Chapter 186: Six-dimensional Deity? Doraemon!
The deep space of the universe, vast and deathly silent, with the galaxy like an endless river paved with shattered diamonds, slowly rotating. In this vast backdrop, a floating planetary debris quietly hovered, like a tombstone left from an ancient war.
Its surface was covered in cracks, lava flowing like blood through the fissures, reflecting eerie red light. Injustice Superman lay on this shattered landmass, his chest heaving violently, sweat beads rolling down his forehead like rain, each drop carrying faint electric arcs that evaporated into tiny mists in the vacuum.
“Endure it. If you can’t, pretend you can, and then you will.” Ian uttered his medical advice from listening to one piece of your words.
He didn’t have his own white coat.
This was a loss for Earth’s medical system, at least in his view, so he pulled out a white bed sheet originally prepared for enemies and those miserable dead, and draped it over himself.
Manually acting as a tailor a couple times, it looked quite proper.
Ian’s fingers lightly traced the edge of Injustice Superman’s abdominal cavity, the metallic touch making him tremble slightly. Kryptonian skin, though tough like something unscientific, couldn’t stump Master Ian.
The blade of the Darkness Sword glowed with powerful black light in Ian’s hand. Like an anatomist, he precisely cut open Injustice Superman’s rotting abdominal cavity, the wound edges caused by golden particle radiation flickering with tiny golden lights.
A slender incision silently split open, revealing the deep inner cavity. His gaze was focused, like a surgeon inspecting precision instruments, or a gardener surveying land about to be sown. When the sword tip lifted the last layer of peritoneum, Ian couldn’t help but marvel at the ergonomic design of the Kryptonian body.
Even the Kryptonian’s fat layer looked so standard.
“Look at this perfect cavity, enough to serve as cradles for twelve babies.” His fingertip poked into the gap below the Kryptonian’s diaphragm, the sticky sensation reminding him of the plasticine he played with as a child.
Injustice Superman’s mangled fingers twitched, the ten finger bones personally broken by Ian and hastily reattached scraping harsh sounds on the metal surface of the operating table. Don’t ask where the operating table came from in cosmic vacuum—Batman Uncle’s inherited armor was a metal operating table!
“What are you doing…”
Injustice Superman’s broken vocal cords squeezed out a few syllables.
He hadn’t finished his words.
Ian pressed his bloodstained finger against Injustice Superman’s cracked lips.
“The anesthesia is wearing off again? Didn’t expect him to be so resistant.” Ian used his Kryptonite hammer again, solidly giving Injustice Superman another dose of anesthesia.
Injustice Superman fell back into infant-like sleep. Then, Ian pulled a linen bag from his dimensional pocket with his other hand. The moment the bag opened, a large number of treasures collected from his own factory spilled out—many feathers gleaming with pearl luster floated free, shining with holy glow in the radiation-filled cosmic vacuum dust.
“Do you know why he was controlled by The Joker Batman? Because he lacks family bonds.” Ian didn’t know who he was explaining to, good thing no one was watching to mock his worsening condition.
Like a real doctor, Ian continuously inspected Injustice Superman’s abdominal cavity, probing with his fingertips to feel the space already clogged with quite a few organs.
Things like large intestine wrapping small intestine—Ian resisted the impulse that Kryptonian kidneys could sell for a good price, rich people definitely believing they’re greatly tonic—and kept groping and searching.
Finally, he found a spot suitable for implantation.
“This is the place!” Ian was overjoyed.
He began using the angels’ feathers to build a nest inside Injustice Superman’s abdominal cavity, firmly believing the nest forged from angel feathers would hatch the most virtue-guiding twelve twins.
Ian’s movements were gentle yet firm, like weaving an invisible sacred garment. He interlaced the feathers into a spiraling upward nest structure, each one precisely embedded, resonating with each other, forming a miniature, glowing life cradle. This nest was not flesh and blood, but a spiritual container built from magic and holy relics.
As the feathers filled it, the nest gradually took shape.
Ian hummed a lullaby, carefully placing the feather nest in the cavity between the Kryptonian’s liver and spleen. When the last feather tip touched the peritoneum, the entire nest suddenly emitted soft holy light, illuminating the cosmic dust floating above the operating table. It hovered in the center of the abdominal cavity, like a miniature nebula, emitting soft, ever-changing colorful halos.
Red like the rising sun, blue like the ocean’s calm, gold like faith’s glow, green like new sprouts… twelve colors, symbolizing twelve possible virtues: courage, benevolence, wisdom, resilience, humility, honesty, tolerance, hope, temperance, justice, loyalty, benevolence.
With Ian’s “miraculous hands bring back the spring” technique complete, the nest fully closed, like a cosmic egg in gestation. Given the Kryptonian constitution, there was no worry about nutrition for the children’s gestation. Ian began suturing energy-supplying blood vessels on it, another problem that didn’t stump him.
Though there were no extra blood vessels in the Kryptonian body, Ian had studied history and knew this world originally had few canals, but self-reliant people made many.
So.
He pulled out a few five-toxin PET plastic tubes and began draining inside Injustice Superman’s liver, regardless if it was blood or not, providing eighteen nutrient channels to the nest forged from angel feathers.
There’s nothing improper about this.
Science has developed to this point; it would be truly improper if Ian didn’t use it.
“Twelve children, not too few, not too many. Too few, insufficient to form society; too many, prone to strife. Twelve is the perfect number, the zodiac’s cycle, the balance of judgment and salvation.”
Talking about this kind of “story” like brands, companies, and products, the great capitalist naturally rattled it off, finding a very fitting meaning for his chosen number.
Of course, that’s the public version; in truth, Master Ian was quite superstitious—he just felt twelve people could form colorful bonds here in Injustice Superman.
Transmigrators who played Teamfight Tactics before transmigrating all know colorful bonds are much stronger than normal ones; Ian believed it would definitely bring Injustice Superman back to the righteous path.
Due to Ian’s rather heavy-handed operation, blood suddenly seeped from Injustice Superman’s abdominal cavity. Ian frowned and quickly stuffed two disinfected sanitary napkins inside to stop the bleeding.
He actually wanted to use marshmallows, closer to medical cotton in some ways, but after all, it’s melting food with worse hemostasis than Ian’s hemostasis divine artifact.
“Surgery has to be fast!”
Ian pinched the Kun Fishing Line.
His fingertip twisted.
The line end automatically threaded through the hole in the Adamantium stapler needle.
This metal was the hardest alloy from some universe, usually used to forge Wolverine’s claws, but today, it would become the suturing staples for Injustice Superman’s abdomen.
Ian “clicked” the stapler to nail Injustice Superman’s split abs shut. When the staple pierced the Kryptonian skin, it made a crisp metallic clash.
Good thing the echo in space could only be caught by the Kryptonian’s super hearing.
Injustice Superman lay supine on the operating table, eyelids starting to flutter; he realized his belly had been cut open but didn’t realize Master Ian had granted him colorful bonds.
This could also incidentally make Injustice Superman a proper Superman, boosting world recognition—a win-win compensation from Master Ian for accidentally injuring the opponent.
“What did you do to me?”
Injustice Superman’s eyelids still struggled to open.
Mainly due to severe swelling.
“Don’t worry, Adamantium won’t rust or be corroded by your stomach acid.” Ian tugged the Kun Fishing Line to ensure the suture was secure.
With the final stitch finished, Injustice Superman’s abdomen finally closed again, leaving only a faint suture scar. Ian stepped back two paces, tilted his head to appraise it, then suddenly pulled a small can of pigment from his pocket.
“Almost forgot, gotta make you look decent.” He dabbed some flesh-colored paint and gently applied it to the suture line. The moment the pigment touched the Kryptonian skin, it fused automatically; in a blink, that ferocious wound “disappeared”—at least from afar, showing no abnormality.
Seeing he had painter’s talent too.
Ian also free-painted normal colors over all the burn-damaged skin on the other’s body.
Illegal medical practice log entry 207—experiment proves I’m a medical genius… Writing diaries was Ian’s habit, leaving illegal evidence too.
Who isn’t an evil god who loves writing logs?
“What exactly did you do to me?”
Injustice Superman groggily raised his hand, veins bulging as his fingers suddenly gripped Ian’s wrist. His pupils contracted sharply, voice hoarse like squeezed from hell.
He’d thought Ian, like those mad scientists, was cutting his flesh for experiments—maybe researching Kryptonian genes or extracting his DNA for something else.
However.
Ian’s answer froze his blood instantly.
“Don’t worry, the surgery was perfect! The embryos’ nutrition is very rich! So rich it’s a bit excessive!” Ian slapped off the Kryptonian blood from his gloves.
While reassuring the other, he began disinfecting himself with alcohol.
After all, no one knew if Injustice Superman’s blood had Kryptonian virus; being cautious was standard for unlicensed practice abroad—America’s medical insurance definitely wouldn’t cover such a mishap.
“Embryos?! What embryos?!” Injustice Superman’s voice suddenly rose sharply; he struggled to sit up but felt an odd wriggling from his abdomen.
It felt like something inside gently kicked a foot. Injustice Superman’s face turned ashen instantly, fingers unconsciously stroking his flat abdomen. Reason told him no life could be there, but Kryptonian senses caught twelve faint heartbeats.
Those heartbeats intertwined like a lullaby.
“！！！！？？？？？”
At this moment, Injustice Superman was utterly terrified, not daring to imagine what Ian had done—he just realized what it felt like to be Ian’s enemy.
Fine sweat beaded on Injustice Superman’s forehead, cold sweat sliding down his temples, washing away a muddy streak in the camouflage pigment Ian had applied to his abdomen.
“Sigh, the paint isn’t even dry yet; the patient needs rest.” Ian sighed, like facing a disobedient child. He pulled a syringe from his pocket, the barrel sloshing with 200mg of clear liquid—theoretically just normal saline, but dissolved with fine Kryptonite powder.
It glowed eerie green in Ian’s eyes.
Injustice Superman didn’t even have time to struggle. The instant the needle pierced his neck vein, Kryptonite radiation flowed through his blood; his muscles slackened instantly, pupils dilated, last consciousness swallowed by darkness. His head lolled weakly to the side, breathing becoming long and steady—more peaceful than an infant’s sleep.
Of course, deeper than a dead man’s eternal slumber. For this otherworld Superman who’d once harmed his family, Ian felt he’d already been kind and tolerant enough.
Villains change faces.
Here with him, there was no chance for redemption.
“Good, I believe with kids, this guy won’t have time to wreak havoc on my universe… I mean, the universe we all share.”
Ian nodded satisfied, casually tossing the empty syringe into the void. The quick rephrase was mainly fearing his old man’s super hearing might misunderstand his magnanimity.
Seeing Injustice Superman no longer stirring, Ian’s gaze returned to the black box; the display screen showed the battle completely out of control. In the image, his old man and Golden Superman were still on Apokolips.
Darkseid, caught in a pincer attack, had crashed into his most prized Omega Armory.
This shouldn’t have happened.
But the two Golden Supermen’s idealism powers were too unreasonable; their convictions even twisted reality’s laws, letting this Dark Monarch taste frustration for the first time.
Could he accept this?
Of course not.
Enraged Darkseid rose from the ruins, his eyes’ Omega Rays no longer ordinary crimson but a deeper, more primal deep red. When Darkseid unleashed Omega Rays, their vivid red visual effect was extremely impactful, echoing his overall dark, evil, oppressive image, symbolizing the power’s strength, danger, and destructiveness.
Surging power roiled on Darkseid, as if his true self—that deity high above endless dimensions—was venting through this reality-plane projection.
Even if Darkseid hadn’t yet realized his origins’ awesomeness, profound background meant that even unconsciously, it would erupt when it should.
“You… seek death!”
His voice was no longer single sound waves but a declaration of doom oscillating from countless dimensions simultaneously. In the next instant, this powered-up Dark King arrived before the two Supermen.
His transformation.
Seemed silently proclaiming: nowadays, who can’t spout idealistic grand reason?
Darkseid’s palms already gripped the two Golden Supermen’s heads, brute force carrying them crashing through space barriers, smashing stars en route straight into the starry void.
First impact pulverized the Andromeda galaxy’s spiral arm. Hundreds of stars extinguished under pure kinetic energy, nebulae torn into shattered ribbons.
Shockwave swept thousands of light-years, planets shattering like glass beads, gravity fields forcibly warped, black hole event horizons torn, civilizations reduced to ashes in an instant.
The visual impact was enormous.
Nebulae churned into vortices, star clusters collapsing like sandcastles. Wherever their path went, galaxies cracked like mirrors smashed by a giant hammer, fragments flying.
Countless spaces measured in light-years filled with fissures.
But this paled against his second slam, one Superman in each hand—the second directly pierced the quantum foam layer. Yes, really shattering quantum structure, not Master Ian using AI for narration unlock; reality structure cracked like glass, chaotic energy from dimensional rifts surging out.
This energy devoured three pocket universes outright. Unsatisfied, Darkseid roared, blasting Omega Rays at dimensional barriers, forcibly breaching the rift between reality and void.
“Die, ants’ hope!” Darkseid roared, arms flinging, dragging the two Supermen as a streak of destructive light toward the unknown deeper than darkness.
They traversed the “Void Sea”—a realm without matter, energy, only pure entropy increase’s death domain; they skimmed the “Abyss of Time,” countless past and future images flashing beside them like broken film reels. They even crashed into the “Conceptual Realm.”
There, rules were made of thought, logic a weapon, and Darkseid’s will the ultimate violence. Finally, they reached the endpoint—the two Golden Supermen’s glow slightly dimmed under such violent impact, but their bodies remained intact, idealism immune to physical harm.
However.
On this battlefield Darkseid deliberately guided to, some more insidious weakening was taking effect.
Darkseid finally stopped.
Stopped in the “Lightless Realm” beyond known dimensions. No sun, no stars, no photons, no heat, no time flow, not even “existence” concept. Darkness absolute, silence eternal. The air, if it could still be called that.
Solidified like lead.
Gravity directions chaotic and warped.
Clearly, this was a deliberately excised “lightless domain” where even hope’s concept couldn’t take root. Despair incarnate was hope’s grave.
“Damn… how did he suddenly get so strong.”
“I don’t know either!”
The two Golden Supermen floated in the void, their glow—brilliant energy symbolizing conviction and ideals—slowly eroded by the environment. Uninjured, but their power waning, like torches dropped into ocean depths: flames unextinguished yet unable to light the distance.
“What can you know? You’re just bigger ants!”
Darkseid smashed the two Supermen hard onto this void’s “ground”—a platform of solidified darkness; their bodies sank right in.
Struggling as hard as ordinary people in asphalt.
“Your light will extinguish here. The sun in your hearts, I will personally crush.”
Darkseid’s feet stomped heavily on the two Supermen’s chests, the Dark Monarch’s shadow engulfing them, Omega Rays brewing in his eye sockets—not mere destructive beams, but something more terrifying; like a deity on an altar, his eyes slowly gathered dangerous glow.
“Let me see, after extinguishing the sun in your hearts, what remains of you?” The rays slowly formed—not targeting flesh, but straight at souls.
It aimed to destroy “hope” itself, the core belief making Superman Superman. That glow brightened, colder, as if erasing all warmth from Superman’s heart.
“Damn! I feel my thinking stagnating!”
“What the hell is this place?”
The two Golden Supermen pinned under Darkseid’s feet, bodies deep in void darkness, like two golden thumbtacks nailed to the cosmic canvas.
Ian’s old man and his prior opponent could only struggle now.
They pushed arms up, trying to throw off the Dark Monarch’s suppression, but this lightless world eroded their power—Supermen’s glow flickered weaker each time.
Darkseid’s eyes’ Omega Rays charged to limit, crimson glow surging in sockets like two erupting cosmic singularities, brilliant.
“Your glow… will ultimately extinguish.” His voice not from throat, but echoing from universe fissures, like billions of dead stars whispering in unison.
The two Golden Supermen gritted teeth, pupils igniting hot glow too—heat vision! They tried countering with final energy, two golden-red beams bursting from their eyes.
Slammed hard into Darkseid’s Omega Rays!
“Boom——！！！”
Three destructive energies collided in the void, shockwave even twisting surrounding darkness momentarily. But soon, victory tipped—Golden Supermen’s glow decaying, their heat vision swallowed by invisible force, pushed back bit by bit, suppressed.
One against two, gaining upper hand, Darkseid’s lips twisted in a ferocious grin. Bringing them here, he knew even powered-up he couldn’t kill two burning idealism suns.
Now.
Leveraging this dimension’s uniqueness, Darkseid knew victory would forever stand with him as always; the moment Supermen’s inner suns extinguished was his win.
“Being here is pure exhilaration for me!” The Dark Monarch’s power still climbing, Omega Ray crimson flood crushing Golden Supermen’s resistance.
The confrontation became suspense-free.
With Omega Rays about to fully engulf the two Supermen.
Beyond the dimension.
A father-rescuing variable struck.
He himself lacked the combat ability.
However.
“Black Box! You’re awesome!”
Able to lock and capture Darkseid and the two Supermen’s position, Ian used his newly acquired divine artifact; whispering to Gungnir, he hurled it out.
The instant Gungnir’s tip pierced the dimensional barrier.
The entire lightless world trembled.
That trajectory slashing eternal darkness brought a ray of reality dimension’s strong light.
The shaft wrapped in runes, speeding beyond physical laws straight for Darkseid’s vital—precisely, the unspeakable spot in the Dark Monarch’s armor gaps.
Ian still aimed at others’ crotch.
Facing this sudden assault.
Darkseid’s Omega Rays kept outputting, crimson flow suppressing the two Golden Supermen’s dimming glow. Sensing the fatal threat from behind, this Dark Monarch didn’t even turn; he just backhanded a grab, his divine power-wrapped palm catching the thrusting Gungnir mid-air.
“Such petty tricks.”
Spear tip mere millimeters from target, yet shuddering violently in Darkseid’s fingers. Runes burst blinding light one after another, shaft bending into shocking arc under immense pressure. When the Dark Monarch added his second hand, Gungnir finally emitted overburdened hum.
It was fully frozen in the void.
“Just meaningless struggle and…”
Darkseid’s words unfinished.
At that moment, the dimensional rift torn by the spear suddenly widened. The Black Death Sword, tossed in, shot forth like a shark smelling blood, wrapped in devouring black mist.
“That’s the drawback of only two hands.”
Accompanied by unspeakable being’s mockery, this Symbiote God creation arced eerily in air, precisely stabbing the void beside Clark Kent’s hand.
“Looks like you’re not infallible!”
Clark didn’t hesitate.
His fingers just touched the hilt; the Darkness Sword writhed madly.
The sword instantly extended countless black threads wrapping the arm of Ian’s heart’s genuine Superman, those substances from universe’s darkest corners perfectly melding with the Kryptonian palm now.
“Damn! What is this!”
Darkseid finally showed shock.
In his pupils.
Reflected a Superman swinging the sword at him with full force.
