In the desolate Warhammer universe.
Ian's dimensional projection flickered at the edge of the shattered universe, like an old television with bad reception. His eyes widened as he stared at the absurd scene unfolding on the edge of the broken world.
His own father, the one who took the lead in being a pervert and always wore his underwear outside his pants when acting as Superman, was working together with a golden-armored giant to forcibly press poor Uncle Batman onto a gleaming golden chair.
"Even a love seat wouldn't be this intense! Is this a scene suitable for a minor to watch, even with parental supervision?" Ian's already large eyes gaped in shock.
Bruce's clothes were torn.
He was covered in at least nine kilograms of mysterious slime. Besides its slightly eerie color, this slime closely resembled the kind only seen in Japanese adult films.
Seeing this situation, Ian couldn't help but put on his sunglasses.
That way, he wouldn't look at things with jaundiced eyes and let his imagination run wild.
"Where the hell did I get sent? The Warhammer universe?" Ian looked around, confirming his environment. Blood-colored storms churned in the sky, the earth was split into endless abysses, and the air was filled with decay, madness, and despair. Of course, the main identifying features were the armored man and his perpetually unwashed toilet.
This was no ordinary Batman consciousness space, this was a fragment of the Warhammer 40,000 universe, one of the core sources of external pollution. No wonder Batman had been acting strangely lately.
"Where are Slaanesh, Nurgle, Tzeentch, and Khorne? They could be my Capitalist Four-Piece Set!" Ian covered himself with his dimensional projection and began searching around.
He couldn't help but imagine how wonderful it would be to lock Tzeentch's brain in a cage and have Tzeentch develop a strategy game for him every day. Slaanesh was also crucial for tackling the global birth rate decline issue.
If he could add a bit of Khorne to his weaponry and some Nurgle to his bioweapons—forget Wayne Enterprises or Stark Industries—Ian would be the most capitalist super arms dealer in the comics universe!
There were no terrifying Dimensional Gods in the world.
There were only Dimensional Gods that Ian could or could not control.
"Where are my cash cows?" Ian, filled with grand ambitions of becoming a capitalist, searched the entire shattered universe but couldn't find the hidden Chaos Gods of the Warp.
"Roar—"
Bruce suddenly let out an inhuman roar.
His pupils split into five vertical slits, reflecting Khorne's Blood Axe, Tzeentch's Daemon Grimoire, Nurgle's Plague Sores, Slaanesh's Rose, and a fifth one representing the filth of Chaos Undivided.
"Let go of me! I'm fine! I'm going to kill you two maniacs!! I'll have Alfred sue you!! I'm going to lock you both up in an asylum!!"
"Believe me! I can do it! I'm Bruce Wayne! The richest man in the world! If I wanted to, I could even buy the entire United States!" Batman struggled, his eyes filled with confusion and pain, letting out a low growl, as if some invisible force was eroding his soul.
His desires and violence could no longer be suppressed.
"No, Bruce, you're not fine at all!" Superman's soul projection also possessed unshakable strength, holding down Batman, who was bursting with strange power.
"Don't lose focus. Restrain him properly."
The Emperor's voice sounded like thousands of overlapping harmonies. At that moment, the Emperor seemed to sense something, slowly lifting his head and looking in Ian's direction.
Their eyes met.
Ian winked his right eye at him.
"..."
The Emperor didn't respond. He looked at his throne and continued to instruct Superman in a soft voice. Hearing this, Superman increased his grip. The Kryptonian's muscles glowed with a healthy sheen even in this shattered universe.
His unscientific bio-field was surprisingly preventing him from being affected by the pollution emanating from Batman. It could only be said that Ian's long-held expectations were heading toward success.
"I will help suppress the pollution." As the Emperor injected his psychic energy into the Golden Throne, the Chaos in Batman's eyes gradually receded, but the slime solidified into crystalline scars.
"What happened to me?"
The previously roaring Batman gradually calmed down, the Chaos and darkness in his eyes fading away, replaced by a brief moment of clarity and confusion.
"Don't let him get up."
The Emperor said softly, his tone firm.
"Understood."
Superman nodded, still firmly holding down Batman. Meanwhile, Ian quietly approached the edge of this shattered universe, a pale-blue dimensional phantom appearing behind him.
He seemed ready to intervene at any moment.
"What's wrong with my Uncle Bruce? Did he get a bad stomach and spontaneously mutate, and you guys caught him in the act?" Ian looked at Superman with one eye.
The other eye was fixed on the Emperor.
A Dimensional Demon God was skilled enough to use both eyes for different things without having to move them back and forth. He crept closer like a curious cat, hesitating for a moment before deciding not to try swallowing the slime on Batman.
Ian truly didn't have pica.
He always ate some things and avoided others.
"Bruce went mad, attempting to perish with the Chaos Gods of this universe, but he didn't fully succeed. Instead, he was influenced by the power of four Chaos Gods."
Superman was not surprised that Ian could enter this place like he did. He looked at Ian, who had taken out a black box and was filming Bruce, and responded gravely.
"There were five."
The Emperor corrected Superman's statement.
Psychic flames formed a protective matrix around the throne.
Hearing this, Superman turned in surprise, "You're counting the Cthulhu-like pollution he brought in himself? That kind of pollution has already been resolved by my special means."
When he mentioned "special means," Superman glanced at Ian, carefully choosing his words so his young son wouldn't realize there was a potential opportunity to charge him and Batman royalties.
"The corruption of the Destroyer Domain has merged with his soul and cannot be entirely eradicated. My psychic energy can only maintain balance for about a hundred years. You must find a solution before then."
The Emperor's golden armor let out a heavy clang. He pointed to the crystallizing scars on Bruce's chest, somewhat unnecessarily thinking that Batman might live to be a hundred years old.
The explanations from Superman and the Emperor helped Ian gradually piece things together. It was clear that Batman had fumbled certain elaborate maneuvers.
"My Uncle Bruce is just as expected, he loves to play with self-destruction just like me. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to be as tough as I am." Ian thoughtfully looked at the golden toilet beneath Batman's butt.
Of course, that was actually the Warhammer Emperor's Throne, his life support device.
Through the Golden Throne, the severely wounded Emperor's human life was prolonged.
Even though his body was still slowly decaying.
This object's history could be traced back to the Dark Age of Technology, perhaps even earlier.
In the history of the Warhammer universe, the Emperor discovered this ancient relic in ruins beneath the Asian deserts during the Unification Wars, and he repaired and modified it. It was originally a powerful psychic amplifier, allowing the Emperor to continuously project the Astronomican's light, providing navigation guidance for ships traveling through the Warp.
This ensured the safe interstellar travel of the Imperium of Man. The Golden Throne also served to suppress Warp daemons attempting to breach the psychic barrier around Terra and spill into the real world. However, for a shattered universe, such functions were clearly meaningless.
Its only remaining value was perhaps sustaining the Emperor's life as a human.
"If you give my Uncle Bruce the toilet to sit on, won't you have to go number two wherever you stand?" Ian was surprised that the Emperor intended to let Batman sit on the toilet until he died. He remembered that the Emperor of the Warhammer world couldn't leave the toilet, or he would cause a massive catastrophe for the entire world.
"Hmm?"
The Emperor looked at Ian, who was familiar with his world, with a look full of hidden meaning.
"Look at the world around you, child. So desolate, devoid of sound, devoid of laughter... I no longer need it. Let it leave with you, as a trace that our world once existed." As the Emperor spoke, he gripped his greatsword, his eyes revealing an unprecedented resolve.
"My people actually disappeared many years ago. If I could have made the decision alone, this terminal world would have been shattered by my own hand long ago."
The Emperor's voice was low and firm.
It was like he was delivering his final judgment.
On himself.
Ian fell silent.
This was not a king lamenting his powerlessness, but a god announcing his demise. The Emperor walked to the edge of the floating palace. His eyes reflected the utterly desolate world. The golden armor began to peel away, revealing pale skin underneath. His exposed body began to change.
Piece after piece of armor fragments fell away.
Like an old man before death.
Trembling as he unfastened a patched-up old coat.
Between a hero and a Chaos God.
The distance is often just a matter of faith.
And now.
The Emperor was ready to abandon his obsession. This being, once seen as the hope of humanity, began his ascension, radiating a suffocating sense of oppression.
"What's happening to him?"
Superman finally spoke. He realized Ian seemed to know the man in front of them, so he asked Ian, his tone betraying a hint of unease.
"He is the fifth Chaos God."
The young Evil God was rarely without a playful smile.
His pupils swirled with the life-form transition visible only to dimensional archons.
This sentence was like a bullet, shattering all of Superman's understanding. He saw the Emperor's crown melting, the gold turning to liquid and dripping away, revealing the head that was beginning to look increasingly monstrous underneath.
"Chaos God?" Superman repeated the word in shock, staring at the Emperor in disbelief. He had always felt the Emperor was full of goodwill. Could such a being be a Chaos God?
"This is a world that would end in tragedy, even if it weren't shattered." Ian gazed at the figure not far away. The Emperor's aura began to climb.
It wasn't a battle-ready burst, but an older, more terrifying kind of awakening. The Emperor's eyes burned with deep, eerie flames, seemingly reflecting the destruction of the entire universe.
Endless destructive power surged and swelled.
He would no longer be the Emperor of Man.
But was about to become the new Dark King.
"Why are you helping us?" Superman felt the Emperor's change and realized that Ian had, for once, spoken the truth. He also looked at the figure in front of him with some disbelief.
"Perhaps because I haven't seen humans for so long..." The Emperor's voice sounded again, but no longer as serious as before. Instead, it carried a trace of tenderness.
And even a hint of nostalgia.
The Emperor was losing his sanity.
So.
He did not turn around.
"Take Bruce Wayne and leave. Now, I must meet my destiny." The Emperor's aura erupted completely. The endless destructive power swept out like a tide.
Tearing the surrounding space into fragments.
As the Dark King's Domain of Corruption unfolded, the entire universe made the sound of shattering glass. It wasn't the roar of destruction, but the final sigh of a dying world.
The whole world was being swallowed.
When the last shred of sanity vanished from the Emperor's eyes, his body was completely engulfed by darkness. The symbol that was once humanity's last hope had now become the deepest nightmare of the cosmos—the Dark King. He no longer existed under the name "Emperor," but transformed into the embodiment of pure destructive will.
The figure of the Dark King was suspended at the center of the shattered world.
Batman had succeeded halfway after all. The Emperor was the last remaining Chaos God in this universe, meant to fulfill the destiny he had already foreseen the end of.
Except.
What he was about to destroy was not a vibrant universe, but a piece of a universe that was already decayed, gasping for survival, and struggling in the seams of time.
This was a long-delayed judgment.
A feast of despair and death.
Terrifying power surged within him. Endless dark energy swept out like a tide, tearing the sky, devouring the earth, and space itself was wailing.
This was not revenge, not anger, but a form of ultimate mercy.
"We have to get out of here." Superman Clark grabbed Bruce with one hand and held the eagerly lunging Ian, who was ready to wrap himself in his dimensional projection, with the other.
"No! Dad! You can't do this! I'm a Chaos God too! I should be joining this destruction!" Ian was held by the nape of his clothes. Unable to use dimensional power to transgress against his father, he flailed his limbs like a ruffled black cat lifted by its scruff. He was being taken out of this universe by Superman using subjective means.
"Neoth! I love you! Quick! Quick, shove a mouthful of your torn-up universe into your Fourteen-year-old fan's mouth!" Unwilling to leave empty-handed, Ian frantically confessed his adoration to the Emperor.
This name was already a little-known secret.
This ridiculous request momentarily stalled the Dark King's movements for one ten-thousandth of a second.
He turned his head. His face was already blurry, but those eyes—the eyes that burned with the residual embers of an entire galaxy's civilization—suddenly flickered with a very faint ripple.
However.
The Emperor did not grant Ian's wish.
But in that instant.
Ian clearly saw what He was holding—it wasn't a weapon of destruction, but a tattered copy of *Star-Spangled Humans*, with a dried olive branch tucked between its pages.
Superman seized the opportunity and dragged the two of them out of the shattered universe.
The final image was branded onto Ian's retina: a pile of human civilization's vessels, countless cultural and philosophical texts, withering and being destroyed alongside the Dark King and the entire universe.
*The Odyssey*
*The Analects*
*Nicomachean Ethics*
*The Three-Body Problem*
*Batman: The Dark Knight*
*Superman: Origin*
*Superman and Batman*
...
Those pages fluttered in the destruction.
Like a final farewell.
They carried the knowledge, faith, history, philosophy, and poetry of the Warhammer universe... all the thoughts and dreams about humanity. And now they would return to nothingness along with the Human King of Warhammer.
"I must say thank you. Thank you for allowing me, in humanity's final phase, to have my senses linger at the moment I knew the light of humanity still shone across the heavens."
Darkness completely enveloped his body.
The newly born Chaos God stretched his limbs, every inch singing the beauty of destruction. Like the last struggle of a candle about to burn out, he whispered softly toward the outside of the universe.
Perhaps the Emperor proved that his will could overcome the corruption of ascension.
Except.
No one was left to witness this miracle.
"Ah~"
Ian didn't know if he was mourning his own loss or the demise of a universe. In any case, his low sigh did not echo within the Warhammer universe.
Superman took Ian and Bruce's souls back to the Batcave.
When they finally returned to the real world, it was as if nothing had happened—except that a throne-like toilet was now seemingly welded beneath Batman's butt.
The Batcave was still quiet, the equipment was running, and the alert had long since been deactivated. The Flash sped over like a red lightning bolt, his suit still stained with uncleaned coffee.
"What happened?" Barry's gaze darted between the three, finally settling on Batman's bizarre posture—Bruce was semi-reclined on the medical bed in a decidedly un-Batman-like manner.
His body from the waist down was immobile.
Because his butt could not leave that certain valuable object.
"There are a few minor lingering issues, but generally, the problem is solved." Superman couldn't bear the sight of Batman's misery. He stepped forward, lifted Batman, and lowered Batman along with the throne onto the ground.
Of course.
Vigorously pinching Batman's philtrum to wake him up was also an indispensable part of the operation.
"Hiss~"
Batman was woken by the pain.
The spot on his philtrum felt like a small mustache had grown there.
It was bruised, bruised.
A black patch.
"Lingering issues? Are you saying Bruce grew an organ that looks like a chair on his butt?" The Flash ran circles around Batman but couldn't find a place to separate Batman from the throne.
"It's a toilet, pure gold." Ian was stuffing dried mushrooms he'd pulled from his dimensional world into his mouth to calm his mixed feelings of regret and slight heaviness.
"What happens if we pry it off?"
Barry couldn't resist reaching out to gesture.
"I'll instantly be corrupted into a Chaos God." The weak Bruce spoke with a hint of remorse. He adjusted his sitting posture and indeed found his butt seemed welded to the throne.
"So, you won't be able to walk anymore?" The Flash asked with surprise. He couldn't imagine how Bruce would transform into Batman and maintain order in Gotham under these circumstances.
"Only until I find a solution."
Bruce shook his slightly dizzy head.
"At least add a mobility device. If Batman becomes Wheelchair Batman, he might scare the other Gotham freaks even more." Ian deployed his world-shocking wisdom in an attempt to comfort Batman.
"I think Dr. Wells and Bruce will definitely find common ground." The Flash's mouth began to twitch uncontrollably. He suddenly turned his back, his shoulders shaking suspiciously.
"Do you find this funny?"
Bruce gave everyone the Death Stare.
"Look on the bright side." Barry tried hard to tense his facial muscles, quickly trying to salvage his lapse in composure. "At least you can apply for disability benefits now."
However, this slightly teasing "humorous" attempt at salvage did not seem to be a product of the Speed Force flowing through his brain. Bruce's Death Stare concentrated solely on the Flash.
"Who do you think distributes the disability benefits in Gotham?" Batman's voice was not just low, it was also very annoyed. The Batcave instantly became so quiet you could hear the machinery operating.
"Actually, if you can't go out and be active, the 'Banned' Batman could perhaps take your place in fighting crime in Gotham." Ian's self-proclaimed brilliant idea earned him several stares from both Bruce and Superman.
"Who was that person who helped us?" Bruce didn't dare respond to Ian's comment and changed the subject. To this day, he still saw many discussions about the Metropolis Batman.
Discussions that were impossible to delete fast enough, which made him feel stifled.
"Neoth, that's what humans called him in the Golden Age. He was the Lord of Humanity in another world, the Great Emperor." Ian's voice, for once, held a measure of respect.
Hearing this, Bruce ran his fingers over the carvings on the edge of the golden toilet. He was silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice, "I can sense it. He was indeed a respectable leader."
His voice was as light as a eulogy.
Superman's blue eyes also dimmed.
"Sounds like you guys had a special adventure." The Flash keenly sensed the change in atmosphere and cleared his throat strategically: "So... does this golden, err, throne have any special functions?"
"The current discovery is that it's self-heating," Bruce said expressionlessly. "And it can block any object attempting to attack my butt."
"At least I won't have to worry about being backstabbed." He didn't know if this counted as finding joy in misery. Although he hadn't tested it yet, he could sense the throne's material was extraordinary. It also contained a very strong energy—the energy signature was similar to his body, which had been altered.
"Ugh~"
Bruce suddenly arched his back.
The Golden Throne emitted a dazzling golden light. He retched violently, and lumps of black crystal spewed from his mouth, hitting the Batcave floor with a crisp sound.
"Cough, cough... What is this..."
Superman knelt on one knee, his fingertip lightly touching the black fragments that were still wriggling. The fragments rapidly weathered under his touch, revealing constantly flickering, extinguishing starlight within.
"It seems that God has completed his task."
Silence fell in the cave.
Only the faint sound of black crystals disintegrating.
"Not necessarily!"
Ian suddenly pounced forward, his hands tightly gripping a wisp of dust that was drifting away. The moment his palm touched the black dust, the System's voice rang out.
[New data from extra dimension is being analyzed]
[WARNING: Data corruption rate 99.7%]
[Developer Mode activated. Repair program is underway.]
Ian felt relieved now. After such an event, how could he leave without any gain? He probably wouldn't be able to sleep for ten nights. Fortunately, the System hadn't disappointed him.
The young Evil God's voice was pitched high with excitement.
The corners of his mouth turned up uncontrollably.
"Ian will make a move!"
The black matter and starlight were gathering toward him.
"Hmm?"
Bruce looked meaningfully at the overjoyed Ian.
"It seems you gained a lot."
He sat on the toilet, his eyes flickering slightly.
"It's alright, it's alright." Ian could barely suppress the smile on his face. He didn't forget that he should have his hands in his pockets at a time like this, trying to make his tone sound "light."
"..."
Batman didn't grade Ian's clumsy acting. His gaze shifted to Superman. In the real world, Clark was still wearing the unfinished Steel Battle Armor.
The 'S' logo on his chest was half-covered by the mechanical structure.
"Perhaps you should take off my armor."
Batman said softly.
"It hasn't been completely forged yet."
Superman began to take off the Hellbat Armor prototype as he spoke. Bruce silently stared at the complex patterns on it, his expression strangely wanting to speak but holding back several times.
However.
In the end, he didn't say anything more.
"Finish it as soon as possible... I need it... Have Ian draw more of his bizarre things on it." Bruce was truly slow to learn. He actually wanted to use pollution to fight pollution.
"Will do!"
Ian responded on behalf of his father.
Superman and the Flash exchanged glances.
"I need some rest." Batman looked at the empty base and the medicines scattered on the ground. He rubbed his temples, very tired.
This was clearly a subtle hint for them to leave.
"Okay. If you feel uncomfortable, remember to contact us anytime... Remember not to get up from the chair. I don't want to see you announcing yourself as the King of the World on TV."
Superman gave a heartfelt instruction, and then, amidst the Flash's gossiping questions, he left the Batcave with Ian. Only Batman remained in the empty room.
"I wish I could get up! That Emperor guy welded my butt to this thing!" Only after everyone left did Batman angrily hit the armrest of the throne.
The feeling of passively becoming disabled was not good.
"That person also modified my body." Bruce Wayne sat on the Golden Throne, his fingertip gently tapping the armrest. Each touch stirred up a visible ripple of psychic energy.
After thinking about it.
Batman, having recovered much of his sanity, used voice commands to awaken a pile of buried robots, directing them to help him analyze the throne's material.
Of course.
His own body also definitely needed a comprehensive study.
Bruce slowly raised his hand, gazing at the golden lines flowing beneath his skin. The lines were not static—they twisted and turned like living things, weaving ancient runes in his blood vessels. When he focused, he could even see energy floating in the air, wrapping around the instruments like a colorful mist.
"A Psyker." The word was forced out between his teeth, laced with bitter helplessness. He suddenly clenched his fist, and the air fluctuated. In an instant, the electronic devices throughout the Batcave sparked simultaneously. The holographic projection twisted into monstrous faces, and the Batmobile parked in the corner was suspended three inches off the ground by his psychic burst.
Psykers in the Warhammer world are individuals who draw energy from the Warp and possess supernatural abilities. They are considered "walking disasters," and their existence is full of contradictions and danger.
A Psyker's unusual senses can see through non-material space. Psychic power is a very versatile force. Psykers who specialize in manipulating biological energy and processes can alter their own structure or heal allies at a cellular level, or they can mutate enemies' flesh and crush internal organs with telekinesis.
It has many uses.
It can even allow the user to gain precognitive abilities, viewing it as a special kind of magic. The DC universe fundamentally lacks the Warp, so the psychic energy Bruce was using came from the throne beneath his butt.
This was not a delusion or an illusion. Every time he closed his eyes, Bruce could feel that power flowing within him, like a flame in the darkness, burning in his nerves, blood, and even his bones.
"This is a hidden danger."
Bruce was not happy about gaining superhuman abilities.
Instead, his mood was heavy.
He did not rest but quickly started his research. To figure out what he had become, he began using the high-precision equipment that Ian and the Flash hadn't yet "messed with"—including a nano-scanner, a quantum brainwave analyzer, and a flesh-and-blood re-analysis system specially designed to detect bodily abnormalities.
When he got serious.
Batman would even cut off his own flesh and blood for research.
"Clack-clack-clack~ Clack-clack-clack~ Clack-clack-clack~"
Deep inside the Batcave.
Keyboards clicked.
Instruments hummed.
Bruce Wayne sat in front of the main console, beneath him the Golden Throne brought back from the extra-dimensional world. It emitted a faint but strange energy fluctuation during the instrument's detection.
Ancient secrets were being meticulously peeled away. The throne's composition was not metal, at least not entirely. It carried a certain heaviness that did not belong to this world.
Just as the analysis and research were continuously progressing.
Gotham's early warning system suddenly blared! The alarm sliced through the Batcave's silence. Red lights flashed, and the monitoring screen automatically popped up. Bruce quickly pulled up the footage.
What followed was a frown.
On the screen, a Black angel, whose eyes were dull as if brainwashed, had been given a Joker makeup job. He was flapping his wings, carrying a pajama-clad Joker.
They were floating in the sky above downtown Gotham.
"Good morning, Gotham!" The Joker spread his arms, shouting to the whole city, "The weather is truly lovely today, perfect for a real heavy rain!"
Saying this.
He began to take off his pants.
Of course.
This was just an appetizer.
Following that.
The Joker pulled out a sprayer, similar to one used for pesticides, and furiously sprayed the city with "rainwater" containing some kind of poison. People fled in terror, but many were affected.
They all collapsed on the ground, roaring with laughter—police cars rushed to the scene, but faced with this sudden supernatural sight, hardly anyone knew how to respond.
At the Joker's command.
The angel elegantly waved his arm.
Every electronic screen in Gotham instantly turned pink.
Bruce watched helplessly as the exterior wall of the Wayne Tower projected the cursive writing: "Good morning, Gotham~ Batman loves me," followed by a pulsating heart emoji.
Bruce abruptly prepared to stand up.
He instinctively wanted to change clothes and rush out.
However.
The Golden Throne let out a warning hum. A powerful gravitational force firmly adhered him to the throne. He then remembered that he was inseparable from this damned "throne."
Looking at the surveillance footage again.
The angel was carrying the Joker, sweeping over a chemical plant.
"Time for you to perform again! My dear Wishing Machine!"
The Joker commanded the angel.
Rainbow-colored dust encouraged the growth of large patches of rose bushes, identical to the Joker, on the rusted steel frame.
Every rose expressed his longing for Batman. Witnessing this scene, Batman finally could not bear it any longer. He hesitated for a moment but then took control of the robots.
The robots began fabricating wheels capable of bearing the weight of the throne and himself. If it had to be a wheelchair, then a wheelchair it would be. No one ever said Batman couldn't sit in a wheelchair to confront the Joker, did they?
Batman was in action.
Ian and Superman were also in action.
After leaving, they once again served as Gotham's slave to their master.
"Clang—Clang—Clang—"
Deep in the universe.
The metallic echo reverberated.
That was the sound of the long process of forging the "New Imperial Armor" for Batman, an effort that lasted several hours until Ian's school time was fast approaching before they stopped.
"Dad, I promise I won't cause any big trouble today." He said goodbye to his father, who was heading to work, while checking his system, which was repairing the extra-dimensional data.
[Repair Progress: 0.5%]
The progress was indeed slow, but understandable. The Warhammer universe was, after all, shattered very thoroughly. The fact that the system could repair it at all made the system amazing. However, this didn't stop Ian from manipulating his system.
"Your efficiency is worse than an Ork Mekboy. They can at least patch together a Starship with spit and scrap metal!"
The morning sun shone on his face, and the city's hustle and bustle rushed in. Yesterday, he was struggling between destruction and reconstruction; today, he had to return to textbooks and homework.
This was perhaps life.
Ian walked into the school gate, into the classroom, and then saw the little punk girl Madison sitting on the podium, chalk in hand, vividly telling stories to her classmates.
"Ian is planning to raise space chickens on the Moon. They'll definitely sell for more than imported chickens." She was clearly helping Ian promote his idea, and all the students showed shocked expressions.
"Great idea! Mars ducks and Moon chickens! Just promote them as a cure-all, and it sounds like a project that will sell out!" Ian felt the little punk had some business acumen.
He also joined the boasting, directly misleading a group of inexperienced classmates into deeply admiring him. They all said they would help Ian raise chickens after graduation.
Ian only restrained himself when the teacher arrived in the classroom.
However, he still quietly exchanged information with the little punk about whether the angels were adapting to their new lives.
The answer was self-evident.
The angels always found a way.
Except for Michael, the other angels had strong adaptability.
"Those angels are doing well in the factory, they just constantly try to convert the factory into an environment like their life in Heaven." The little punk was also reporting seriously to Ian.
"It's fine, let them remodel. They can't see their home from memory even if they return to Heaven anyway. It's pitiful."
"No, it has nothing to do with me. I don't know anything."
"I'm just a child, don't ask anymore. If you ask again, I'll use up my quota of lies for today."
Just like that.
When the school bell rang.
Ian had learned about the developments in his business through his excellent deskmate. The dismissal bell was still echoing in the corridor when Madison grabbed Ian's backpack strap.
"Don't you want to go give another speech to the angels, especially to Archangel Michael? He has the worst performance among all the angels."
Madison had run into a difficult case.
"Tonight. I'll go tonight. I need to go see my psychologist now." Ian was putting a copy of *The Art of the Boss* into his dimensional world as he replied.
He no longer needed a backpack. That thing was like a collar; people always grabbed it.
"Are you going to see a shrink? Can I come along?"
He hadn't expected Madison to be interested in teaming up for something like this.
"I'm going as an expert to discuss a patient's condition with Dr. Hannibal. You can't come." Ian politely declined the little punk, then drove his Hellcat to the psychiatric clinic.
However, Ian thought today would be a very ordinary day. But when he pushed open the carved wooden door of Hannibal's clinic, the hinges let out a dying creak, which had a very ominous feel.
The next moment.
The smell of blood hit Ian's nostrils like a physical object.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666