Chapter 189: Ancient Emperor! Dark King!
The Joker Batman exploded with equipment.
That metal box looked extremely eerie; merely its existence caused ripples in the Golden Superman’s radiant barrier all around him, as if encountering a natural enemy.
“You’re asking me to use something from the outer universe against the outer universe. Are you sure this won’t cause bigger problems?” Golden Superman turned his head to look at the will in that shadow.
The laughter continued.
The distorted shadow face still did not answer.
But that silent laughter became even more unrestrained, with more dark tentacles wrapping around the metal box, pushing it forward a bit more, almost touching Golden Superman’s chest.
The laughter grew louder and louder, almost tearing at his sanity. Golden Superman closed his eyes, cold sweat seeping from his forehead—Kryptonians shouldn’t sweat, but this sweat was purely from mental pressure.
At the same time, a more massive, more corrupt dark energy began squeezing toward Golden Superman from all directions, and the volume of that mad whisper suddenly increased.
Like billions of vengeful spirits screaming in his mind, forcing him, tempting him.
“What the hell is this?”
Golden Superman’s heart began to waver silently once more.
He knew he had only two choices.
Either cling to that possibly already tainted “perfection,” gradually being assimilated and devoured by this shadow from inside and out. Or open the box, embrace this power from “outside” that could subvert everything, to fight against that Superman from his own universe who wielded the Darkness Sword and also seemed very “off.”
“…”
All Supermen always liked to hesitate.
Just like all Flashes always liked to be one step slow.
“No matter what it is, it’s too evil.” Golden Superman Kal-El’s gaze was like the most precise scanner, already piercing through that conceptual metal barrier to clearly see what was inside the box.
Very normal.
Golden Superman was a mid-to-high-end Superman in the DC universe.
Though he hadn’t reached the level of flagship Superman or super-flagship Superman, unable to name his organs things like Jesus Heart or Kunpeng 16-cylinder composite kidney. But he was still ultimately an idealism-level Superman; using super vision to see through a metal box was still easy.
Of course, “seeing clearly” and “understanding” were two different things. The form of that thing contrasted absurdly with the massive, ancient, dark, even terrifying aura he perceived, this contradictory feeling causing violent fluctuations in his brilliant idealism core, like a precision instrument injected with the wrong thing.
It would taint the sun in his heart, Golden Superman was very certain of that.
Precisely because of this.
He really resisted a bit, hovering in place, his brilliant gaze shifting back and forth between that metal box emanating an ominous aura and the endless, malicious darkness around it.
Golden Superman knew well that those darknesses were brought by the thing inside; as soon as he touched it, perhaps the sun in his heart would be converted into a black sun.
Hesitation spread in his heart like cold cosmic dust. Using this power of unknown origin and essence went against the absolute purity and idealism “justice” he pursued.
This in itself was a degradation, a betrayal of his own beliefs.
“I can’t do this. This universe’s Superman has fallen; that doesn’t mean I have to use degradation to fight degradation.” Just as Golden Superman hesitated but was already preparing to give up.
The face emerging from the shadow moved its mouth a few times.
The mad mutterings by his ear began to appear; the silent laughter from that distorted shadow suddenly changed into a more eerie, more penetrating whisper.
The shadow roiled, the whisper hissed. It was no longer mere noise but woven into some extremely tempting and logically convincing chain, directly striking at the weakest part of Golden Superman’s will.
No one knew what this voice said, except Golden Superman himself; that whisper from The Joker Batman was like Venom, seeping into every crevice of his mind.
Then came a long pause, as if time itself had frozen. Finally, the brilliant but no longer absolutely pure light in Golden Superman’s eyes suddenly fixed.
Sure enough, it was still Batman who knew how to tempt Superman.
The DC universe had always been like this.
He slowly, extremely heavily extended that hand which had once shone with endless light, pressing it onto the cold box lid with constantly distorting geometric patterns.
“For… the ultimate order and salvation.”
Golden Superman seemed to be convincing himself, his voice extremely dry.
The box lid slid open silently, with no expected energy burst, no strange phenomena; only a more solid, heart-palpitating “abnormality” spread out.
From the reflection in Golden Superman’s pupils, it could be seen that the box was lined with soft, light-absorbing dark velvet. And lying quietly on that velvet was a thing.
A very special thing.
A device Golden Superman couldn’t understand.
Like a toy.
At least at first glance, it resembled a cheap plastic toy from some children’s show. The entire device was about the size of a mobile phone, presenting an ominous, soul-absorbing matte black all over, with a simple even somewhat crude shape, inlaid in the middle with a dark red oval crystal like a solidified blood drop.
It emitted no powerful energy fluctuations, quiet as a dead object, forming an extreme contrast with the ancient, dark, terrifying outer box that was chilling to the bone.
“Hahaha~”
Golden Superman’s breathing grew heavier then paused slightly. That indestructible hand capable of holding up stars now hovered trembling slightly above the toy, hesitating to descend.
No way around it; his super vision, super perception, idealism power were all frantically warning him that the essence of this thing was absolutely not as harmless as its appearance.
It was a silent, highly condensed “darkness” from another universe system, an “evil” concept utterly different from any power he knew.
Perhaps only The Joker Batman knew why it appeared here, and why it was stuffed into this box like delivering an ordinary package and sent before Golden Superman.
His whisper echoed in Golden Superman’s ears once more.
Still undetectable, inaudible to any sixth ear.
Anyway, talk therapy worked wonders on Golden Superman.
“I understand.”
Golden Superman’s hovering fingers finally curled slightly; his eyes became extremely complex, with fear, resistance, but ultimately all covered by a desperate, twisted “resolve.”
To defeat that “abnormal” Superman, for the future and outcome of the entire multiverse, he knew he might have to grasp this toy-like darkness from another universe.
Sacrificing just himself.
Necessary sacrifice was worthwhile.
“I know you’re using me, but… I have my own plans.” Golden Superman’s fingertips finally touched that cold, silent object.
And the moment of contact.
“Bzzz!!!”
An indescribable tremor, like the absolute silence at the universe’s birth being forcibly torn apart, erupted fiercely from that toy-like object!
Not deafening, but a deathly roar directly acting on the soul’s depths!
Profoundly deep, viscous like liquid darkness light, like breaking free from a billion-year prison cage, madly surged out from that dark red crystal!
It wasn’t a power to destroy everything, but a “living” darkness, surging like viscous tides, carrying whispers and fragments of illusions that instantly swallowed Golden Superman.
His golden radiance struggled violently in the darkness, but Golden Superman actively silenced the radiance, and the gold was then like a candle in the wind, completely enveloped and submerged in the blink of an eye.
Endless radiance was the best nutrient for this power.
“Looks like this transformation has no way back.” Golden Superman’s body stiffened in place, his eyes suddenly lost focus, yet countless images reflected deep in his pupils.
He stood in Kansas wheat fields, Jonathan and Martha smiling and waving to him; he was in the Daily Planet office, his Lois turning to smile at him; he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Justice League teammates, no one questioning, no one fearing… that was his “ordinary life” he could no longer reclaim.
The darkness attached to Golden Superman’s body.
To change him into another form of life.
If there was truly someone with a discerning eye here witnessing this, seeing that toy taken from the metal box, they would definitely recognize what The Joker Batman sent.
Actually.
That was no toy at all.
It was the Sparkle Stick.
The core of the ultra-ancient dark giant’s power.
The ultimate darkness capable of converting all light into silence.
…
Solar System.
On the planet most suitable for life to thrive.
Clark Kent carried his lively “surprise” in one hand and the parallel universe’s suspected “pregnant husband” isotope in the other, streaking through Earth’s atmosphere like a meteor.
He habitually glanced toward Metropolis—thank goodness, though some building glass was shattered, the city’s overall structure was intact and hadn’t become the main battlefield again.
Clark knew it was immoral to relax now, but his body clearly had its own ideas, still sighing slightly in relief, then adjusting direction to dive toward the already ruined New York reduced to rubble.
Smoke and dust filled the air; former bustling streets now littered with debris, twisted metal, and house remnants, the air mixed with acrid gunpowder and faint blood scent.
However, the most shocking sight wasn’t the city’s wounds, but the ground full of… all sorts of “Batmen.”
At least a dozen corpses in different styles of bat battle suits but undoubtedly all Batmen, lying in ruins in various gruesome ways. Some had necks twisted by giant force, with a terrifying puncture wound in the battle suit chest; some charred black as if carbonized by extreme voltage, others torn into pieces by raw power.
Among these.
Mixed with some Batmen isotopes.
But the most were the clones Batman himself made.
Clark really found this scene hard to evaluate; before he could say anything, Ian struggled like an eel a few times and broke free from his hand.
The youth pounced at lightning speed toward the nearest “Batman” corpse.
“Uncle Bruce! You died so miserably!!!”
He wailed sincerely, pouncing on a corpse with a big hole in the chest, even squeezing out two tears. But the next second, he darted to another torn-apart corpse.
“Oh! No! This Uncle Bruce died even more miserably! Heaven envies talent! Died young!” His voice was even more grief-stricken; those who didn’t know would think he was a child raised by Bruce since childhood.
Ian’s dramatics weren’t without reason; while wailing, he swiftly and skillfully stuffed several relatively “intact” Batman corpses into his bottomless dimensional pocket. The other end was an extra dimension only Ian could open.
His movements were so fast they left afterimages.
Knowing his son best, Superman, well aware Ian definitely had some scheme, didn’t accuse him of secretly hiding corpses, just twitched his mouth corner.
His gaze passed this eerie “corpse collection” scene, toward the ruins center, looking at that still alive Batman Bruce Wayne sitting in a wheelchair not far away.
No doubt.
This wheelchair survivor was Bruce Wayne’s main body; he was putting someone in a black tight battle suit into some device emitting pale blue energy field, looking like a special prison cage. Batman’s movements were slow, still using psykers to assist in the containment.
His battle suit was damaged in many places, exposed jawline tense, clearly having gone through a hard fight.
Seeing Bruce’s actions and the Batman corpses everywhere, Clark gently placed the still vacant-eyed, lifeless Injustice Superman on a relatively intact broken wall.
“You’re touching on taboo attempts, Bruce.” He stepped over, footsteps heavy, voice low, carrying disapproval and a hint of hard-to-detect worry.
Creating and consuming clones like this far exceeded certain bottom lines Bruce set for himself.
Batman didn’t turn back,
Focused on locking the prison cage’s final insurance; the instruments on the wheelchair emitted a slight buzz.
“This at least reduced a lot of… unnecessary ‘real’ casualties.” His voice through the mask carried post-battle fatigue and usual cold hardness.
The air instantly fell silent.
Only Ian’s sounds registering numbers for each Batman corpse.
And the wind wailing through the ruins.
At this time, footsteps came. Wonder Woman Diana supported the seriously injured Aquaman Arthur and his wife Mera, laboriously walking from another pile of ruins.
She carefully placed the Aquaman couple on a huge concrete pier, then straightened up, looking at Clark.
“I think Bruce is right, Clark. You might not know how powerful, how… mad this enemy’s been.” Wonder Woman Diana’s beautiful face bore bruises and scrapes. As she spoke, her gaze also turned to the figure just locked in the cage, eyes full of wariness.
“This guy calls himself Teth-Adam.”
Wonder Woman explained to Superman, tone grave, “Claims we should kneel to welcome back this emperor of his, accept his so-called ‘justice’ rule.”
This speech sounded familiar to Ian.
Since every time he saw the Aquaman couple, they looked half-dead, and Ian who was suggesting they buy more accident insurance immediately zipped his mouth.
“I know, I know, desert black chicken, Black Adam.”
Writers love showing off their knowledge, and Ian was no exception, but his words made Wonder Woman and the Aquaman couple couldn’t help exchanging a glance.
“Why is your son speaking from his belly? Did he gain the power of the Eastern war god Chiyou?” Finally, Queen Mera, less familiar with Ian, couldn’t help asking.
“…”
Clark’s forehead gained a few black lines.
“You can tear off the tape on your mouth now.”
He knew Ian wouldn’t bother family when annoying others.
Hearing this.
Ian, as an obedient child, followed his father’s oracle.
“No, my head is the main body; I can’t be Chiyou. Anyway, this guy really was an emperor in history—oh right, did this old antique promise to make you all great generals?”
Ian couldn’t help asking with his mouth.
In the cage, the unconscious Black Adam seemed stimulated by the title, suddenly letting out a low, beast-like roar, a remnant black lightning bursting around him, slamming hard into the pale blue force field, causing ripples but unable to break out. He glared viciously toward Ian.
However, the power restraints let him only roar impotently.
“Black Adam… ancient pharaoh king…” Superman in thought had already gleaned some info from the other’s mind; his gaze swept over the body in the cage full of ancient power and violent aura.
“You guys actually… defeated him?” Clark’s surprise was genuine; he could clearly feel the other’s divine power fluctuations vast as an abyss.
Hearing this, Batman on the wheelchair remained silent, just operating the wheelchair to turn direction, starting to check the force field generator readings from when Black Adam was provoked by Ian earlier.
This Justice League elder didn’t speak.
But Wonder Woman this elder was a bit unhappy.
Women, after all.
Always more sensitive.
Especially those days every month.
“Do you think that without you Clark Kent for a few seconds, Justice League can only get wiped out? We’re warriors too, Clark!”
She straightened her back, despite full-body pain, raised her chin, tone clearly displeased.
On the other side, Aquaman who just pressed a handprint on Ian’s scribble-like “insurance contract” grinned and clutched his wound in agreement: “Right, Clark! We’re not your exclusive cheer squad! We’re strong too! Hiss… just this guy’s fists are really hard…”
He accidentally tugged his wound, drawing in cold air.
Clark was speechless, realizing his words might be misunderstood, hurriedly waved: “No, that’s not what I meant. I just… Bruce’s call was too urgent, I thought…”
He paused; his super brain told him it might get worse, so wisely shifted topic, walking to Batman’s wheelchair, looking thoughtfully at Black Adam in the cage.
“I feel his power… somewhat similar to Shazam.” Superman carefully sensed, “But stronger than the Billy we know… more… ancient, and more violent.”
Hearing this.
Batman without lifting head tapped the cage’s energy pillar with his metal-gloved fingers, making a crisp sound.
“You think this custom prison cage, I just handcrafted on site?” His voice was flat, as if stating something Superman shouldn’t doubt.
Obviously.
This thing was originally prepared for Shazam, just slightly adjusted, ultimately used on Black Adam. Batman proved once more with facts that his preparedness wasn’t mental illness.
“…”
Clark was a bit speechless.
Fine, he should have thought of it. Batman prepared countless contingency plans even against teammates; having one or two thousand cages specifically for Shazam was reasonable.
Basic operation.
Clark chuckled awkwardly at Batman’s overly frank “preparedness,” but soon restrained his smile, expression serious again.
“But inside him there’s something much darker than Shazam’s divine power should have.” Superman’s gaze pierced the cage, as if seeing deeper things.
As his words fell, Black Adam in the cage seemed to sense something, suddenly lifting his head, a pure scarlet glare inhumanly flashing in his eyes.
“You defeated me, but you can’t defeat my nightmare… believe me, the nightmare will take you all.” Black Adam whispered softly, like a curse or stating his believed truth.
The entire cage’s force field instantly flickered unstably.
Emitting overloaded beeping.
Batman’s hand on the instruments paused instantly, gaze under the mask sharpening.
“Yes, this is what I meant by encountering a little situation, needing you back—accurately, needing the expert on this issue brought back by you.”
With Batman’s cold but info-heavy words, his finger wrapped in broken armor precisely pointed to a sneaky figure in the ruins corner.
Clark showed no surprise or obstruction, just silently stepping aside to clear the view. He knew better than anyone that when problems involved this utterly deviant outer universe stuff, his quirky-minded, unfathomable son might be the true “authority.”
“What?”
Ian, named on the spot, startled with a jerk, nearly tossing the still-vibrating black box into his mouth. Not his fault for sudden panic.
Mainly, when Batman named him, he was fully focused using mimicry fingers indistinguishable on screen position to rapidly tap on the black box.
This was of course messaging someone.
Ian was in heated discussion with his Gotham diehard little fanboy ID 【I’m Really Not Second Generation Rich】 on using the ground “raw materials” to hold a “genuine, luxurious, limited edition funeral with real legal authorization for Batman—just like crosstalk needing a crosstalk family descendant enshrined.
Ian had reached preliminary consensus with his little fanboy on 50-50 profit split.
“Uh… that, I was listening, I’ve been listening.” Locked by Batman’s freezing gaze, Ian managed his expression at amazing speed.
He nonchalantly pocketed the black box into his dimensional pocket, even calmly patting non-existent dust from his hands, then walked toward the beeping alarm cage with a gait imitating his dad’s “god of man” righteous stride. Dad’s stride had its sayings.
No slow motion but better than slow motion.
“Alright, I get it. Leave it to me…” He cleared his throat, trying to sound more reliable. But this reliability didn’t last long.
Ian reached the cage, first tilting his head to look at the growling Black Adam inside like examining a novelty, then at the solemn crowd.
Finally his gaze fell on Batman’s grave face.
“No matter what happens tomorrow, Uncle Bruce, you must remember, your Uncle Ian came to save you all again!” He patted his own quite solid chest muscles.
Tone just like doing a health supplements ad.
“What uncle?!”
This sentence was like a depth charge, instantly exploding among the surviving Justice League members.
Wonder Woman’s eyes bulged instantly, looking at Ian then Batman, face full of “Did my hearing get damaged in the battle too?” disbelief. Aquaman who just bandaged his wound nearly slid off the concrete pier; Mera hurriedly supported her ever-unreliable husband.
Both had matching blankness.
The battered heroes instinctively huddled closer, exchanging shocked and confused looks, starting to whisper—anyway, their words had creator-level great power.
In this moment, on Earth, they created a fifth human race beyond the four major ones. See, Batman at this moment began evolving at speed surpassing Darwin.
His skin, especially his face, turned thoroughly liver-colored. Clark silently raised a hand to cover his eyes, shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly.
But he was a professional superhero.
Even in unusual situations.
He held it in better than other superheroes.
Red-faced Clark and liver-faced Bruce formed stark contrast here, just like their subtle relationship in the DC universe.
“Yes, that’s right; I’ve been telling the truth a lot lately.”
Ian successfully established his relationship with Batman in the Justice League organization; he glanced at the superheroes without super brain or not using it diligently—they hadn’t realized Ian’s seniority had invisibly become the highest in Justice League.
Strongly suppressing the urge to akimbo laugh, Ian turned his gaze to the buzzing, highly unstable energy cage. Without hesitation, like returning home, he lifted a foot and walked in.
That custom pale blue force field sufficient to bind divine power was like no obstacle to him, not even rippling as he passed.
Black Adam inside the cage was on the edge of frustration and rage.
Seeing a seemingly skinny youth walk in ignorantly, murderous light flashed in his eyes; like a cheetah, he lunged! That hand containing thunderous power instantly gripped toward Ian’s throat!
Got him!
Black Adam’s heart rejoiced, about to use this as hostage to threaten the troublesome heroes outside—however, the expected exclamations, stops, scruples didn’t happen.
The Justice League members outside showed no expression change. Wonder Woman just frowned slightly, seeming worried about something else; Aquaman scratched his still-painful wound; Mera checked Arthur’s bandages; and Batman… Batman’s face stayed that odd liver color.
But his eyes seemed… to carry a hint of pity?
Unexpected.
Utterly unexpected.
Even the most merciful Superman people spoke of didn’t care about kids as much as that Dark Knight; just as Black Adam felt puzzled by the scene contradicting his knowledge of modern heroes.
The eerie calm lasted a few seconds.
“Hey, hug one!”
Ian whose throat he gripped showed no suffocation.
Instead emitted a cheerful sound.
Next second, with “squish” sounds, Ian’s waist and back instantly “grew” six flexible arms and appendages made of some black symbiote material!
These limbs like having self-consciousness counter-wrapped at lightning speed! Two locked Black Adam’s throttling arms, two tightly hugged his bear waist, the rest directly coiled his thighs!
The sudden extra limbs caught the ancient king off guard; Ian like a huge, goodwill-filled octopus thoroughly hugged the shocked Black Adam tight.
The two almost face-to-face!
Furious Black Adam instinctively tightened his fingers; with a teeth-grinding “crack”—he precisely crushed Ian’s throat!
Got him!
Just as Black Adam thought this, it was instantly replaced by incredulous horror.
Because the Ian whose throat he crushed showed no painful fall; instead used that supposedly shattered vocal organ to emit a crystal-clear voice, even with a hint of teasing tone.
“Good grip strength.”
This even felt like a nice voice mentor’s critique.
People who hadn’t seen The Voice would get mad hearing it.
“Impossible!!” Black Adam roared deafeningly, trying to tear off this unshakable taffy, “What the hell are you?!”
He bellowed.
Ian’s ears were callused from this rumor.
“As you see, I’m a pure human.” His tone relaxed, like introducing a common species, with a hint of disdain: “Don’t look at me with that worldly-naive gaze; us Earthlings all know a common sense—human life’s most important organ is the heart!”
Hearing this.
Black Adam’s already dark face darkened more.
“What does that have to do with crushing your throat?”
He gritted out.
Ian patiently “explained,” like teaching a dim child: “Heart is a good place, so I prepared ahead, slightly moved my precious voice box to safely protect inside my heart. What you crushed just now was a useless external decorative Adam’s apple.”
“Of course you can’t crush my real ‘voice box.'”
“Got it?”
That last syllable.
Ian showed off his ancient Egyptian language proficiency.
“Nonsense!!” This absurd logic was so strong Black Adam momentarily didn’t know how to retort, left with impotent rage.
He suddenly erupted divine power.
One thick arm brutally broke free of the symbiote bind; the tightly gripped fist wrapped in terrifying black lightning smashed toward Ian’s defenseless chest with mountain-splitting force!
“Bang!!!”
A muffled sound, Ian’s chest caved in a huge pit violating laws of physics, as if all internal structure was pulverized by this punch.
【Berserker Experience Points+98】
Black Adam panted roughly, a cruel glee flashing in his eyes. He believed no matter where this monster hid organs, taking a divine power punch straight to the heart area was certain death!
However.
Facts are always cruel.
Ian looked down at his caved chest, then up, face still ruddy and glowing, even with post-exercise healthy flush.
“Uh… thanks for the help? Lately felt chest stuffy; your punch cleared it right up, meridians all open hey!” Ian felt this wave’s experience points harvest was good.
“?????”
Black Adam was numb.
He looked at Ian’s collapsed chest, then the other’s ruddy face and bright eyes; an absurd, scalp-numbing thought gradually formed in his ancient wisdom-filled brain.
Black Adam just had “black” in name, didn’t mean his brain was a black brain; this ancient emperor gradually understood those superheroes’ reactions.
“Didn’t expect it, right? I moved my heart to my throat! Hehe, perfectly dodged main damage! Human physiology is just so wondrous and survival-driven!”
Seeing Ian speak again.
Black Adam’s teeth ground.
“I… will… kill… you!!!”
Black Adam’s teeth ground creakingly, nearly crushing all his teeth; extreme anger temporarily suppressed the inner dark power’s agitation.
In this instant of his consciousness fluctuating violently from rage—Ian’s eyes flashed, seizing the fleeting chance!
He jerked his head back, then used that forehead seemingly exceeding common hardness like a battering ram, solidly and fiercely slamming into Black Adam’s forehead!
“Dong!!!”
The ancient king welcomed the most caught-off-guard, most frustrating consciousness invasion of his life.
