Chapter 238: Superman Falls From The Sky, Furious And Ferocious
Curiosity is the nature of a child.
Eldest brothers are no exception.
Jordan is a seasoned underachiever, Damian is a rebellious second generation rich who doesn’t know if women are pretty or not, and Jonathan, who should be very popular with the school cheerleaders, is a fitness tech player whose muscles outweigh beauty, and even manual release has to pick a good day when cortisol is high to regulate cortisol.
Women?
Women will affect Jonathan’s muscle synthesis, and might even cause muscle loss. If his orientation in this regard shifts, who knows if it’s influenced by such thoughts.
Three little southern Chus gathered together, full of curiosity about the “female angel” statue. They didn’t know that this seemingly abandoned “angel” with bursting pecs was about to drag them into another unexpected trouble far beyond their comprehension.
“This statue is so perfectly round… I mean, so exquisite.” Jordan was, after all, a player who had suppressed showing off for years, and he spoke poetically, correcting himself in time but still couldn’t help reaching out to touch it.
As for where he touched, it was naturally that spot on many scenic statues that gets rubbed bald. Jordan even felt a trace of warmth, though he wasn’t sure if it was an illusion.
But he knew he might get mocked, so he didn’t dare mention his discovery. As for Jordan’s oddity, Jonathan and Damian hadn’t noticed yet.
The two of them were staring in surprise at the statue that had suddenly raised its head.
“This statue was looking down just now, right?”
“Yeah, I remember it felt like it was covering its face crying. How did it suddenly look up?”
“Maybe we remembered wrong… What’s it called when collective memory shifts? Satmother effect?” Damian clearly seemed like a “knowledgeable” person.
“I think it’s called the Dracula effect.” Jonathan, a sports student preparing for an American football special admission path, was culturally on par with Damian.
Three underachievers together, and not one got the Mandela effect’s name right. Of course, underachievers playing together, no one cared about such things.
“Anyway, this statue is really artistic and looks valuable. If we can find a channel, it might sell for a high price.” Jonathan rubbed his chin appraisingly, subconsciously looking at Damian. This Gotham young master definitely knew plenty of tycoons who liked collecting such artwork.
“I get it.”
Damian seemed unusually “on board” at the moment. On that face usually full of rebellion and defiance in the Batcave, there actually appeared a bit of the seriousness belonging to a “reliable partner.”
“Big Brother Jonathan, leave this to me. It’ll definitely sell.” Damian’s emotional intelligence was maxed out; his rebellion seemed to only appear back home in Gotham.
Once away from that environment.
He instead showed an ability honed by family upbringing, excelling at handling social graces.
“…”
Jonathan hadn’t been thinking of reselling someone else’s stuff; he just wanted to know the approximate value from Damian. He was left somewhat speechless by Damian’s eagerness.
Damian was completely oblivious.
He was still showing off his social graces. Seeing Jordan unable to let go of the statue, constantly gazing at it in awe and even reaching out to stroke its cool, smooth stone surface, this Gotham young master proactively leaned in, lowered his voice, and said in a secretive tone.
“Brother Jordan, I heard… that madman Joker somehow got a real angel! He’s keeping it in one of his safehouses and messing with it every day!”
“How about it? Let’s find an opportunity to steal it! Stealing from Joker definitely doesn’t count as crime, right? This is… removing harm for the people, and conveniently confiscating trophies!”
A slyness not befitting a legitimate heir appeared on Damian’s face.
“Doesn’t count as crime?”
Jonathan couldn’t help interjecting as the conversation grew more outrageous. His simple three views from the Kansas farm made him feel that even robbing property from a criminal like Joker was essentially a crime. After all, you can’t ignore a criminal’s human rights just because they’re a criminal.
Jonathan was the one whose three views were closest to Clark’s.
English fruit super.
In response, Gotham young master Damian had a different view. He glanced at Jonathan with a “you’re still too young” look, then patted his chest and assured confidently.
“Relax! Just like every state has its own law, Gotham does too! Gotham has its own laws!” His tone was certain, as if stating a fact.
Perhaps it really was a fact.
“My evil tycoon old man, when he was amending the relevant legal clauses, I was right there watching! The clause clearly states: Seizing dangerous or high-value items illegally held by confirmed supervillains, for ‘proper storage’ or ‘resource reuse,’ is legal behavior!”
Good grief.
Watching his own old man write laws at home.
What a niche entertainment activity.
Hearing this “Gotham crown prince” say with his own mouth that “Gotham has its own constitution” and that he’d personally witnessed his father amending laws, Jonathan opened his mouth, feeling his worldview massively shaken. He had a bellyful of things to say about the majesty of law and procedural justice.
What could he say?
America is like this; this is America’s freedom and democracy. If you don’t boil the people, how can it be called a democratic society?
Jonathan, increasingly aware of America society, swallowed the complaints about to spill out, turning it into a complex look and silent acquiescence.
This country shouldn’t be like this.
Something made Jonathan feel blocked and unspeakable—he suddenly recalled Ian’s proposal after failing to bewitch Lois and then coming to bewitch him.
Whether everything could change in time depended on who was sitting in the White House. Recalling Ian’s bewitchment again, Jonathan had to admit Ian’s words might have some reason.
“If there’s a president who can make America truly great once…” Jonathan’s heart was complex, compared to Jonathan who cared about legal majesty.
Jordan’s attention was obviously on something more “tangible.”
“Joker is raising an angel?” he muttered, then as if realizing something, his eyes lit up, saying in a tone of sudden realization: “Ian raises a lot of angels too! In his factory! I bet Joker got them from Ian! They probably have some long-term cooperation agreement!”
In his cognition sometimes even more wild than Ian’s, “angels” had become some kind of thing indistinguishable from broiler chickens in a chicken farm.
“????”
This made Jonathan slap his forehead.
“Satan will definitely like you.”
He sincerely commented on Jordan.
The Kent family’s eldest son thought that if his younger brother lived in the Age of Sail, he’d definitely thrive in colonial trade, maybe even become a renowned noble.
What the hell was all this.
Why was he staying with these two late at night!
Damian openly discussing “Gotham special laws,” Jordan treating angels as tradable goods—both more “criminal” than the other—gave Jonathan, who held relatively traditional moral views, a massive headache. So he tried to pull them back “on track.”
“I think, as descendants of Justice League members, we…” Jonathan started earnestly guiding them to establish correct moral views, values, and legal views.
However, to Jonathan’s “earnest teachings,” Damian just scoffed.
“Law?”
A sarcasm and maturity beyond his age appeared on Damian’s young face.
“Big Brother Jonathan, you have to admit, you’re too naive. America’s laws are themselves a form of power, serving the rich and the elite.”
He spoke eloquently, his tone realistically shocking.
“Those people in Congress making laws shout about fairness and justice, banning stock insider trading, but who among them hasn’t done stock insider trading behind the scenes?”
“In fact, even the White House janitors make a fortune in the stock market! Do you think Buffett dares call himself the stock god in front of those masters in Congress?”
This critique of reality from a Gotham and Wayne Family perspective pierced Jonathan’s relatively idealized notions like an icy needle.
Unable to defend.
Because what Damian said was, to a large extent, bloody reality. Jonathan opened his mouth, finding he couldn’t refute from any angle.
No choice, he could only weakly slap his forehead, feeling a deep fatigue wash over him. Right now, he just wanted to hurry home, lie in bed, and be alone quietly.
“Does anyone still remember…”
Jonathan feebly tried to pull the topic back to the original, relatively normal goal: “…we came to find someone else’s discarded old sofa?”
They still had to transport Master Damian back “comfortably.”
To this.
Jordan, who made the suggestion, didn’t chime in.
“Wait a sec, Big Brother.” Jordan waved his hand; his attention was still firmly on the angel statue. His eyes drifted, as if plotting something.
“I want… to first confirm if the homeowner really doesn’t want this thing.”
Jordan said, scanning the exquisite statue: “Even if… even if it doesn’t sell, I can move it to my dorm… as, as a decoration, that’d be perfect.”
His tone carried a trace of barely detectable guilt.
Jonathan saw his brother’s demeanor and felt a thud in his heart, a bad premonition. This kid wouldn’t have evolved to the point of daring to use a non-soft cup, would he?
“Hiss~ Kryptonian~”
With Damian there, Jonathan couldn’t expose Jordan’s outrageous brain.
Seeing no opposition, Jordan didn’t hesitate, striding to the grand villa’s door. He raised his hand and knocked hard on the thick solid wood door.
“Knock knock knock!”
The knocking echoed far in the silent night.
However, inside the door was dead silence, no response.
No footsteps, no inquiries, not even lights turning on.
“Maybe no one’s home?” Jonathan stepped forward, listened closely, and said to Jordan.
However, Jordan frowned. His eyes, inheriting Kryptonian blood, easily pierced the thick door, seeing the scene inside.
“No…” He lowered his voice to a volume only Jonathan could hear, tone laced with confusion: “I see… he’s right there.”
“A woman, right behind the door… squatting, huddled in the corner… face… face full of guilt!” Jordan’s x-ray vision had awakened days ago.
He saw the scene inside very clearly.
“Is that so?”
Jonathan was immediately surprised.
Someone home?
Hiding guiltily behind the door?
It sounded eerie no matter how you put it.
“I get it!”
Damian, who had been bored kicking stones nearby, perked up like a shark smelling blood upon hearing Jordan, jumping over excitedly!
“Homeowner hiding guiltily behind the door? Impossible! A normal rich person would have grabbed a shotgun by now to drive us off or hunt us!”
“I get it” filled Damian’s young face instantly. He slapped his palm, voice rising an octave: “There’s only one truth to this situation!”
“The guy behind the door is definitely a thief! Not the real homeowner!” Like a famous detective possessed, he began “deducing” with bizarre confidence.
“Everything makes sense now!” Damian pointed at the angel statue by the roadside behind them, tone resolute: “This expensive artwork statue was stolen out of the house early by this thief, moved to the roadside, ready to be hauled away by truck later for fencing!”
“Right now, he’s definitely still inside rummaging for other valuables!” The more he spoke, the more flawless his deduction seemed, his face beaming with the pride of uncovering truth.
“We must stop him! Drag him out!” Damian’s sense of justice—or rather, his mischief—exploded. He whipped around, ready to point at the angel statue again as key evidence for his deduction—however, the instant he turned, the pride and excitement on his face froze!
Damian’s mouth hung half-open, expression solidified.
The words stuck in his throat. That angel statue, which had clearly been several meters behind them, quietly standing on the street-side lawn…
Right now!
Had eerily appeared not far from them!
No, not just “not far”!
That statue!
Was now quietly standing on the sidewalk just three steps away! As if, while they focused on knocking and discussing, it had silently moved over by itself!
The angel statue’s white body emitted a ghostly glow under the dim street lamp.
Its lowered head seemed… a bit more raised than before? The shadows between its fingers overlapping on its chest also seemed deeper.
“What’s going on!”
Jonathan and Jordan realized their earlier feelings weren’t memory illusions—the statue, meant to be inanimate, had truly changed pose!
The statue could move!
It was right there, close at hand, silently “gazing” at these three chance-met youths. Realizing something wrong, even Jordan’s superhuman body couldn’t help thinking of horror movies. An inexplicable, indescribable chill, like tiny currents, instantly crawled up the three boys’ spines.
“Hiss!” The late-night street remained silent, only the rustle of wind through leaves and their own accelerating… heartbeats.
“We, we wouldn’t have run into a ghost, right?”
“Don’t scare me! Jordan! Don’t lean on me! You’re Second Generation Superman!”
“I am Second Generation Superman… but… but I’m scared of ghosts too! Ian said! I have no magic resistance!”
Just as the three stood brain-blank and bodies rigid as if frozen from the statue’s eerie shift, an urgent, raspy male voice thick with a smoker’s rasp suddenly erupted from the other side of the street.
“Careful! Don’t move!”
The voice boomed like thunder, shattering the dead silence and yanking their stalled thoughts back. Almost instinctively, they whipped their heads toward the source!
Not far off, a man in a rumpled beige windbreaker, tie askew, half a cigarette in his mouth, was clumsily vaulting a low cast-iron railing in an utterly undignified, frantic pose. His face was full of anxiety and a “what the hell” expression.
Constantine!
“Do you know what this thing is? I think I’ve seen Ian draw your notebook!” Though the three youths didn’t know him, any outside intervention felt like a lifeline now.
However.
The instant their gaze shifted to focus on Constantine.
“Damn brats! Didn’t I tell you not to move!” Constantine saw their movement, face paling instantly as he cursed.
His voice was full of anger and panic!
His warning was still a step too late! Or rather, from the moment these three youths were “gazed” at by the statue, certain rules had been triggered.
In the split second Constantine’s gaze instinctively shifted!
In that instant of eye contact and diverted attention!
The angel statue, previously quietly standing behind the three youths with a slightly raised head, underwent a terrifying, earth-shattering change in pose!
No longer in its serene prayer or mourning form, its entire body like a beast awakening from slumber, it appeared via teleportation at the exact spot the three had been!
Its hands, previously overlapped on its chest, suddenly parted, arms thrust forward, fingers splayed in an aggressive motion as if about to touch or seize something!
And with its head raised, hands off its face, by the dim light, Constantine saw that originally stunning, holy face now utterly grotesque! Corners split in an inhuman grin, crammed with dense, shark-like razor fangs!
Where was any angelic compassion or mercy? Clearly a man-eating demon from the abyss!
As for the three youths—Jonathan, Jordan, Damian—they had vanished in that instant, as if completely devoured by the demon-angel statue.
On site, only the drastically altered, hideously grinning statue remained, with the empty sidewalk before it. As if those three living boys had never existed there.
“No!”
Constantine let out a near-fearful low roar, a chill surging from his soles to his crown, not even noticing the cigarette drop from his mouth.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
This wasn’t entirely guilt or anxiety from failing to save the kids; more so, he felt a soul-trembling pressure.
Boom!!!
An indescribable, utterly terrifying aura crushed down from the sky! Street trees swayed wildly, dust and trash whirled into the air.
Even the ground seemed to tremble faintly!
There.
Superman descended from the sky.
Furious and ferocious.
