Chapter 233: Ian’s Grand Ambition!
Tiga’s voice echoed in the alley.
Just like many other “new immigrants” who had appeared here before. However, it must be said that Tiga lived up to being Tiga; his emotions were perhaps the most stable among them.
Even though his debt situation was even more outrageous than that of the other “new immigrants.”
In comparison.
As for Golden Superman in his human form, his emotions were not as suitable for romance as Tiga’s.
After hearing Tiga’s words, a bad premonition rose in his heart, and he immediately looked at his wristwatch, hurriedly checking his debt situation.
【Total debt: 5,000,030,000 energy coins】
Five… over five billion?!!!
Golden Superman’s vision went black, and he nearly followed in Darkseid’s footsteps.
“No! I didn’t even reach out my hand to you! How did you apply for this astronomical loan for me?! And even with usury, you should at least let me receive some funds to set up the trap, right?” Golden Superman seemed very familiar with usury; he pointed at Wolverine Logan, his voice changing pitch.
Greatly shocked.
In response, Wolverine Logan was stunned for a moment, then looked deeply at Tiga with his weather-beaten eyes, and then at Golden Superman.
That gaze carried a complex pity that the two could not yet fully understand.
“This isn’t usury; it’s for the things you took without permission—considered stealing—from Earth’s humans that rightfully belonged to the Sole God Ian.”
“On this matter, compensation plus repayment is naturally required, right?” Wolverine Logan seemed to have received prior notice; after all, Ian was now watching this extra dimension.
To be honest.
Ian wasn’t the type who truly disregarded reason and exploited everyone he saw; he was indeed angry. The light he had obtained from his human kin through his own efforts.
Why had Golden Superman and Tiga, especially Tiga, used so much of it? They hadn’t contributed any effort; they had purely come to intercept Ian’s “labor income.”
Anyone who reasons knows how to judge this.
“But… our powers have already been sealed and taken by him now, haven’t they?” Golden Superman frowned, feeling somewhat in the wrong while also thinking the accounting didn’t add up.
In response, Wolverine just bit down on his cigar and took a heavy drag; he didn’t answer Golden Superman’s question about the loan, instead abruptly changing the subject.
“Don’t ask me about this. My task is to handle new population registration and arrange your work.” He pointed outside the alley and spoke seriously.
“Now, follow me.”
With that, Wolverine raised one hand, slowly revealing his newly replaced and purchased “steel claws,” which looked much better in “effects” and appearance than his original version.
It had the light pollution effect of a pay-to-win mobile game.
Obviously.
Enforcers like Wolverine, Ian’s most useful lackeys, also had malls similar to those for new immigrants. Wolverine supervised with his eyes while keeping his other hand in his pocket, as if ready to pull out something at any moment—ever since Ian entered the Time Variance Authority, the extra dimension’s enforcement department had gained some useful equipment.
Don’t misunderstand; Ian wasn’t practicing the same “take without permission” philosophy as Tiga and Golden Superman. In the outer dimensions, he possessed authority equivalent to that of a “Creator”; as long as he had enough magic power, he could whip up any “copy” he wanted with his own imagination.
“…”
“…”
Facing Wolverine’s attitude, Golden Superman and Tiga exchanged a glance, both seeing helplessness and resignation in each other’s eyes. In this completely unfamiliar dimension with bizarre rules, resisting an apparent “official” representative who could pop steel claws from his fingers was clearly not wise.
After all, neither Golden Superman nor Tiga could stand tall now; both were reckless types with no real fighting skills.
Realizing this.
The two silently stood up and followed Wolverine out of the alley.
This compliant attitude surprised Wolverine somewhat; he mumbled around his cigar, “Tsk, you’re the most law-abiding of the recent batches of new immigrants.”
Golden Superman and Tiga heard this.
Their hearts were bitter.
But what could they say? They could only exchange bitter smiles.
The two were originally lawful, upright hero figures; however, the biggest problem now… was that this world’s rules didn’t seem like those of a heroic world!
Following Wolverine out of the dark alley, outside was a bizarrely dazzling “city” street. Various oddly shaped flying vehicles floated in the sky.
Some like teapots, some like slippers; the pedestrians on the streets were equally strange, with winged mutants and mushroom-headed musclemen.
In comparison.
Tiga, this “suit actor,” didn’t seem so out of place.
At most, passing creatures gave him extra glances, commenting things like “He must have eaten rare mushrooms” or “I’m going out to step on mushrooms for luck tomorrow.”
“This way.”
Wolverine led the two new immigrants to what looked like a 1940s vintage police car.
It was called a police car, but it looked somewhat comical; the tires were rainbow-colored, and the roof light was a constantly rotating lollipop.
“Get in, back seat.” Logan opened the driver’s door, gesturing for them to sit in the back—there was a sturdy metal grille in front of the back seats, clearly configured for transporting prisoners!
The crackling electric arcs flashing on it were sticking their tongues out at the two outside, clearly the type that would save on hair styling costs if touched.
Golden Superman didn’t want an afro.
Tiga had no hair to curl.
The two exchanged glances again and silently opened the back door, sitting in the “paddy wagon.”
The police car emitted a music box-like siren, then wobbled into the air, flying toward the “outskirts” direction on the city’s edge.
“So, the tires are just decoration?”
Riding in the flying car, Golden Superman couldn’t help but complain. Maybe he really was suited for a complaint alien antenna on his head to absorb complaint energy and convert it into imaginative power hair.
Wolverine responded with his aloofness, ignoring it; along the way, Golden Superman and Tiga saw more scenes that shattered their worldviews through the barred windows.
Street lamps that danced on their own.
Fluffy cloud houses like marshmallows that also sneezed, housing little people whose daily job was to wipe the face of that grinning sun.
That counted as civil servants.
Even more outrageous things came later: a river flowing not with water, but bubbling orange juice; creatures like playing card soldiers watering a tree with money leaves.
A genuine money tree.
“I feel like this world…” Golden Superman finally couldn’t hold back, complaining to the silent Tiga beside him; “It’s just like when I was little on the farm in Kansas, accidentally eating undercooked wild mushrooms—the world I saw was filled with unreal absurdity and color.”
No sooner had he spoken.
Than the driving Wolverine Logan actually responded; he glanced at Golden Superman through the rearview mirror and said, “You like eating fungi? We have plenty in the wild; some summon little people to dance with you, but others turn you into a dwarf. Of course, if you’re lucky, you can become Snow White.”
Logan’s tone was flat, as if introducing local specialties.
Golden Superman: “…”
Tiga: “…”
Though the Ultraman had no expression, his eyes flickered; the two silently exchanged glances again, both seeing deep powerlessness in each other’s eyes.
What a ghostly worldview.
So the mushroom people on the street earlier had really turned from eating mushrooms?
Such free race changes.
It was really hard to evaluate.
They were basically certain that this dimension’s master wanted to create a fairy tale universe, but due to his love for free improvisation to show “talent,” the world had veered somewhat from fairy tale elements—not quite dark fairy tales, but scenes Golden Superman couldn’t imagine even after eating fungi.
Silence.
Still silence.
The rainbow-tired police car carried Golden Superman and Tiga, flying over the bizarre city district and finally landing in a relatively “normal”-looking outskirts area.
If the city was a wild abstract oil painting, this was a somewhat crude pixel-style farm simulator scene. Large swaths of land were neatly divided into squares, planted with oddly shaped crops emitting faint energy fluctuations. “People” in uniform rough cloth work clothes, of various forms, were bent over laboring in the fields.
Among them were figures familiar to Tiga.
“Isn’t that Old Black Bei from the Land of Light?”
Tiga’s gaze locked on Belial.
He really couldn’t believe that the “debt lords” from the Land of Light, the major villains who often borrowed his power to fight, were also here and looked like a diligent old farmer.
No stirring up trouble, just endlessly toiling away.
“Run into a familiar face? Normal, don’t make a fuss.” Logan parked the car in front of a crude wooden house that looked like a warehouse-cum-office. At the wooden house door stood a tall, thin figure in foreman’s clothes, but with a ticking old-fashioned grandfather clock for a head—Clock Head.
Logan got out and nodded at Clock Head, concise.
“Two new ones, yours now. You know the rules.”
He liked acting aloof. Clock Head’s clock face turned to Logan; the minute and hour hands twitched slightly, emitting a dull “tick” as response.
Logan said no more, turning toward the farm’s other side, where there seemed to be a mine entrance; his cigar-biting figure soon vanished into the darkness.
This guy was obviously going to find his brother Sabretooth, also here for “labor reform.” After Logan left, Clock Head turned its “gaze” to the new arrivals Golden Superman and Tiga. Its metallic clock face showed no expression, but the scrutinizing intent was clear.
The markings on its clock face seemed able to focus.
That metallic clock face showed no expression, but the scrutinizing intent was clear. Just as it prepared to assign tasks per routine, suddenly, its entire clock body stiffened!
The pendulum stopped swinging, as if listening intently.
A humble emotion was vividly displayed on this Clock Head; it slightly lowered its clock face, as if listening to a direct decree from a supreme being.
This lasted about ten seconds.
When the pendulum resumed swinging, Clock Head’s attitude toward the two subtly changed. It first looked at Golden Superman, its clock hands pointing at the man.
“Your debt… the amount is excessively huge. Ordinary labor methods would likely not repay even a fraction in your lifetime.” Clock Head’s voice carried a metallic friction sound.
Golden Superman’s heart sank, a bad premonition rising.
Clock Head continued, “Here’s the plan: you go over there first.”
It pointed to a planting area where Ultron was spraying powder; Ultron had clearly upgraded some configs and could now serve as a drone.
“Follow them to learn basic planting and get familiar with the environment. Later… the Master has other arrangements for you.” Clock Head conveyed Ian’s arrangements to Golden Superman.
“Master?” Golden Superman caught the key word, his inner unease surging, “What arrangements does your Master… have for me?”
He was truly afraid!
Afraid that the Son of Superman from this universe, with his erratic thinking, would dig another bottomless pit for him! The previous loan and skill tree had nearly suffocated him.
However, his question sank like a stone in the ocean.
Clock Head’s hands shifted slightly, its tone flat: “You’ll know when the time comes.”
It certainly wouldn’t tell Golden Superman.
That his great “Master” recently envied worlds with nine Golden Crows, so he brewed a shocking grand blueprint—the great Master would collect nine different models and attributes of Supermen, hang them in the sky as nine suns! To realize his “eternal daylight” glorious vision!
“As long as it’s not making me do prostitution or something… it’ll be fine.” This was Golden Superman’s worry, unaware that Ian actually had limits.
Filled with doubts and a strong ominous premonition, Golden Superman took the rusty hoe from Clock Head and walked to the designated field, looking back every few steps. Watching Golden Superman leave, Clock Head then turned its “gaze” to the silently standing Ultraman Tiga.
“As for you…” Clock Head’s hands swept over Tiga, its voice carrying a hint of… indescribable meaning? “The Master has other arrangements for you too.”
It gestured for Tiga to follow to a separate, sturdier stone cabin beside the wooden house.
“Obviously.” Clock Head said as they walked, its metallic tone hinting at “you got lucky,” “The Master thinks highly of you.”
Tiga: “…”
He really didn’t feel any fondness from the guy who sent him to this century.
Clock Head kept talking.
“So, even though you previously… well, ‘scammed’ the Master once, he magnanimously offers you a very meaningful job that’s beneficial for both you and the Master.”
With that, Clock Head pushed open the thick stone door.
The stone cabin’s interior was small, with extremely simple furnishings—almost austere. The most striking sight was a strangely shaped “throne” in the room’s center.
The thing was dark gold throughout, with a complex and majestic structure, tall backrest and wide armrests; the backrest seemed carved with incomprehensible runes.
The overall style blended dark Gothic with some interstellar empire tech sense, very similar to the wheelchair Batman now sat in, faintly echoing the golden throne binding the Emperor in Warhammer 40K.
“This is…”
Tiga sent a puzzled telepathic message.
Clock Head walked to the throne, its hands pointing at it: “Few know that our world, besides this ‘superpower continent’ you see and the neighboring ‘monster playground,’ recently naturally ‘grew’ a third continent.”
Its voice carried mystery: “However, that continent has some… ‘minor’ issues; the energy field is extremely unstable, filled with decaying, despairing resentment that erodes normal minds. So the Master used great power to temporarily hide it; we call it internally—the Land of the Hidden Gods.”
“Now, that place needs you.” Clock Head gestured for Tiga to sit on the golden throne.
“Needs me?”
Tiga hesitated.
But considering his massive debt and his current extremely weak state after just reviving and having the intercepted light taken, he seemed to have little choice.
His huge body slowly sat on the icy cold throne that seemed tailor-made for him.
And the instant he sat steady—
Buzz!!!
An indescribable, cold and vast consciousness stream, like a bursting flood, surged through the throne into his core! He felt as if he instantly crossed countless spaces, projecting his senses into a gray, dead world filled with endless despair and wails of pain!
That was the so-called “Land of the Hidden Gods”!
A corner as if abandoned by all hope!
“Here… hope is no more.”
“But fortunately, I have a premonition that hope once existed in this world, so…” Tiga’s instinct was triggered; then, the despair energy permeating that ruined world—enough to drive any being mad—began surging toward Tiga on the throne like rivers to the sea.
These energies, upon touching Tiga’s body, met some natural purifier.
Tiga’s essence as the “underworld sixth.”
Even severely weakened, it still worked.
That filthy negative despair energy, passing through his body, was forcibly converted and purified into relatively pure, warm light representing hope and rebirth!
This newborn “light of hope” split into three parts.
One part, relatively weak, flowed back along the link to the Land of the Hidden Gods, like sweet rain nourishing the parched despairing land, bringing new life to the world.
“I see…” Tiga felt the faint but real warm flow in his body, and the emptiness from most of his labor results being taken.
Gradually understanding everything.
“I wasn’t completely stripped of talent like that human （Golden Superman） because this ability of mine can be useful here…”
Helping a ruined world.
Was much easier for Tiga to accept.
Moreover, beyond that, he wasn’t too depressed; after all, the other had given him a little “sweetener,” preventing immediate “lights out and death.”
Another part of the light, also not much, stayed in Tiga’s body, slowly replenishing his nearly depleted energy core, easing his weakness slightly.
Realizing what he needed to do, Tiga also gained insight—this might be the “reward” promised by that boy Ian Kent.
As for the other part, the majority of the light, Tiga couldn’t trace where it went; after passing through his body, it strangely evaporated without a trace!
Compared to his earlier anxiety, now aware he was saving a ruined universe, Tiga felt more curiosity: where had most of the “light of hope” he converted gone?
Note that this light differed from the previously intercepted light; its nature was very pure, more like symbolic mental energy, hard to directly convert to powerful divine power.
So.
What special use did the boy have for that big share he took?
…
While Tiga was curious and confused.
At the same time.
On the reality level outside the extra dimension, Ian Kent was comfortably lying on his legendary luxurious bed imported from Hell, with countless invisible demon hands providing massage services.
He enjoyed the emperor-level relaxation while video calling his “secretary” Madison, who was stubbornly trying to hide gold in factory walls, via mobile phone.
“Yes, yes, Madison, my good friend.” Ian faced the screen, his face glowing with “noble” light, “You must understand the great significance of our endeavor!”
“Perhaps you don’t know how much children’s light that suit-wearing giant owes; anyway, just know Master Ian doesn’t like to lie.”
“Now we’re doing good deeds, helping him fulfill his past unkept promises! We’re saving children’s dreams!”
“We’re heroes!”
“So, please work overtime tonight; overtime pay is plenty. Contact those Hollywood big directors you know; we want to shoot a truly thought-provoking advertisement.”
“Right, the ‘Childhood Guardian Series’ sparkle sticks we’re launching soon; materials must be eco-friendly and biodegradable.”
“Not a tax issue; it’s about green and safe… After all, the UN is calling for it; for the Nobel Environment Prize, I can love the environment too.”
“Back to the ad: you’re the pros in Hollywood; I have just one request—focus on America’s school violence and shooting tragedies!”
Ian’s eyes sparkled.
Talking eloquently.
“Learn from the rifle association’s rhetorical mastery! Make those parents realize America’s current crisis!”
“Let them see that what they’re buying for their kids isn’t just a toy sparkle stick, but a safety guarantee! In danger, it lets the child instantly become a Mini Ultraman—guardian and hope!”
“Yes! Ad copy just like I said: ‘When the alarm sounds, when danger comes, your child deserves a light of their own!'”
“Price… set at $199.99 monthly rental! Sentiment and security, priceless!” After fluently arranging all this, Ian hung up satisfied. He yawned hugely, flipped over under the gentle massage of countless invisible hands, hugged his custom pillow printed with “I am the reason,” and fell peacefully asleep.
Despite so much happening.
It still wasn’t dawn yet.
So he planned a nap.
“Snore… snore…”
Even snoring soon started.
But just before fully drifting into deep sleep, a thought flashed in his mind.
“Hmm… did I… forget something?”
Like family ties.
Meanwhile, in Metropolis, amid the ruins of St. Caesar’s Church.
The night wind whistled, making the broken stained glass window frames creak.
Damian Wayne, forgotten here and still tightly bound to the pillar, shivered uncontrollably, feeling like snot was about to freeze out. He looked up at the sparse stars, then at Jonathan and Jordan Kent beside him, also bound and with lifeless expressions.
“Are we… supposed to stay here a whole night? Or more than one?” The young master of the Wayne family finally spoke up after realizing their situation.
He, Jordan, and Jonathan had been tied up hanging here for a long time.
As if forgotten by the world.
The three looked like abandoned puppies in the cold wind.
“I feel like Ian, Old Man, and Uncle Bruce teamed up for a setup just to teach us some lesson.” This was Jordan’s super brain conclusion.
Just what the parents wanted to teach them, his super brain hadn’t figured out yet.
“…”
The oldest and most mature Jonathan had few thoughts, just staying silent, looking up at the night view outside the broken window.
He hadn’t seen 4 a.m. in Los Angeles.
But 4 a.m. in Seattle, he saw today with his good brothers.
