Metropolis.
The fact that they couldn’t delete enough posts made him feel stifled.
“Neos. In the Golden Age, humans called Him that. He is the Lord of Humanity from another world, the Great Emperor.” Ian’s voice, for once, carried a hint of respect.
Hearing this, Bruce stroked the engravings on the edge of the golden toilet, then spoke softly after a moment of silence, “I can feel it, he is indeed a leader worthy of respect.”
His voice was as light as if he were reciting an elegy.
Superman’s blue eyes also dimmed slightly.
“It seems you’ve had a special adventure.” The Flash keenly sensed the change in atmosphere and strategically cleared his throat. “So, this golden, uh, throne, does it have any special functions?”
“The current findings are that it automatically maintains a constant temperature,” Bruce said expressionlessly, “and it can block anything that attempts to attack my buttocks.”
“At least I don’t have to worry about being backstabbed anymore.” Whether this was a form of gallows humor, he didn’t know. Although he hadn’t had it tested, he could tell the throne’s material was extraordinary. A strong power also remained within it—an energy nature similar to his changed body.
“Ugh~”
Bruce suddenly hunched over.
The golden throne emitted a dazzling golden light. He began to gag violently, spewing out black crystals that hit the Batcave floor with crisp sounds.
“Cough, cough… This is”
Superman knelt on one knee, his fingertips lightly touching the still-wriggling black fragments. Under his touch, the fragments quickly weathered away, revealing dying stars flickering within.
“It seems that deity has completed its task.”
Silence fell within the cave.
Only the faint sound of the black crystals disintegrating.
“Not necessarily!”
At this moment, Ian suddenly lunged forward, tightly gripping a wisp of dissipating dust. The moment his palm touched the black dust, the system’s voice chimed in.
【 Extra-dimensional new data is being parsed 】
【 Warning: Data corruption rate 99.7% 】
【 Developer mode activated, repair procedure in progress. 】
This made Ian feel comfortable. After such an event, it was only right to get some rewards. He might not have slept for ten nights, but thankfully the system hadn’t disappointed him.
The Young Chaos God’s voice changed due to excitement.
The corners of his mouth turned up uncontrollably.
“Master Ian will take action!”
The black substance and starlight converged towards him.
“Hmm?”
Bruce gave Ian, who was brimming with surprise, a meaningful look.
“It seems you’ve gained quite a lot.”
He sat on the toilet, his eyes flickering slightly.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Ian could barely contain his smile. He remembered at times like these to put his hands in his pockets and try to make his tone sound “casual.”
“……”
Batman didn’t rate Ian’s clumsy acting skills. His gaze shifted to Superman. In the real world, Clark was still wearing that unfinished Iron Armor.
The ‘S’ insignia on his chest was half-obscured by mechanical structures.
“Perhaps you should take off my armor.”
Batman said softly.
“It hasn’t been completed yet.”
Superman said as he began to remove the embryo of the Hell Armor. Bruce stared silently at the complex patterns on it, his expression strange, and he stopped himself from speaking several times.
However.
He ultimately said nothing more.
“Finish it as soon as possible… I need it… Have Ian draw more of his strange things on it.” Bruce was truly incorrigible, still wanting to fight pollution with pollution.
“Alright!”
Ian responded on behalf of his old man.
Superman and The Flash exchanged bewildered glances.
“I need some rest.” Batman looked at the empty base and the medicines scattered on the floor, and he rubbed his temples in exhaustion.
This was clearly a polite dismissal.
“Okay, if you feel unwell, remember to contact us anytime… Remember not to get out of the chair. I don’t want to see you announce yourself as the King of the World on television.”
Superman’s earnest advice was given, and amidst The Flash’s gossipy questions, he took Ian away from the Batcave. Only Batman was left alone in the empty room.
“I wish I could get up! That Emperor guy welded my butt shut!” After everyone left, Batman, annoyed, slammed the armrest of the throne.
Becoming disabled involuntarily didn’t feel good.
“That person also altered my body.” Bruce Wayne sat on the golden throne, his fingertips tapping lightly on the armrest, each touch creating visible psionic ripples.
He thought for a moment.
Batman, having regained some of his sanity, used his voice to awaken a group of robots buried underground and began to direct them with his words to help analyze the throne’s material.
Of course.
His own body would definitely need a comprehensive study as well.
Bruce slowly raised his palm, gazing at the golden patterns flowing beneath his skin. These patterns were not static—they meandered like living creatures, weaving ancient runes within his veins. When he concentrated, he could even see energy drifting in the air, enshrouding the instruments like a colored mist.
“Psykers.” The word was squeezed out of his teeth with bitter resignation. He suddenly clenched his fist, and the air surged, causing all electronic devices in the Batcave to spark simultaneously, holographic projections twisting into grotesque faces, and the Batmobile in the corner levitated three inches off the ground under the force of his psionic burst.
Psykers in the Warhammer Universe draw energy from the Warp and possess supernatural abilities, considered “walking disasters,” their existence fraught with contradiction and danger.
A psyker’s unusual senses can see through non-physical space. Psykers are a very versatile power. Those who specialize in manipulating biological energy and processes can alter their own structure at the cellular level or heal allies, or they can cause enemies’ flesh and blood to mutate. Psionics can also lift massive objects out of thin air or crush enemies’ internal organs.
It has many ways of being used.
It can even grant the user precognition. It can be considered a special form of magic. The DC Universe has no Warp, so the psionics Bruce is using come from the throne beneath his buttocks.
This is not a hallucination, nor is it an illusion. Every time he closes his eyes, Bruce can feel that power flowing within him, like a fire in the darkness, burning in his nerves, blood, and even bones.
“This is a hidden danger.”
Bruce did not rejoice at gaining extraordinary power.
Instead, his mood was heavy.
He did not rest but immediately began his research. To figure out what he had become, he started using the high-end equipment that had not yet been “messed with” by Ian and The Flash—including a nanoscanner, a quantum brainwave analyzer, and a flesh and blood analysis system specifically designed to detect physical anomalies.
When it came to ruthlessness.
Batman could even cut off his own flesh and blood to study.
“Clack, clack, clack~ Clack, clack, clack~ Clack, clack, clack~”
Deep within the Batcave.
Keyboard tapping.
Instruments humming.
Bruce Wayne sat before the main console, the golden throne brought back from an extra-dimensional world beneath him, emitting faint yet eerie energy fluctuations as it was scanned by the instruments.
Ancient secrets were being unraveled. The throne’s composition was not metal, at least not entirely, carrying a heaviness that didn’t belong to this world.
Just as the analysis and research were ongoing.
Gotham’s early warning system suddenly blared! The alarm cut through the Batcave’s silence, red lights flashed, and surveillance footage automatically popped up. Bruce quickly brought up the feed.
He then frowned deeply.
In the footage.
A black angel with clouded eyes, as if brainwashed, had Joker makeup drawn on him. He was flapping his wings, carrying a Joker in pajamas.
They were floating above the center of Gotham City.
“Good morning, Gotham!” the Joker shouted to the entire city, spreading his arms. “The weather is great today, perfect for a real downpour!”
Saying this.
He began to take off his pants.
Of course.
This was just an appetizer.
Afterward.
The Joker took out a spray bottle, like one used for pesticide, and frantically sprayed “rainwater” containing some kind of poison into the city. People fled in terror, but many were still affected.
They all fell to the ground and started laughing uncontrollably. Police cars rushed to the scene, but faced with this sudden supernatural phenomenon, almost no one knew how to respond.
At the Joker’s command.
The angel gracefully waved its arm.
Every electronic screen in Gotham instantly turned pink.
Bruce watched helplessly as the exterior of Wayne Tower’s projection displayed ornate letters: “Good morning Gotham~ Batman loves me,” followed by a bouncing heart emoji.
Bruce suddenly prepared to stand up.
He instinctively reached to change into his suit and go out.
However.
The golden throne emitted a warning hum, and a powerful gravitational force held him firmly to the throne. He then remembered that he was now inseparable from this damn “throne.”
He looked at the surveillance feed again.
The Joker was dyeing the angel’s feathers green.
“Damn it!”
Bruce’s fingers tightened on the throne’s armrest.
An explosion.
The signal was suddenly interrupted.
Bruce looked at the damage caused by his unconscious psionic pulse, his expression shifting. When he activated new surveillance, the angel was carrying the Joker past a chemical plant.
“It’s your turn again! My dear wish-granting machine!”
The Joker commanded the angel.
Rainbow dust bloomed across the rusted steel frame, giving rise to large roses that looked exactly like him.
Each rose whispered his longing for Batman. Seeing this situation, Batman finally lost his patience. He hesitated for a moment before controlling his robots.
The robots began to build tires that could carry the throne and himself. A wheelchair outing would be a wheelchair outing; no one said Batman couldn’t face the Joker from a wheelchair, right?
Batman was in motion.
Ian and Superman were also in motion.
After they left, they once again became the Gotham Master’s unpaid laborers.
“Clang—Clang—Clang—”
Deep space.
Metallic echoes reverberated.
This was the long process of forging Batman’s “New Emperor Armor.” The forging lasted for several hours, only stopping when it was almost time for Ian to go to school.
“Old man, I guarantee I won’t cause any major trouble today.” He said goodbye to his father, who was going to work, while looking at his system that was repairing extra-dimensional data.
【 Repair progress: 0.5% 】
The progress was indeed slow, but it was understandable. The Warhammer Universe was thoroughly shattered, so it was impressive that the system could repair anything. However, this didn’t stop Ian from “pua-ing” his system.
“Your efficiency is worse than an Orc mechanic’s. They can at least build a starship with spit and scrap metal!”
The morning sun shone on his face, and the city’s noise rushed towards him. Yesterday he was struggling between destruction and reconstruction, and today he had to return to textbooks and homework.
This was perhaps life.
Ian walked into the school gate and into the classroom. Then, he saw the little punk girl, Madison, sitting on the podium, holding chalk and vividly lecturing her classmates.
“Ian plans to raise space chickens on the moon. The selling price will definitely be higher than imported chickens.” She was clearly promoting Ian, and all the classmates looked shocked.
“Great idea! Martian ducks, moon chickens, just advertise them as cures for all illnesses, and it sounds like a guaranteed seller!” Ian thought the little punk girl had some business acumen.
He joined in the boasting, directly tricking his naive classmates into admiring him. They all said they would help Ian raise chickens after graduation.
Until the teacher arrived at the classroom.
Only then did Ian restrain himself.
However, he was still downstairs with the Little Punk Girl, discussing whether the angels could adapt to their new lives.
The answer was obvious.
Angels always found a way.
All angels except Michael had strong adaptability.
“Those angels are doing well in the factory, they just want to transform it into an environment like the one they had in Heaven.” The Little Punk Girl was reporting very seriously to Ian.
“It’s fine, let them transform it. Anyway, they won’t see the home of their memories when they return to Heaven. It’s quite pitiful.”
“No, it has nothing to do with me, I don’t know anything.”
“I’m just a child, don’t ask me anymore. If you ask me again, I’ll have used up my quota of lies for today.”
And so it went.
When the bell for school ending rang.
By the time the bell for school ending rang, Ian had learned about the movements of his businesses through his excellent deskmate. As the dismissal bell still echoed in the corridor, Madison grabbed the strap of Ian’s backpack.
“Do you want to give the angels another speech, especially try to work on Archangel Michael? He’s the one with the worst performance among all the angels.”
Madison had run into trouble.
“Later tonight, I’ll go later tonight. Right now, I still need to see my psychiatrist.” Ian replied, while stuffing a book titled 《Boss’s Art》 into his dimensional world.
He no longer needed a backpack; the thing was like a collar, always being grabbed.
“You’re going to see a doctor? Take me with you?”
Unexpectedly, Madison had an interest in teaming up for something like this.
“I’m going as an expert to discuss a patient’s condition with Dr. Hannibal. You can’t come.” Ian politely declined the Little Punk Girl and then drove his Hellcat to the psychiatric clinic.
However, Ian thought it would be a very normal day, but when he pushed open the carved wooden door of Hannibal’s clinic, the creaking of the door hinges had a very ominous quality, as if in its death throes.
The next moment.
The smell of blood hit Ian’s nostrils like a physical entity.
