Chapter 159: Who Is The Last Person Dc Wants To Offend?
Thomas Wayne.
Bruce Wayne’s father, Martha Wayne’s husband.
He was the former patriarch of Gotham City’s prominent Wayne family, the former CEO of Wayne Enterprises, a former field doctor, and the unfortunate King of Gotham who was killed with his wife in Crime Alley when Bruce was eight years old.
When Bruce was eight years old, the entire family went to see a Zorro movie together. After leaving the cinema, in Crime Alley, they encountered a common thug named Joe Chill.
Thus, a robbery born of impulse.
Two bullets.
Ended the lives of Gotham’s radiant rulers, the Waynes. It was the death of the Thomas couple that led their son, Bruce Wayne, onto the path of the Dark Knight.
To become Gotham City’s Batman.
This is a relatively constant event in the DC universe, to the point that in most parallel universes, Thomas Wayne must die. Of course, in some special universes, Thomas Wayne does not die; in the Flashpoint world and worlds where other Bruce Waynes have died, he took on the responsibility of Gotham’s vigilante and became Batman.
Therefore, it is also correct to say that he is the true old Batman. Compared to Bruce, Thomas is more violent and extreme, likes to use pistols, and doesn’t care at all about the lives of criminals. Of course, he is not the great Dark Knight like his son, but a Knight of Vengeance filled with wrath and hatred.
This can be seen from the fact that Old Wayne was able to struggle and become a ruler in this hell with a mortal body; his methods are even more without a bottom line than Bruce Wayne’s.
“Thomas! Thomas Wayne!”
Ian could recognize the King of Hell before him at a glance. After all, all students visit historical museums in elementary school, and the story of Batman’s father’s death leading to Gotham’s upheaval is even included in high school history textbooks. The photos there are very clear, and the textbook writers have excessively praised this capitalist.
It’s clear he’s taken a lot of Young Master Wayne’s money… Americans who have read books know Batman’s father, but who would have thought that the ruler of this city would be Thomas Wayne?
At least Ian did not expect it.
Thomas Wayne’s appearance greatly surprised Ian.
This former head of the Wayne family, who should have been lying in his grave, now sat on the throne of the tower, smiling as he watched Ian enter Hell from the Human World.
He seemed to have foreseen Ian’s arrival.
“It’s me, you might have to call me…”
Thomas Wayne was about to say something when…
“Brother Thomas! I’ve talked to Sister Martha about you!” Ian directly cut in, using his own efforts to forcefully elevate his generational status slightly.
This is strength.
This is also the truth.
Why hasn’t Ian seen his Sister Martha in Heaven?
He has seen her!
At this moment, Ian had already digested the information about meeting Batman’s father in Hell.
It’s not really surprising for a capitalist like Old Wayne to appear in Hell, after all, the ultimate destination for capitalists is almost always this place.
Of course.
This doesn’t mean Thomas Wayne is a completely bad person.
He is a bad person who isn’t too bad.
He also has many good qualities.
“…”
Thomas Wayne was very familiar with Ian’s expression. He had seen countless people trying to get close to him, both in life and after death. However, this was the first time he had seen someone with such pure intentions.
The other party was not after his money, nor his power in Hell. Yes, Thomas Wayne was very smart; he could tell that Ian just wanted to take advantage of Young Master Wayne. These intentions were pure and fervent, as could be clearly seen from his eyes filled with longing.
A little boy who was still a few days away from turning fifteen.
He truly had a heart that wanted to make Batman call him uncle!
“Brother Thomas! I’m so happy to see you!” Ian felt his little thoughts were not excessive, but rather reasonable. After all, he had been calling Batman uncle for fourteen years and several hundred days.
Now, it was certainly time for Batman to call him uncle for fourteen years! He had felt surprised to see Thomas before, but now Ian felt that this might also be within reason.
Everything was God’s will for Batman to call him uncle! Otherwise, why would Ian be here? Since this was God’s will, Ian naturally dared not disobey!
“…”
Thomas Wayne felt Ian’s emotions.
He fell silent again.
“This city is so beautiful!”
Ian had learned to change the subject himself. He walked to the railing and looked down outside. Jobs was still hawking the transparent Apple 22 phones with many, many screens.
That phone could open like a fan.
22 fold.
The appearance was nice, and Ian wanted to take one back when he left.
“It took me many years of effort to build it, and with it, I gained power comparable to many Demon Lords.” Thomas Wayne also liked his new Gotham.
A peaceful and prosperous Hell.
This was what Thomas Wayne had once wanted to make Gotham into.
During his tenure, he provided extensive aid to many poor people in Gotham, not just for show, but truly helping the people, and without needing to ask why they were so poor.
The relationship between the poverty of the people and the capitalist king is at most thirty percent; the remaining seventy percent is primarily related to Gotham’s special status in the DC universe.
At least Thomas Wayne’s help for the poor was not just for tax deductions. Many of the policies Bruce would help the poor with were inherited from him. However, both father and son were powerless to cure the city’s inherent degradation. The DC universe needed a chaotic Gotham; that was an absolute that no one could influence.
Many people only know Bruce Wayne and overlook Thomas Wayne’s capabilities. He is actually a very capable and exceptionally intelligent being. If one were to truly consider who had the ability and the inclination to build such a magnificent and harmonious city in Hell, then Thomas Wayne, the “King,” would definitely be a reasonable candidate.
Ian gradually digested this information.
“It seems you’re similar to Crowley, both becoming acquired demons with mortal souls.” Ian could also feel that this city was Thomas’s source of power.
“Demons? I have something I want to discuss with you, related to me not wanting to be the King of Hell… Sit here.” After giving Ian a deep look, Thomas led him to the luxurious office behind the tower. He gestured to the genuine leather sofa opposite him, his tone as gentle as if he were entertaining an old friend.
Ian made sure to remember this point, especially the feeling of “old friend.” It needed to be highlighted directly, as it would be his basis for honest communication with Bruce Wayne in the future.
“Does the sofa here even have seat heating?” Ian, like someone entering a grand view, curiously sat down. He felt a comfort different from human world sofas.
“Yes, with such a sofa, you only need to encapsulate a hell imp inside, and it can even give you a massage within the sofa.” Thomas Wayne may or may not have been joking.
He turned towards a wine cabinet even more extravagant than Obadiah’s office in Marvel, and Ian truly felt something massaging him from within the sofa under his rear.
“Not bad.”
Ian’s gaze shifted to the wine cabinet. It contained wines found only in the human world; clearly, it was smuggled goods. It was unclear if Commissioner Crowley played a key role in this.
“What would you like to drink?” Thomas was pouring himself some wine. The wine cabinet had Romanée-Conti, the favorite of the Divine King of Tang San, but most of it was still Hell’s vintage, as red as blood.
“Wine, fine wine.”
Ian’s answer was without hesitation.
Thomas Wayne looked back at him.
“Children shouldn’t drink alcohol.” Thomas Wayne, despite being in Hell for so long, still possessed some humanity, adhering to the rules that human elders should follow.
This made Ian a bit uncomfortable.
“Are you telling a Hell joke? I’m already in Hell, so of course I should be a bad boy who sneaks drinks. Otherwise, people outside will think I’m not worthy of wandering in Hell.”
Ian knew his mother wouldn’t come to Hell to smell his breath for alcohol, and his father’s nose hadn’t evolved enough to smell him drinking across dimensions.
This was a rare opportunity to taste the forbidden, so Ian did not want to miss it.
“You actually think you’re just a bad boy.” Thomas was silent for a moment, then finally gently raised his hand in a gesture. The Duke of Hell beside him immediately brought a glass of peach fruit wine.
He was like Old Wayne’s newly hired butler. With a glance from Old Wayne, the Duke of Hell knew what he should do. This Duke of Hell even served Ian a fruit wine with a very low alcohol content.
Ian took the wine glass and, from his versatile pocket, pulled out a straw. First, he “meticulously” wiped his clothes with it, and only then did he put the straw into the wine glass.
“Gulp, gulp, gulp~”
Ian took a light sip with the straw, his cheeks puffing out and then falling, tasting the fruit wine as if drinking juice. The pink liquid swirled slightly in the crystal glass.
Continuously decreasing.
Emitting a sweet aroma. Ian’s cheeks puffed out rhythmically, like a hamster secretly drinking juice, emptying the entire glass of wine at a visible speed.
“Another glass!”
Ian boldly placed the empty glass on the table. Just as Sun Wukong stole peaches in the sky, Ian was stealing peach wine in Hell. Ian felt he was at least somewhat of a great sage.
“Quite greedy.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow slightly, signaling the Duke of Hell to pour more wine. However, Ian directly snatched the bottle this time, inserted the straw, and lowered his head to start chugging again.
“Uh…”
The Duke of Hell had good manners, so it wasn’t until he left the office that he sighed helplessly outside. His voice was so light that even Ian’s Super Hearing couldn’t catch it.
He continued to wait outside, ready to respond to Old Wayne at any moment.
“Tastes good.” Ian quite liked the taste of the wine. Who doesn’t love peach wine? From peaches costing one yuan each, to peaches costing one hundred thousand yuan per night.
Everyone loves them very much.
The atmosphere in the office was harmonious. In the quiet tower, only Ian’s “gulp, gulp, gulp” of drinking and Thomas’s gentle clinking of his wine glass could be heard.
“I’m very interested in the indulgences you’ve been announcing everywhere.” Thomas finally spoke, his voice deep and magnetic. He clearly had his own informants in the upper levels of Hell.
“Really?”
Ian, with the straw in his mouth,
gave a muffled response.
“I am willing to exchange everything I have built in Hell for your indulgences.” Thomas looked directly at Ian, his eyes deep, his tone carrying an unprecedented sincerity.
He did not want to be the King of Hell.
“It’s too far from the human world, I won’t be coming here often, so I’d actually prefer some shares of the Wayne family’s businesses in the human world, just a tiny bit of stock in Wayne Enterprises.”
“I’ve never been greedy since I was little, so I really only need a tiny bit, to passively receive money and use that money to support my businesses for faster and better development.”
This statement from Ian was the truth.
The dirty and arduous work should still be done by the big capitalists.
He just needed to be a white lotus who quietly received money.
Because he had grown a few more days older, Ian no longer craved the Wayne family’s wealth. He was wholeheartedly focused on developing his own Ian’s Grandest Technology Group.
This was the future of America, of Earth, of the Solar System, and of the entire DC universe!
“I’m sorry, I cannot make any decisions for Bruce. He is currently the owner of Wayne Enterprises.” Thomas pondered for a moment, then slowly shook his head in refusal.
However, this refusal was not understood by Ian.
“I understand, I understand.”
Ian nodded, his eyes glinting slyly. Unlike most highly intelligent individuals, Ian could always discern the unspoken meaning behind others’ words, even anticipating what they intended to express. Unbeknownst to Thomas, who hadn’t yet grasped his attitude, Ian had already pulled out from his extra dimension—a whip and candles.
“????????”
Thomas Wayne’s eyes were more bewildered than ever.
“What are you going to do?”
He swallowed.
He showed a confused expression, trying to appear calm.
“Let’s test Young Master Wayne’s filial piety. Let’s create fake news with the headline: 《 Shocking! Wayne Enterprises Founder Imprisoned and Exploited by Queen of Hell in Hell! 》.”
Ian eagerly swung the whip. After his intelligence increased, his thinking speed became active again, so this idea was quickly replaced by another.
“No! Fake news should be written in other sections of the Hell newspaper. I don’t have time to understand Hell’s daily life, so let’s just shoot a film instead!”
“European style, Japanese style, Korean style… anything is fine!” Ian became more and more excited as he spoke. From the short videos he had posted online, it was clear that he had the heart of a great director of the Three Realms.
“???????!!!” Thomas Wayne heard Ian’s choice of words. This capitalist king who ruled Hell fell into a long silence.
He finally realized a problem: the person who could make his son formulate over 80,000 response documents in a short period of time truly possessed a unique and dangerous aspect.
“Let’s make a film! Believe me! I have previously filmed 《 Justice League: Assemble 》 and 《 The Death of Superman 》. I already have extensive filming experience.”
The youth enthusiastically reiterated his proposal to the King of Hell, Thomas, demonstrating his super intelligence. He firmly believed that Bruce Wayne was a filial son.
“Please allow me to refuse!”
Thomas Wayne’s expression changed repeatedly. In the end, his reason still triumphed over his desire to leave Hell, and when he spoke, he maintained his aristocratic demeanor.
This response was decisive.
However.
…
Cold, trembling.
Thomas Wayne got up from the ground, his head splitting with pain. His suit was covered in dust, his tie hung loosely around his neck, and his leather shoes were stained with some sticky black liquid.
His consciousness had not yet fully cleared, but his body was already enveloped in an invisible chill.
“Where is this place? I remember I was killed.” Thomas Wayne rubbed his eyes. Before him lay a gray wasteland, the sky low and oppressive, like a curtain that would never clear. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur and decay, and the wails of souls and the dragging of chains could be heard from afar.
He looked down at himself.
His suit was still neat, but its texture had become thin, like a light, ethereal fabric. The hands of Gotham’s former king began to tremble slightly.
Not out of fear.
But from the loss of control over his life brought about by the loss of power.
He felt a sense of powerlessness he had never experienced before.
“You… are the one with the best qualities and the best backside among this batch of souls that have come to Hell.” A hoarse voice came from the darkness, accompanied by an inhuman cackle.
“Who’s there?”
Thomas looked around warily.
In a corner, on a chair that had inexplicably grown in the wilderness, he saw a hunched-over Hell Imp wiping a Desert Eagle pistol. Its skin was like scorched bark, its eyes were two burning coals, and its mouth was stretched to its ears, revealing uneven fangs.
“Where is this place?”
Thomas asked in a low voice, his tone steady, but his knuckles were already slightly pale.
“You are in Hell,” the imp grinned, casually tossing the pistol aside. It was unclear why it had been cleaning the pistol, as it seemed completely useless.
“This is the end of all capitalists’ lives. You will be punished here eternally.” The imp licked its lips, as if it greatly enjoyed seeing people panic.
Thomas’s pupils contracted slightly.
“Impossible…”
He muttered to himself, his voice filled with the despair of disbelief, “I still have children, a wife, and a city to care for…” Thomas paused for a moment, then, as if realizing something, a look of panic appeared on his face.
“Have I truly died?”
Thomas Wayne began to pace anxiously in place.
“But my son is still so young!”
His tone was very worried.
“Hiss—” The imp let out a piercing laugh and flicked a black metal bracelet, roughly fastening it around Thomas’s neck, causing Thomas Wayne’s face to immediately turn red.
Bruise marks appeared on his neck, as if he had been tightened.
“Put this on, and all of mortal existence will have nothing to do with you.”
The imp grinned, mocking Thomas Wayne, “You are no longer the wealthy magnate of the human world, you are merely a soul of a sinner that one could crush by the handful in Hell.”
The imp’s words.
made Thomas Wayne unwilling to accept, and he knelt on the ground. The shackles around his neck looked cold and heavy, as if constantly draining his will.
“Now, follow me.”
The Hell Imp roughly dragged him.
Thomas Wayne was dragged forward, the chains constricting his breathing. He tried to break free, but the chains seemed bound to his soul, each struggle like tearing his own life apart.
All these subtle psychological activities could be seen on Thomas Wayne’s face. His expressions were truly rich, like the world’s best master of emotional control.
“Where are you taking me?”
Thomas gritted his teeth and asked, his throat burning.
“Your soul has been sold by a supreme, infinitely great, ninety-thousand-fold radiant being, who temporarily hasn’t thought of who in Hell has a grudge against them, to the most evil and terrifying, sinister Duke of Hell, Sangong Mo. Duke Sangong Mo wants you to participate in his Reincarnation Game.”
“He wants to extract energy from your pain.” As he spoke, the Hell Imp brought Thomas to a giant volcano surrounded by crystal-like structures resembling “batteries.”
Many, many suffering souls appeared within them.
Their souls were being extracted.
Then, they were transported through pipes to a distant city of “radiant soul fire.” A giant lava pool churned, radiating heat, yet possessing a strange vitality.
On the path up the volcano.
Countless souls were dragged forward. Some were screaming, some were begging for mercy, and some were already numb, being pulled along by chains like zombies.
“The air is filled with the smell of sulfur and despair.” The Hell Imp commented, looking around. Thomas Wayne also surveyed his surroundings, his companions and non-companions.
Countless imps herded countless wretched souls towards the volcano’s crater. Each Hell Imp had a ferocious expression, and even those without faces had drawn ferocious symbols 【 on their cheeks.
All eighteen mainstream written languages were present.
This was true ferocity, in different national styles. They grinned maniacally, waving whips and candles, whipping and torturing soul after soul with candle wax.
“Hurry up! You don’t have legs? Not an excuse! Even cripples have to move faster!”
“You are all dead, you have all become ghosts, you have all arrived in Hell, don’t think about slacking off, because the tricks you play are ones we’ve already mastered!”
“Prince? King? Your father is an African chieftain, and with one command, he can raise an army of a hundred thousand to avenge you? Hah! The powerful figures of the human world are nothing in our Hell!”
The imps furiously berated the disobedient souls, especially the ghost who boasted of his father being an African chieftain. The soul, tortured by whips and candles, became much thinner.
Wails continued.
“Hurry!”
The Hell Imp escorting Thomas Wayne also whipped him. The former King of Gotham looked utterly miserable, crawling on the ground, trying to evade the whipping.
He eventually had no choice but to submit and proceed with the long line. Countless souls formed long queues, ascending the volcano to be forged into those battery-like crystals.
The identities of these ghosts in life were varied, and their personalities differed. Some sighed, some wept loudly, and some stubborn individuals remained bewildered and confused.
“My father is Darkseid! Even though I’m illegitimate, how dare you hit me?”
“Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!”
“Ouch~”
……
When these second-generation ghosts first arrived in Hell, many believed they could return to the human world. As soon as they were whipped by the imps, they would immediately become angry and issue threats.
However.
A “great healing spell.”
These second-generation ghosts quickly realized their predicament. After being beaten, they became enlightened, knowing they were dead. No matter how glorious they were in life, they were now just a product.
Soon.
Thomas Wayne was also brought to the volcano’s crater. Lava surged within, as if countless faces were appearing and breaking apart. Soul after soul was forged into painful batteries.
“What are those?”
Thomas Wayne watched as souls were continuously scooped up and added to the nearby “mountain of batteries.” He trembled, and soon convulsed on the ground as if having an epileptic fit.
“Playing dumb is useless.”
The Hell Imp chuckled.
“If you don’t shock my butt with an electric baton, I don’t think I’ll be playing dumb.” Thomas Wayne lay convulsing on the ground, but he still tried his best to maintain his composure.
“Sorry, that wasn’t actually an electric baton.” The Hell Imp said hesitantly, causing Thomas Wayne’s expression to change drastically, a thought-provoking response.
However, before Thomas Wayne could ask, he saw the Hell Imp directly kick him.
It was light.
There was a tense feeling.
Yet, Thomas Wayne acted as if he had been struck with great force, spinning 360 degrees over five thousand times in the air before falling into the volcanic lava.
“Welcome to ‘Hell Paradise,’ where you will begin your first round of games.” As the words finished, Thomas’s face was swallowed by the lava.
The hand he extended was also quickly consumed.
“I thought I would die, but I didn’t.” A voice from nowhere sounded, stating the fact that Thomas had fallen into a bizarre space, Hell Paradise.
This was said to be an infinite loop created by Sangong Mo himself, where every soul entering would experience various rules of the game, death games, and psychological torture until they broke down.
“Hell Paradise, Reincarnation Game, this is a stage for gods and demons to toy with sentient beings!” Thomas suddenly opened his eyes and found himself standing in the top-floor office of Wayne Tower.
Outside the window was Gotham’s cityscape, brilliantly lit.
“Is this… an illusion?”
【Welcome to the Rules of the Game.】
An icy voice echoed in his mind.
【Rule 1: You must complete today’s board meeting.】
【Rule 2: All the directors are demons, but they will not admit it.】
【Rule 3: If someone offers you coffee, you must drink it.】
【Rule 4: Do not look in the mirror.】
Thomas took a deep breath and pushed open the office door.
In the boardroom, twelve figures in suits and leather shoes turned to look at him in unison. Their smiles were identical, and their eyes glinted with red light.
“Thomas, we have been waiting for you for a long time.”
One of the directors stood up and offered him a cup of steaming coffee. Thomas stared at the cup; it wasn’t coffee inside—but wriggling maggots and blood.
But he had to drink it.
He took the cup and drank it down in one gulp.
His throat felt as if it were scorched by sulfuric acid, and his stomach churned violently. But his expression remained unchanged, and he merely wiped his mouth.
“Then, let us begin the meeting.”
The meeting lasted “ten hours.”
During these ten hours, the numbers on the financial reports would writhe and crawl like living creatures, and the directors’ skin would occasionally peel off, revealing decaying flesh beneath.
Every time Thomas looked at his reflection in the glass window, he saw a blackened version of himself staring intently at him, but he knew he couldn’t show fear.
Because Rule 5 was hidden under the table.
【If you scream, the game ends.】 And “game over” here meant the real torture was just beginning. No one who had been through a cycle dared to challenge it.
Game over.
meant undergoing a terrifying experience where, while fully conscious, one would be dismembered and reassembled into a mannequin, with each part of the body being simultaneously violated and felt by different demons.
Thomas knew he couldn’t gamble. His internal monologue continued, finally settling on the thought: Fortunately, I’ve seen enough dangerous situations so I can still tolerate this inner narration.
Finally.
The meeting “ended.”
Thomas stood up and walked towards the elevator.
The moment the elevator doors closed.
“Welcome back to Hell, sir.”
The elevator plummeted rapidly, heading towards the next round of games. Another cycle, Thomas found himself on a speeding train, filled with peculiar “passengers.”
They were all himself.
Young Thomas, middle-aged Thomas, Thomas before death… countless “Thomases” turned to look at him with vacant eyes.
【This round’s rule: Find the “one true” self, otherwise the train will travel forever.】
Thomas calmly observed each “self.”
Suddenly, the train’s broadcast sounded.
“Welcome aboard the Hell’s last train. This train will travel to the three stations of ‘Fear,’ ‘Despair,’ and ‘Madness.’ Passengers, please do not alight, or you will be left in the ‘Blank Zone’ forever.”
“Next stop – Crime Alley.” The train began to accelerate, the scenery outside flashing by—Upon hearing this, Thomas’s breath hitched. Painful memories flooded his mind.
He saw Bruce, bloodied, standing on the street with vacant eyes. He saw Martha, lying in a pool of blood, still clutching a necklace.
He saw Gotham, consumed by flames, the city wailing. Every image was like a knife piercing his heart, and for some reason, it appeared on his cheeks.
Finally.
In the bizarre scene.
The train stopped.
The doors opened.
Outside was a void.
He was pushed out.
“Daddy! Daddy! I want milk~”
Outside.
A not-so-young Bruce opened his monstrous maw.
What else could Thomas do?
It was no more than feeding himself to a demon.
……
Thomas died again and again, and revived again and again. He struggled for survival in the “Rules of the Game,” endured the torment of memories on the “Death Train,” was surrounded by whispers in the “Silent Library,” and was forced to reenact his own death in the “Crimson Theater.” After each cycle, his appearance became more haggard.
After countless cycles, Thomas finally collapsed on the ground, unable to get up. His soul was tattered, and his will was on the verge of collapse.
But he still didn’t give up. He remembered Bruce, remembered Gotham, remembered the gunshot that night, and spoke his thoughts aloud.
In the distance, a pair of eyes were silently watching him. It was Sangong Mo, seated on a high throne, observing with cold indifference, then laughing heartily with a “heh heh heh” sound.
“Torment this person fiercely, let his suffering be even greater.” Sangong Mo sat on his throne carved from countless souls, looking down at the projection of Hell Paradise. In the image, Thomas Wayne was chained to a rack made of flesh and blood, his limbs pulled to their limit.
Every breath felt like it was tearing his soul apart.
Yet his gaze remained steadfast.
“He has already endured all of Hell’s punishments.” The Duke of Hell next to him said in a low voice, “Burning body, soul stripping, repeated memories, death cycles… he endured them all.”
“Is that so? A truly interesting mortal.”
A cruel smile spread across Sangong Mo’s lips. Since it wasn’t cruel enough, he manually pulled at the corners of his mouth, widening them considerably into a somewhat sinister grin.
“This mortal has piqued my interest. His abs are thirty-six in number, fascinating. Bring him to me.” Finally, Sangong Mo decided to meet Thomas Wayne personally.
The chains clanked as Thomas was dragged to the great hall. His body was already riddled with wounds, his soul utterly broken, yet his back remained straight, and his eyes were still filled with determination.
A cold wrath settled in his grayish-blue eyes.
“You don’t like me? Then come hit me! I, Sangong Mo, am this wicked!”
Sangong Mo sat on his throne, six arms embracing several alluring demonesses, like a depraved King Zhou, surrounded by women, looking down at this mortal soul.
“I cannot defeat you, but my son can.”
Thomas’s voice was hoarse, but firm.
“Little Bruce Wayne, how laughable, a worm-like existence. If I glare at him, he’ll be terrified. Tell him to come directly before me and face my power!”
Sangong Mo roared with laughter, his tone full of disdain. His laughter shook the hall, causing dust to fall.
“My son need not act. My son only needs to live well. You must be wary of me. One day, I too will possess the strength to defeat you.”
Thomas Wayne declared loudly.
“Tell me, ant, what makes you so indigestible, like a piece of moldy hardtack?” Sangong Mo leaned forward and asked in a very peculiar translated accent.
Molten wine dripped beside Thomas’s feet, burning black scorch marks.
“It is family, it is filial piety.” Thomas Wayne’s eyes flickered, showing a rare hint of truth. “If I endure all the suffering now, my children will not have to suffer in the future. When I have the power to control all of Hell, then if my son unfortunately falls, he will also feel a familiar warmth.”
As these words were spoken.
Sangong Mo’s six arms clapped simultaneously, as if appreciating a good show.
“Excellent! I admire this quality in you!” He slammed the table and stood up. “Therefore, I have decided to reward you – I’m going to marry you off to The Joker Batman.”
“That Dark God of the multiverse is worth my alliance. Xiao Qian, no, it’s Tomos, Tormoss, damn it, this mouth is really difficult to use. Anyway, I, Sangong Mo, have worried myself sick over you, you should thank me profusely.”
Sangong Mo said earnestly.
“Who did you say?”
Thomas’s face changed drastically.
“He is my strategic partner. With him, you will have endless fortune, and I can also use this alliance to attack Heaven and drag all of Gabriel and Michael to scrub toilets.”
“Yes, I, Sangong Mo, am this powerful.” Sangong Mo excitedly rubbed his hands, attempting to manipulate Thomas, but Thomas gritted his teeth.
“But I am just a man!”
Thomas covered his face, yet he uttered these words.
“It’s fine, The Joker Batman likes men. With you, he will be able to evolve into The Joker Bat.” Sangong Mo chuckled, as if discussing something very ordinary.
“Oh, don’t be like an unworldly Puritan! The Joker likes seasoned old-fashioned gentlemen like you.” Sangong Mo said this with great condescension.
“No!”
Thomas finally lost control, his chains rattling.
“You might as well kill me!”
He roared, he snarled.
Sangong Mo’s face suddenly turned cold, and he grabbed Thomas’s chin.
“Think of your child, Thomas. If you refuse…” His nails dug into the man’s skin, “I will drag Bruce to Hell to marry The Joker in your place.”
Hearing this.
Thomas’s pupils contracted violently again and again.
The next second.
This most elegant capitalist of Gotham unleashed the most vulgar insults of his life.
“Go to hell! You disgusting, rotten, son of a bitch, lying, lowest maggot in hell!! You piece of rotten meat that even hell’s dogs wouldn’t bite!”
“You will be torn to shreds by the Emperor of All Laws, I swear to God, I’m going to kick your ass hard, I’m going to stuff my… my wife’s high heels up your ass!”
Thomas didn’t know how he could roar such words.
The veins on his neck were truly sincere.
The entire hall fell into dead silence.
Sangong Mo’s wine glass froze in mid-air, and the succubi collectively gasped.
“Are you done?”
The Demon God narrowed his eyes dangerously.
“Aren’t you angry?”
Thomas Wayne asked.
“How could I not be angry? I am the Hell Baby!” Sangong Mo suddenly erupted, smashing the throne with all six arms simultaneously, and lava gushed out from the cracks like champagne.
“Drag this champagne-spewing bastard to the dressing room!” The Demon God raged, jumping up and down like the Joker. “I want to see him in a diamond-encrusted wedding dress!”
Anyway, the image looked pretty bad.
All the demons trembled.
“I won’t agree! Never! I love my wife! I will not marry a man!” Thomas Wayne didn’t just have veins on his neck.
His whole body was covered in veins.
“Go fetch Bruce Wayne and bring him to me!”
Sangong Mo was furious.
He slammed all six arms onto the table at the same time, shaking the hall again, causing dust to fall. His scarlet vertical pupils burned with furious flames, and he sternly ordered the Duke of Hell beside him.
“Yes.”
The Duke of Hell bowed slightly, turned, and was about to leave.
“Wait!!”
Thomas suddenly looked up, his voice hoarse and very dejected.
“I’ll marry! I’ll marry!”
His fingers tightly gripped the chains, his knuckles turning white, as if he were crushing his last shred of dignity in his palm.
The hall fell into a brief silence.
Sangong Mo slowly narrowed his eyes, crossed his six arms across his chest, and regarded the former King of Gotham with amusement.
“For your child?”
“Yes.”
Thomas’s voice was low and hoarse, as if scorched by hellfire a thousand times. His eyes reddened, and a tear slid down silently, evaporating into mist on the scorching ground.
“Very good.”
Sangong Mo smiled with satisfaction and waved to the Duke of Hell to retreat.
“Makeup for our bride! I, Sangong Mo, will personally send him off!” With a wave of his hand, a little demon stepped forward and took Thomas Wayne directly into the dressing room.
“God! Is this damn corset trying to murder me?” Thomas was pressed against the vanity table as a demonic tailor measured his waist with a barbed tape measure.
“Bear with it, sir,” the tailor sighed, “Master Laughing is particularly insistent on a slim waist design. Lord Sangong Mo suggested putting countless needles in your butt for this wedding dress.”
Feminization of a place.
In the mirror, Thomas Wayne, forced to wear a lace veil, his expression changing constantly, showed a more desperate look than when he fell into hell.
From a long time ago.
Thomas Wayne was truly sincere.
Just as he was wondering how long this kind of story would last.
“Click~”
A sudden human voice rang out. From the shadows of the hall, a suspended black box slowly descended and landed steadily in Sangong Mo’s hands on the throne.
The next second, a shocking scene occurred – Sangong Mo’s massive demonic body suddenly shrunk, his six arms disappeared, and his ferocious face also gradually faded.
In its place was a handsome little boy.
His golden eyes were filled with excitement.
Director Pinduoduo had staged a good show.
“The play is over, don’t get so close to me, you can’t afford to take advantage of me.” He disdainfully pushed away two female succubi who wanted to get closer.
Then he took out a bottle of holy water from his pocket and vigorously wiped the places the succubi had touched. After a cleaning, the boy then pulled up the footage he had just recorded and checked the finished product with great interest.
“Hmm… the emotions are in place, the lines are good, but the tear at the end was a bit forced…” The boy stroked his chin, like a picky director.
It turned out it was all just filming.
The hall of hell was still gloomy, but the atmosphere had completely changed. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur and decay, but today, this hall symbolizing fear and torment welcomed an unprecedented “ritual.” Director Ian’s latest classic work was filmed here.
Ian believed this place would definitely become a popular spot in the future.
“Everyone worked hard.”
When Thomas Wayne walked back into the hall, all the demons in the hall looked at him. The great demons bowed in unison. The jailer who had once dragged him with chains and tortured him with instruments was now prostrate on the ground, his forehead touching the ground, his voice trembling as he apologized, clearly terrified.
“Your Majesty! I didn’t pay attention before! I disturbed you, please forgive me!” The little demon trembled at his negligence and had already found a place to put away his stun baton.
Thomas glanced at him.
Then.
He just waved his hand dismissively.
“Go collect your payment.”
Thomas also said this to the other demons. The next moment, the demons, as if granted amnesty, scrambled to retreat, not daring to believe that they had just participated in the torture of the King of Hell.
“For the next one, you will have your hardships turn into blessings and become the King of Dragons descending to earth.” Ian clearly hadn’t had enough; he already had the outline of the second part in his mind.
This is the imagination and talent of a renowned writer.
Endless, simply endless.
“…” Thomas Wayne’s gaze shifted to the boy in the corner who was engrossed in editing the film—Ian sat cross-legged on the floor, a straw in his mouth from a fruit wine bottle, his fingers flying across the floating light screen, occasionally letting out a strange “hehehe” laugh, looking truly focused and engrossed.
Honestly, Thomas didn’t want to agree to Ian’s so-called brilliant plan. Well, the boy’s original words were “bigbigbig smart,” and he thought it was too ridiculous, but who told Ian to show him a photo of Martha and Old Kent having afternoon tea together.
His son’s wealth and his warm wife.
Which is more important?
Thomas only had a capitalist’s scale in his heart.
“Bruce isn’t someone who can be easily fooled,” Thomas took a deep breath and sat beside him, taking a silk scarf from his suit’s inner pocket to wipe off the remaining “scar makeup” on his face.
He said in a low voice.
With a hint of helplessness in his tone.
“I’ll add billions in special effects, believe me, I can even deceive gods and demons, so a little Batman will surely be easily handled.” Ian continued to operate without looking up.
“The emotions are in place here, the rhythm is tight, and the special effects can use a bit more blood… mountains of corpses and seas of blood!”
His finger drew a brilliant special effects light trail on the light screen, his tone as relaxed as discussing tomorrow’s breakfast, full of confidence, and also full of super intelligence.
It wasn’t misplaced confidence.
“You underestimate Bruce’s wisdom too much,” Thomas Wayne recalled his previous filming process, only to feel that this could definitely be called his dark history.
He didn’t think such an absurd story could fool his son.
To this.
Ian smirked, becoming more and more skilled.
“Even if Uncle Bruce sees through my plan, it doesn’t matter. Then he’ll think you’ve fallen into my hands, and he’ll panic more than if he thought this movie was a documentary.”
“Do you know what reputation is?”
“I am the reputation! No matter the situation, we are both winners.” Ian spoke of his “Ying Xue” (winning theory), he never cared about who would lose, as long as he always won.
“I hadn’t even gotten close to Damian before, and Uncle Bruce had already put the whole city on lockdown. He has a deep misunderstanding of me, but this misunderstanding is precisely what we can use.”
Must say, Ian did have some self-awareness, but it wasn’t much; his words still revealed his belief that Batman was overreacting.
“…”
Thomas opened his mouth.
He found Ian’s logic difficult to refute. However, regarding Damian not being able to be approached by Ian, he, as a grandfather, still felt that Bruce Wayne hadn’t done enough.
Damian should be sent to an alien school in the Centaurus galaxy to ensure he wouldn’t be led astray by this boy from the already crooked path he was starting to walk.
“When are you returning to the human world?” Thomas Wayne realized that Ian could always find impeccable logic, so he wisely did not comment on Ian’s grievances.
Old Wayne chose to change the subject.
This trick always worked well on Ian.
“I originally came to see a psychiatrist, but now my car and trash can are lost, so the workload has tripled.” Ian sighed helplessly.
His mouth didn’t stop, he kept drinking fruit wine. His super physical quality gave him an invincible metabolism, so even if he secretly poured some whiskey into the fruit wine, he wouldn’t get drunk.
“I can help you find people,” Thomas Wayne adjusted his suit cuffs, took out a silk handkerchief from his inner pocket, and slowly wiped the remaining “scar makeup” on his neck again. The meticulously designed bruises and bloodstains gradually faded under the holy water-soaked handkerchief, revealing the iconic stern face of the King of Gotham.
“You have this ability?”
Ian, who was squatting on the throne editing the video, suddenly looked up in surprise. He thought Thomas Wayne was just an isolated little lord of hell.
Didn’t expect he had quite a few subordinates outside?
Otherwise, how could he find people in hell?
Just as Ian was guessing, Thomas Wayne proved him right. A smile peculiar to a capitalist appeared on Thomas’s lips.
He pulled a gilded business card from his inner suit pocket.
The business card glowed slightly in the sulfurous mist, with three lines of text printed in Gothic font.
Hell Human Resources Co., Ltd.
CEO: Thomas Wayne.
Letting every soul reach its maximum value.
…
“Where do you think I find the souls in those ‘pain batteries’?” He lightly tapped the ground with the tip of his leather shoe, and the floor tiles of the entire hall suddenly became transparent.
Below.
Countless networks intertwined, transmitting intelligence and souls.
“I have a dedicated human resources department that screens targets in those small houses where souls reside. Many powerful lords from other hells also send me commissions.”
“And I can always find the kind of fallen soul they need.” As expected of the old King of Gotham, he once again displayed divine power, transforming the surrounding space into a warehouse.
Countless neatly arranged crystal prison cages gathered around.
Soul Warehouse.
The souls here were not used for “power generation.”
It was for soul trading.
In the end, Old Wayne still engaged in the ancestral business of crossing oceans and building it up in hell. Ian didn’t expect Thomas to have utilized those prison cells before him.
As expected, capitalists’ ways of thinking are all the same.
“We truly are heroes who think alike,” Ian praised Old Wayne slightly. He stepped forward to examine them. Tens of thousands of small cages contained all sorts of souls.
They were the sinners among sinners. These souls, dressed in the attire of various eras, were repeating their earthly sins. A Victorian-era miser was counting an endless number of gold coins, a Wall Street stockbroker was screaming at a plummeting screen, and there were even a few figures in superhero costumes beating the walls in their cells.
They were super scammers who used superhero costumes to cheat people into having sex, causing 20,000 people in a certain island nation to contract AIDS. However, Ian thought they perhaps shouldn’t be in hell.
“Wow! You even classified them?” Ian’s pupils reflected this soul matrix warehouse. Old Wayne even seemed to have acquired the technology for those hellish compartments.
It’s unclear whether he bribed Commissioner Crowley or appeased Lucifer.
“Of course.”
Thomas snapped his fingers, and a holographic operating interface appeared on the ground. “Divided by the seven deadly sins. Souls in the Gluttony zone are best for driving kitchen equipment, the Greed zone handles financial calculations, and the Pride zone souls are the most expensive, the ones that other great demons like to buy to pay off Lucifer.”
“I’m a businessman. I generally don’t ask them why they do these things,” Thomas Wayne spoke eloquently, fully utilizing the wisdom of a capitalist.
He was doing really well in hell.
“I dare to ask, I dare to ask, tell me which great demons bought souls of Pride?” Ian’s gossip tendency was second only to Madison, so his eyes looked very bright.
“Sorry, customer information is absolutely confidential. Even if Lucifer came… I would usually only say it after being beaten for ten minutes.” Thomas Wayne was, after all, a man of propriety.
He didn’t brag too much, just a little.
“I don’t believe it unless you let me watch next time you get beaten.” Ian could sense the aura of a peer, so he felt at least three minutes of lies in Old Wayne’s words.
“…”
Thomas helplessly untangled his fingers from his tie, wanting to breathe more freely. There were no tie clips in hell, but the demons’ fingers were quite useful.
“The room you wanted is ready.”
He changed the subject again.
“Oh, okay.”
Ian raised his hand and looked at his crayon watch. It was connected to the most accurate time on Earth, so Ian could clearly know when to sleep even in hell.
“Are you really planning to sleep in hell?”
Thomas Wayne looked at Ian with a strange expression. He remembered his first time entering hell. Although it wasn’t as exaggerated as depicted in the “big movie” just now, it would be difficult for a normal person to tolerate the environment here. Let alone sleeping, just breathing felt painful.
“Good sleep habits can help me grow taller.” It was time to travel again, and Ian didn’t mind sleeping anywhere again, but having a bed would be great.
Seeing this.
Thomas Wayne didn’t persuade him further.
He summoned the Duke Butler and asked him to take Ian to the guest room.
Then.
Two Dukes of Hell floated over carrying a suspended chair. Ian exclaimed in surprise and jumped on it, and the chair immediately extended eight spider legs, carrying him towards the palace.
“I also have spider legs, but they’re cooler than this.”
In response to Ian’s self-praise.
The Dukes of Hell quickly flattered him. Soon, they escorted Ian to a grand hotel in the city. The moment the door automatically opened, a strange scent mixed with sulfur and lavender wafted out.
Ian whistled.
“Cool!”
The entire room was like a fairy tale scene stuffed into hell.
The breathing walls were covered with eyeball wall lamps, which blinked in unison whenever Ian passed by; tentacles hanging from the ceiling automatically wove into a hammock; the most amazing thing was the “living massage bed,” composed of 365 demon arms, each hand’s fingernails were ground smooth and rounded, painted with nail polish of different colors.
The hands of a woman, at first glance.
“Esteemed guest,”
The headless hotel butler spoke from its abdominal cavity.
“These masseurs have all undergone professional training.”
He hadn’t finished speaking.
Ian had already lunged onto the bed like a dolphin. Hundreds of hands immediately got busy, some pinching shoulders, others pounding legs, and three particularly dexterous ones were serving him tea and water.
The hotel butler, also very understanding, quickly withdrew.
“It even offers sleep massage. Nice.”
Ian was enjoying himself.
He squinted comfortably, like a cat getting its chin rubbed.
However.
When the massage reached below his waist.
Ian seemed to realize something, and suddenly sprang up as if electrocuted, hanging upside down from the ceiling.
“Get away! My lower half doesn’t need a massage!”
He let out a panicked cry, truly like a startled cat. Ian’s thoughts moved quickly; he realized why the demon butler had looked at him suggestively when leaving.
Damn massage bed!
It even offered indecent massages!
Seeing Ian’s anger, the arms immediately retracted, as if frightened.
“Good thing I reacted quickly, otherwise I would have been ‘taken care of’ thoroughly by the Hands of Hell tonight.” Ian lay back down, issuing a stern warning to these hands.
He wasn’t a saint, but he didn’t want his first time to be compromised in an inter-species exchange. He checked the time again and found the hands had already pointed to that special moment.
“Dong~”
As the bell sound of traversing the Marvel Universe rang out, Ian was being held up by twenty-seven demon palms doing advanced Pilates. He suddenly rolled his eyes and, like a robot unplugged, instantly entered a dormant state, his body still suspended in mid-air in a “flying” yoga pose.
This massage chair is good when it’s proper.
As for when it’s improper – how to put it, Ian didn’t like it, but he believed he might have found the most suitable birthday gift for his second brother, Jordan.
The prologue to Marvel’s multiverse reset, I will finish writing it tomorrow.
