Chapter 157: Ticket To Hell! Lucifer, Don’t Fall For Me!
Perhaps for most people, Hell is a place that makes them change color upon hearing it, but in Ian’s eyes, Hell compared to Heaven doesn’t have much difference.
Hell is the reflection of Heaven.
So, after going to Heaven, one should naturally go down to Hell; this is the experience a mature human should gain. Treating it as an overseas trip won’t feel too strange.
“MacArthur once said, going to Hell is like going home, and even Dumbledore has said that going to Hell is just a greater adventure.”
Ian still liked quoting famous sayings; he couldn’t wait to go on the overseas trip.
“Since it’s an overseas trip, of course I have to bring some local specialties.” Ian pinched Miss Death’s compass; he didn’t choose to activate the Hellcat right away.
There was still some pre-trip preparation work to do.
“Where are the local specialties?”
Ian sat in the driver’s seat of the “Hellcat” sports car, his fingers lightly tapping on the steering wheel. The dim light inside the car illuminated the unassuming black box in his hand—the black box looked like an old-style MP3 player on the outside, but it was actually a top hacker tool that could hack into US Military satellite systems.
An unsolved mystery from the Marvel Universe. Ian just inputted his request, and the black box’s screen immediately displayed complex streams of code. Three seconds later, a holographic map of New York City unfolded on the windshield, with a dozen flashing red dots marking Officer Beckett and her team’s locations.
“Looks like I can run a tech emperor alt account too! The kind bullied by bullies since childhood, then becoming cynical!” Ian dialed the telephone while weaving a backstory for the alt account.
He called Beckett. Noisy background sounds came from the other end—police sirens, walkie-talkie static, and the hurried footsteps of police officers.
“Have you caught the killer?”
Ian got straight to the point.
“Are you always hiding somewhere peeking at me?” Beckett’s voice carried fatigue: “Your timing is perfect; we just found someone who looks exactly like Will Graham.”
“Someone who looks exactly like Will Graham?”
Ian blinked; he knew Officer Beckett couldn’t see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to blink—good habits weren’t just for show when others were watching.
“Yes, he has Will Graham’s face and height, but he swallowed his gun and committed suicide the moment we entered. The prosecutor wants to close the case as suspect suicide out of guilt, but my intuition tells me this guy definitely isn’t the real Will Graham; he’s just a scapegoat.”
Officer Beckett didn’t know why she was telling Ian all this; perhaps it was because besides crime novels, she was also a bit curious about superhumans.
The boy on the other end of the phone was off; he wasn’t normal or ordinary—Officer Beckett was certain of that, having seen him pull a bomb out of the microwave oven.
“As expected; trust your intuition. The one you caught is definitely a scapegoat who’s had plastic surgery; even the identity information in the police DNA database might have been swapped.” Ian nodded in agreement with Officer Beckett’s intuition. It seemed Miss Misha’s guess was wrong, but not entirely.
Will had prepared a scapegoat long ago.
“Can you come to the police station to help identify? You said before that you had communication with Will.” Beckett sighed; she didn’t understand why America’s prosecutors were inferior even to a little kid.
“Sorry, I have other things to do today.” Ian thought for a moment and still politely declined; he still had to pack local specialties and go to Hell to be a superhero.
“You’re so busy, yet you have time to chat with me on the phone?” Beckett’s tone immediately turned suspicious; her intuition made her feel a bit uneasy again.
Hearing this, Ian grinned: “Just confirming with you, Officer Beckett, before the overseas trip. Not saying more; I’m off to catch the little white mouse.”
His tone carried eager anticipation.
“????”
Beckett clearly didn’t understand the brilliant metaphor.
But Ian had already hung up.
He turned to the black box.
His fingers quickly tapped on the virtual keyboard, pulling up several encrypted databases. A few minutes later, he used his mimicry ability to layer a mask over his handsome face.
Bin Laden’s classic look.
Timeless.
“Hellcat, autonomous driving mode, destination: St. Mary’s Cemetery.” Ian ordered the car demon; the controversial mask on his face looked very fierce.
The self-driving bubble wagon slid silently through the night, finally stopping at the gate of a desolate cemetery. Dim yellow light shone from the gravedigger’s cabin.
“Visitor registration!” Ian strode toward the gravedigger’s cabin and knocked on the window. An old man full of wrinkles opened the door, eyeing him warily.
“Sir, so late, who are you here to pay respects to?” the gravedigger asked, his gaze lingering on Ian’s Bin Laden mask for several seconds.
Ian didn’t answer directly.
He countered with a question.
“Have you seen terrorists in all these years guarding the cemetery?” Ian’s voice used Batman’s gravelly tone; his voice could adjust anytime based on the environment.
This was Lord Evil God’s skill.
“Of course not; what would terrorists come here for?” The gravedigger was clearly stunned; he eyed Ian with a strange expression—the mask stood out even more.
“Alright.” Ian shrugged, his tone carrying a bit of blessing, “Then you’re in for an eye-opener today. Don’t judge my mask as looking very gangster; I’m actually a very ‘socially anxious’ terrorist.”
No sooner had he spoken.
He pulled two micro bombs from his pocket.
Precisely throwing them toward two adjacent tombstones deep in the cemetery.
“Boom!”
The explosion’s shockwave shattered the glass of the gravedigger’s cabin. After the smoke cleared, the two tombstones were reduced to powder, leaving two charred craters on the ground.
“No!!! Damn it! What are you doing!” The gravedigger’s expression twisted instantly. He yanked out an old-style revolver and fired six shots at Ian.
“Bang bang bang!”
Bullets hit Ian’s cheek but bounced off like rubber, only rippling strangely across his skin surface before dropping harmlessly.
“How is this possible!”
The gravedigger’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Ian touched the hit spot.
“My skull has a Super Brain.” He explained—at least he thought he was patiently educating—”So my body naturally evolves Super Defense to protect it.”
This was clearly an explanation only high-IQ people could understand. Surprisingly, the gravedigger suddenly calmed down. He slowly lowered the gun and stared at Ian outside the house.
The “old man”‘s anger gradually gave way to a eerie calm.
“How did you figure it out?” he asked in a low voice, his voice completely changed—not the old gravedigger’s, but a much younger man’s.
“Figure what out?”
Ian grinned.
“That I’m hiding here.”
The gravedigger’s expression was extremely gloomy.
Ian paused, then removed the mask, revealing a victorious smile: “I’ve looked into your situation; you once had a wife and child.”
“And the ‘Ripper’s’ activity started after their deaths.” He stepped forward, closer to the window, “This proves their deaths hit you hard—you cared about them a lot.”
“Very clever.”
The gravedigger was silent for a moment.
Then he reached up, grabbed his face skin, and slowly tore off a perfect synthetic mask. Underneath was a handsome but gloomy and vicious young face.
It was the serial killer “Ripper” Will, wanted by the police for so long.
“Looks like you’re certain I’d hide here, so you wanted to provoke me.” He tossed the gun aside, didn’t run, but climbed out through the window.
Seeing this, Ian didn’t stop him; he tilted his head slightly.
“I just trusted that blowing your wife and child to the sky would make you show up.” He added with a sigh, “Finding you right away is a bonus.”
Master Ian was actually taunting. With his Super Intelligence and a little help from the black box, he’d long confirmed Will Graham was here as the gravedigger.
“Damn you! It’s all you! All you!” As soon as Ian spoke, Will’s pupils contracted sharply; his long-suppressed anger erupted like a volcano.
His originally elegant gloomy face twisted into a ferocious one.
“Bang!”
Will swung a fist at Ian, tearing the air with a piercing sonic boom. Before climbing out, he’d secretly injected something into his body. Now the drug kicked in; his muscles swelled visibly, veins bulging under his skin like writhing snakes.
However.
“Slap.”
Ian casually caught the punch that could pierce steel.
Without even shifting his feet.
“There are differences between superhumans.” Ian’s smile still had an evil tinge, “You can’t just whip up some【 Luthor-made】 and gain the strength to beat me.”
This was the truth.
Last night he was in a universe-level major event; now just facing an enhanced human was boring for Ian, and he had no interest in showing off more.
“Know what a Metropolis vice lord is? Even Heaven’s Vice Lord works for me!” Of course, stating facts isn’t showing off. With that, Ian returned a punch to Will.
Even a light punch packed serious power.
“Pfft—!”
Will’s chest caved in, blood spraying from his mouth; he flew back like a rag doll, smashing heavily into a tombstone in a parabolic arc.
Gravel flew.
His spine nearly snapped, yet he struggled to get up.
“Got you.” Ian’s teeth gleamed white in the moonlight, with black residue from eating the bomb still on his mouth—he hadn’t noticed yet.
Classic overlooking the obvious.
“I haven’t lost; kill me, and I still achieve my goal, and you can’t disturb me and Hannibal anymore.” Will stared straight at the superhuman before him.
His eyes held madness.
“Kill me; kill me, and you’ll become me.” Still spitting blood, Will laughed; he propped up his upper body with difficulty and wiped the blood from his mouth.
“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you; I have a no-kill principle, so I’m sending you to a real prison—Miss Misha wants you to endure torment a hundred times worse than Dr. Hannibal’s.”
“Master Ian is kind-hearted; free upgrade to the package, ten thousand times how’s that?” Ian didn’t get the other’s weird confidence, so he punched Will unconscious again.
Hand blade wouldn’t work.
But a hammer fist… perfect.
“Local specialties harvested! First batch of Hell reform camp plan ready for internal testing!” Ian stared at Will, whose occiput was swelling, who’d passed out with genes starting to collapse, and immediately began packing him.
Yes.
The local specialty was Will.
What does the human world have that Hell doesn’t?
Of course, humans!
Living humans!
“Don’t die from overdosing.” Ian contributed a【 Batman-made】 gene stabilizer potion, saving Will—who had no fitness experience yet dared misuse drugs—from the brink of death.
He stuffed the unconscious Will into a burlap sack printed with “Happy Holidays,” striding back to the Hellcat like Santa Claus carrying a gift.
Police cars drawn by the explosions arrived right on time; distant sirens grew louder, red and blue lights faintly visible on the streets.
“This punctuality not qualifying as a superpower feels rigged.” Ian roughly tossed the “local specialty” into the trunk; the Hellcat’s engine roared like a beast.
Before the police cars arrived, it carried Ian and vanished into the night. Ian went home first, pulling a sleeping demon head with horns on its skull from the refrigerator.
He patted the head’s cheek.
“Great God Ian, forgive me; the weather’s too hot, and your family’s refrigerator is too cool.” The demon head’s eyelids trembled before slowly opening its scarlet eyes.
“We demons like estivating.”
It had truly learned the skill from Ian.
“I’m taking you home to visit family!” Ian returned to the Hellcat, tossed the demon head onto the driver’s seat, and announced cheerfully to it.
The demon head’s brain snapped awake.
Its CPU spun at full speed.
“I-I don’t want to go back to Hell. I just want to stay by your side.” The demon head cautiously watched Ian’s expression, clearly suspecting a loyalty test.
The god Ian, wielding the authority of perversion, could definitely pull that trick.
While the demon head wildly overthought.
“Bang!”
Ian punched its forehead.
“You have to want to go home, because I want to visit your home, escort an extremely evil criminal, save innocent souls, and help underage demons who want to go home… all three reasons essential.” Ian always planned ahead; he didn’t know how many days he’d be “away from home.”
Though he’d texted Mom that he was going to a classmate’s, and locked her phone so she couldn’t call, this was Ian’s first overnight absence.
He had to cover possibilities; Ian was always a filial child, so he couldn’t let Mom think he was a bad kid before fifteen.
“Bang!”
Ian gave the silent demon head another one; it saw stars but finally snapped out of overthinking “imperial intent.”
“Ah! I see! Great God Ian is finally ready to rule Hell! I’ll firmly stand by your side!” It believed with Ian’s nature, he’d at least be a Grand Duke in Hell.
Bright future.
“Tch, I’m a friendly visitor; I’ll definitely mind my manners.” Ian directed the Hellcat and corrected the demon head’s misconception.
He was a pacifist.
Only turning to nuclear good when he couldn’t be a pacifist.
“Really? You won’t cause a huge commotion?” The demon head’s tone held doubt; it’d learned a lot about Ian these days.
“Have you read our American history?”
Ian suddenly asked.
“Uh, I hate history.”
The demon head didn’t want to admit it was a Hell underachiever.
It was really so wishy-washy.
Clearly a not-dominant-enough breed of cow.
“If you don’t know, then what I say is true.” Ian nodded solemnly and made an assurance and promise, “I’m a very traditional American, and more refined than other Americans—believe me, I definitely won’t scalp the demons.”
Hearing this.
The demon head felt its lost spine tingling with phantom chill; its horns paled in fear, Ian’s words making one shudder upon further thought.
It suddenly felt lucky to be the guide, not the unlucky one about to be “friendly visited.” The mood quieted; the Hellcat sped through the night following the brass compass.
It sped out of Metropolis.
Arrived in Los Angeles.
The needle always pointed southeast, as if drawn by some mysterious force. Finally, the Hellcat stopped on a desolate wooded path.
Ahead was a creepy Victorian mansion; decayed walls crawled with vines, the crooked porch like an open bloody maw, windows like hollow eyes.
Staring at the visitors.
“This is actually a super haunted house, built in 1922 by Charles for his wife Nora, later the site of multiple murders.”
“Oh, and a stitched monster appeared; someone tried assembling a ‘monster son’ with biological experiments—definitely feels like a Hell entrance.” Ian queried the house info online.
Only if you’re willing to look.
You can find anything online.
“How can such a place exist… I sense a lot of leaking Hell aura; there’s actually a door linked to Hell here?”
The demon head was clearly shocked too.
“Murder House!”
Ian rifled through his pre-transmigration memories and finally realized what this place was—the famous spot from American Horror Story Season 1!
There really was a gate to Hell here. Though the “Murder House” itself wasn’t a direct Hell entrance, Hell did have a passage linked to this mansion.
And precisely because of that.
The mansion itself was influenced by Hell’s power—not just showing signs of animation, but also bearing a curse: any soul dying inside was trapped in this space.
They couldn’t leave the house’s bounds. This meant though these souls could roam freely inside, they couldn’t enter the outside world or return to the afterlife or Heaven.
“I bet Lucifer snuck into the human world from here too!” Ian leaned on the car window, excitedly eyeing the Murder House. Through dusty windows, he saw countless trapped souls, faces distorted, hollow eyes staring out, as if silently screaming.
“Why use the verb ‘snuck’?!” The demon head’s tongue tied in fear; it’d never seen anyone dare insult the Lord of Hell like that.
“Because I love telling the truth.”
Ian pushed open the car door, shouldered the sack, grabbed the demon head, and strode toward the mansion. The souls wandering inside immediately stirred at his sight.
“Demon hunter! It’s a demon hunter!” An old woman in 1920s clothes retreated in terror.
“No, I’m the savior Haotian Jinque Wushang Zhizun Ziran Miaoyou Miluozhizhen Ian.” Ian spouted nonsense, ignoring the ghosts fleeing in panic.
He rummaged through the house on his own. Amid the souls’ chaos, he pried up floor tiles, smashed walls; Ian even dismantled the toilet.
However.
He still couldn’t find the Hell entrance.
“Where’s the entrance?!”
Ian frustratedly kicked the bathtub.
Tiles shattered everywhere.
At that moment.
A cold female voice came from behind.
“Kid, don’t you know you need a key to go to Hell?”
The voice was full of displeasure.
Ian whipped around to see a tall woman leaning on the doorframe. She wore tight leather, eyes sharp as knives, tossing an ancient coin in her hand—the very one Lucifer often played with.
“Mazikeen?”
Ian’s eyes lit up.
“Want to go home and sit a bit?”
He invited the female demon bartender he’d met once, but enthusiasm was crushed; she rolled her eyes and tossed him the coin.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid.”
With that.
The possibly narcissistic female demon turned and vanished into the shadows.
“Oh, this is Great God Ian’s clout—someone waiting here to deliver your key! And it’s the Hell vice lord who one-shotted me before!”
The demon head chattered excitedly.
“Lord Lucifer Venerable One clearly has deep ties with you!”
It tried fawning wildly, unaware this triggered Ian instantly.
“Lucifer isn’t allowed to have a crush on me!” He rushed to the window, yelling at Los Angeles’ night sky, “Hear that?! I don’t love baths! I have a bad temper! I even like domestic violence—”
Before finishing.
The coin in his hand began glowing.
“Vroom—” The Hellcat’s engine started without warning, smashing through the front door into the house. Ian reacted fast, flipping onto the roof.
“Let’s go!”
He laughed, grabbing the roof rack.
The Hellcat roared toward the wooden door that suddenly appeared at the corridor’s end; at the moment of impact, behind the door wasn’t the original bedroom, but thick darkness.
There.
Was the path to Hell. The next second, the eager Hellcat carried Ian, Will in the sack, and the screaming demon head, charging into Hell’s entrance.
[ps: Still owe ten thousand; big burst at month-end.]
