Chapter 188: Bruce’s Funeral! The Joker Batman Reappears!
The eerie sound from the mimicked mouth opening and closing, mixed with the piercing bell ring from the black box that seemed to come from the abyss, formed a scene enough to make one’s sanity value plummet wildly.
“……”
Seeing Ian’s mimicked form, Clark Kent couldn’t find an angle to scold him, so he could only cover his face, fingers pressing so hard they nearly left marks on his handsome features.
To be fair.
The invincible Superman only lacked confidence in moments like this; he could feel his nerves, which had remained steady as a rock through stellar explosions, groaning under the strain in front of Ian.
This was middle-aged crisis.
At least Ian was much better than those disobedient kids in traditional America families, much kinder—Clark could only use this to comfort himself.
“So……”
Clark’s voice squeezed out through his fingers with difficulty, carrying a faint tremor, “Why not pick up the phone quickly and see what Uncle Bruce wants?”
It was clear he really wanted to change the subject.
Ian nodded vigorously with his head as the main body, his fingers connecting the call, but the mimicked mouth on his abdomen beat him to it, cheerfully responding to the black box.
“Hello? Uncle Bruce? Is the signal okay? My father asks if calling me without permission means you’re ready to start refining copper? Are you used to the sulfur baths in hell? Do you need me to burn some limited-edition sports car, paper scraps wife, or that unformatted little hard drive you hid deepest in the Batcave to the hell side?”
Batman being able to connect to Ian’s black box was all thanks to Master Ian’s great mercy; after his half phone was pushed forward earlier, the mission of letting Ian make free calls had been handed over to the black box.
A barrage of soul-searching questions poured out like a Gatling gun sweep, precisely covering moral questioning, environmental concern, and ultimate social death threats in terminal care.
The other end of the phone fell into dead silence, with only faint high-frequency energy weapon charging hums and urgent computer alarms audible in the background.
Of course.
Batman’s breathing was also very distinct.
But it hadn’t reached the point of fury yet; Ian believed his black box could handle social relations for him—it was a magical item with great social finesse; with slight settings, it would automatically judge the caller’s situation for Ian, thoughtfully shielding, connecting, or hanging up on outsiders’ calls.
“Huff huff huff~”
Now was the time Batman was breathless from verbal attacks, panting like a nine-dragon gale.
After a long while.
From the black box came an extremely suppressed, rough voice as if his throat was stuffed with hell volcanic ash, each word gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Besides that ghost thing in your hand that can receive signals even in universe rifts, do you expect me to call your old man on that ‘Nokia’?” He emphasized “Nokia” deliberately, clearly not referring to the phone brand but describing Clark Kent’s phone as too antiquated.
At the end, that voice added stiffly, with an indisputable tone laced with complex worry that not explaining would lead to Ian spreading rumors.
“Also, I’m not dead.”
Batman wasn’t afraid of yellow rumors about himself, but he was truly worried that without recording and explaining his physical condition today, he might see his own funeral on Gotham streets that night—Ian was the type who really wanted to hold a funeral for him and collect gift money from Gotham villains.
Batman knew he had figured out this youngest son of the Kent family.
“Alright, not dead then not dead.”
Ian silently switched interfaces, canceling the one-stop funeral service pre-booked for Bruce Wayne; Batman not being dead didn’t surprise Ian much.
After all, he was a believer in 【npc】 rules, and he knew deeply that a soul-level NPC as pivotal as Batman in the DC universe wasn’t something a random aftershock could kill.
God would have to arrange a grand major event at least. Of course, Ian with his discerning eye could see through this, but he always felt a hint of regret on his taciturn father’s face.
As if a brief beautiful dream of “the world finally quiet” had just been shattered. The expression was very subtle, only detectable by an expression management master like Master Ian.
“Tell your father to wipe that regretful look off his face.” Even though Ian absolutely hadn’t spoken, the other end seemed equipped with 24/7 360-degree no-dead-angle surveillance.
Batman was also an expression management master, and the only expert on Earth researching Superman; he didn’t need surveillance— a quick calculation could figure out Clark Kent’s mental state.
Even Ian’s mother Lois didn’t understand Superman as well as Batman.
“Cough cough……”
Clark coughed sharply, instantly manually adjusting his facial muscles to a standard “God of Man” solemn and slightly impatient expression, even raising his volume to cover it up.
“So what exactly does he want? I’m very busy!” Clark’s face was toward Ian, but he was actually speaking to the person on the phone to change the subject.
Acting without soul, zero points.
However, Batman clearly wasn’t planning to nitpick this clumsy performance; a faint sound like a batarang slicing air came from the background.
“Encountered a situation, need you back immediately.” His voice sped up, with clear explosion booms and some non-human creature’s sharp shrieks mixing into the background.
Just as the words fell.
“Boom——!!!”
An especially violent explosion roared, nearly shaking the black box in Ian’s hand; then the comms between Batman and Ian cut off abruptly.
This definitely wasn’t an issue with Ian’s black box.
“Hm?”
Clark’s super hearing had already caught the chaotic sounds from the other side of Earth; his ears twitched almost imperceptibly, every sound wave building a disaster scene of Gotham in his mind.
Yes.
Super hearing plus super brain was that powerful; the reason second brother Jordan used a fleshlight without lube might actually relate to this strong associative ability.
“Looks like there’s no time to rest, huh?” This seemed addressed to Ian or to fate; Clark Kent truly felt mentally and physically exhausted. He took a deep breath of cosmic vacuum and sighed helplessly, the sigh heavy enough to crush a small asteroid.
“Alright, time to head back to Earth.” Clark’s large hand gripped Ian’s nape like fate’s iron clamp—a classic technique honed from countless bratty child captures, balancing control, portability, and precise dignity strikes.
It was a Kent family old tradition.
Ian was used to it, resigned. But just as Clark tensed his leg muscles, ready to burst through the atmosphere and temporarily leave the cosmic mess behind.
“Wait a minute.”
Ian suddenly raised his hand, his voice carrying a rare solemnity like suddenly remembering the gas was left on at home. Clark’s hand subconsciously loosened half. In this split-second gap, Ian slipped free like an eel, flashing to the side of the still flat-on-back Injustice Superman, whose empty gaze stared at the shattered starry sky.
“Come on, experience some hardship of the people— I mean my hardship. Pretend you’re a chicken, uh, not the broiler chicken from KFC.”
“A wild mountain chicken.”
Before Clark and Injustice Superman could react, Ian did the same, extending his hand—far less powerful than his father’s but equally precise—and grabbed Injustice Superman’s muscular nape! Then, dragging him like a life-sized body pillow, he zipped back in front of Clark.
Just as said before, Ian was used to having his own nape gripped. He naturally offered his nape back to his father’s control, even adjusting the angle for easier grip, his face full of calm “all set, ready to go.”
“？？？？”
Clark’s expression turned extremely odd. He looked at his resigned son in hand, then at the parallel universe version of himself being carried like a cat, still in star-gazing pose radiating philosophical despair, feeling his super brain CPU overloading.
The scene was too beautiful; he dared not dwell.
Finally, the God of Man deeply inhaled cosmic dust, deciding to temporarily ignore this beyond-comprehension scene.
And so.
Clark’s legs pretended to push off in the groundless starry sky.
“Boom!”
No longer describable as supersonic, speed surging toward light speed erupted; a streak of light tore through the starry sky, heading straight for that blue planet.
In high-speed flight, surrounding nebulae stretched into long colorful ribbons. Along the way, Clark secretly observed Injustice Superman and Ian staring at Injustice Superman’s belly.
Finally.
After holding back for ages.
Clark couldn’t hold it anymore.
He tilted his head slightly, using super vision to observe Injustice Superman, held by Ian like a chick—no, a big rooster king—with no resistance or words. He remained absolutely still, not even eyelashes twitching, only two lines of frozen tears at his eye corners telling silent sorrow.
“What… exactly is wrong with him?” Clark’s voice, in flight faster than sound propagation, reached Ian’s mind via a somewhat idealistic method.
“Thinking about life is like that. Prelude to enlightenment, necessary stage for soul ascension, understand.” Ian, gripped by the neck in an awkward pose, had evasive eyes.
Since speaking with the mimicked big mouth now, it too ignored sound propagation rules; anyway in the DC universe, most scientists’ coffins needed replacing tens of thousands of times a year.
“But he looks more like life is unbearable?” Clark’s brows furrowed tighter; he had a bad premonition but still couldn’t stop asking.
“Wrong!”
Ian corrected immediately, tone rigorous like academic discussion, “That’s not life unbearable, that’s ‘not daring to have emotions’! Internal energy needs absolute stability; any intense joy, anger, sorrow, or happiness could trigger energy tides, disrupting embryo implantation stability! In Earth terms, afraid of disturbing the fetal energy.”
Every word alone, Clark understood, but combined, it reached a complexity that made him feel like stopping thinking.
Not just mystifying.
Mainly… what the hell was fetal energy!
“！！！！！？？？？？？”
A string of massive question marks nearly materialized over Clark’s head.
Fetal energy? Embryo? Implantation?
He knew every word, but combined and applied to Injustice Superman, it formed a terrifying meaning that made Kryptonian genes tremble.
Clark Kent, who could stare at the sun core and tank black hole gravity, now somewhat dared not look at that Injustice Superman harmed under Ian’s moral coercion pretext.
He opened his mouth, but all questions stuck in his throat; super brain kicked in again, making him realize every query might lead to an answer he absolutely didn’t want.
Thus.
Clark decisively shut his mouth, deciding to use Kryptonian super intelligence on more meaningful things. Just then, the statue-still unresponsive Injustice Superman finally showed a change in expression. No longer pure despair or philosophical contemplation. His eyeball turned extremely slowly, extremely laboriously.
Finally, that gaze full of endless complex emotions landed on Clark—mixing terror, bewilderment, humiliation, and the deepest, inexpressible plea for help.
This look.
Clark had seen it countless times.
In civilians about to be buried by collapsing buildings, in despairers trapped by disaster, and in innocents chased by incomprehensible horrors.
Who would have thought.
Now, such a helpless, panicked look appeared on another “self.” Injustice Superman looked at Clark Kent like every pitiful person seeking Superman’s help.
“……”
This moment.
Not only did Clark Kent not know how to comfort him, even Ian had exhausted his PUA vocabulary; Injustice Superman still hadn’t truly realized Ian was offering help.
Clark felt pierced by that gaze.
Just as Clark nearly couldn’t hold back from saying something to break the suffocating atmosphere, Injustice Superman’s cracked lips trembled faintly, issuing a rusty gear-grinding, hoarse-to-the-extreme voice: “I think, I’ve finally understood one thing.”
Clark instinctively held his breath, listening intently.
Injustice Superman’s eyeball turned slowly, that extremely complex gaze laboriously shifting from Clark’s face to the other side, to Ian who was similarly gripped and trying to grab surrounding light streams with super speed. His eyes filled with indescribable shock, fear, and a trace… of eerie reverence.
“I’ve finally understood why you’re so powerful.” Injustice Superman continued in that all-life-drained, broken tone.
His gaze locked dead on Ian, the meaning obvious—surviving in this universe and successfully raising such an “unfathomable dirty thing” required mental resilience, survival ability, and battle level far beyond any fight with Doomsday or Darkseid.
This wasn’t power on the same dimension! It was toughness transcending physical laws, penetrating to the soul level, a miraculous resilience!
This universe’s Clark Kent should be powerfully unmatched.
Otherwise.
That wouldn’t be Kryptonian philosophy!
“Uh……”
The face of this universe’s God of Man flashed extreme unnatural awkwardness; he forced two dry laughs, voice sounding a bit floaty.
“Heh… hehehe… this… um… once back, I’ll have Bruce do a full body check for you. He has all the equipment, definitely can… uh… help you sort your condition.” Clark tried steering the topic to seemingly scientific rigor to cover the absurdity racing through his mind.
Hearing this, Injustice Superman didn’t respond to the checkup suggestion. He just looked at Clark again, slowly and profoundly.
That look seemed to say: “Checkup? You think that’s the point? You think the core issue of my current state can be checked with medical equipment?”
This one glance contained too much information.
Silence descended again, only the roar of breaking atmosphere.
After a long time.
Just as Earth’s blue filled the entire view, Injustice Superman spoke again, voice still hoarse but with a new near-resigned calm.
“You didn’t truly defeat him, that golden… you and me.” Injustice Superman continued, gaze toward the deep universe as if piercing space to see the escaped Golden Superman.
“He just retreated temporarily. He’ll come back… to settle the true victor with you. To prove his ‘perfection,’ or… just to end you, the biggest ‘anomaly.’”
“The Supreme Alliance leader’s brainwashing ability on all Clarks is nearly irresistible.” This already held the info; Injustice Superman dared not say that name.
His words were like a cold stone into Clark’s heart. Not a threat, but precise judgment from one of the same origin, with Superman’s wisdom and obsession.
“Yeah.”
Clark also understood “himself.”
That battle was far from over.
“You have to help us understand this Supreme Alliance you mentioned.” Clark stared at the Ian-captured Injustice Superman; his voice wasn’t a question but a firm statement.
Injustice Superman didn’t speak.
Just looked to the starry sky.
When Superman descended to Earth with Ian.
His super vision caught some anomalies.
In some corner.
A familiar shadow flowed.
Golden Superman floated in absolute shadow, like a necrotic node of the universe where even the faintest photons were greedily devoured. His galaxy-illuminating golden glow had fully retracted, clinging to his skin as a thin, tough idealistic barrier, stubbornly resisting the omnipresent shadow corrosion and ceaseless maddening whispers.
That was The Batman Who Laughs’ murmuring poem.
Before him, the densest shadow roiled like boiling asphalt, stretching, finally condensing into a twisting, formless terror face. No features, only countless tiny wriggling dark tendrils and a huge cracking mouth opening and closing in silent mad laughter.
Eerily extreme scene; the laughter didn’t travel through air but exploded directly in his mind’s depths, like ten thousand rusty needles scraping his soul.
“This universe’s Superman is off; he may have joined some outer universe.” Golden Superman’s view aligned with Darkseid’s; he didn’t know to whom he spoke, nor got response—just shadows roiled, passing a huge metal box to him.
This box had odd shape, material neither gold nor iron, surface covered in ever-changing incomprehensible geometric patterns seemingly rewriting surrounding space and logic concepts.
“You want me to use outer universe power against outer universe power?” Golden Superman’s brows locked tight; his brilliant gaze pierced the conceptual metal shell instantly.
He saw what the box contained.
Not from any universe he knew; outer universe aura was exceptionally thick.
