The eerie sound emitted by the opening and closing of that mimic mouth, mixed with the piercing, abyss-like ringing from the Black Box, formed a tableau sufficient to send anyone's SAN value plummeting.
"..."
Seeing Ian's mimic form, Clark Kent couldn't even find an angle to scold him. He could only cover his face, his fingers pressing so hard he nearly left marks on his handsome features. To be fair, the invincible Superman only felt this lack of confidence in moments like these. He could feel his nerves—which remained rock-steady even through stellar explosions—groaning under the unbearable weight of Ian's presence.
This is what a mid-life crisis feels like. At the very least, Ian was much better and kinder than the typical disobedient children in traditional American households—Clark could only comfort himself with that thought.
"So..." Clark's voice squeezed out with difficulty from between his fingers, carrying a trace of an undetectable tremor. "Why don't you answer the phone quickly and see what Bruce wants?" It was obvious he was desperate to change the subject.
Ian nodded vigorously with his main head. As his fingers connected the call, the mimic mouth on his abdomen beat him to the punch, emitting a cheerful response toward the Black Box.
"Hello? Uncle Bruce? Is the signal okay? My dad wants to know if you've started grooming since you called me without permission. How's the sulfur bath in Hell treating you? Do you need me to burn some limited-edition sports cars, a 2D paper wife, or that little hard drive you hid in the deepest part of the Batcave that you didn't have time to format?"
That Batman could even reach Ian's Black Box was entirely due to Lord Ian's mercy. Since his half-smartphone had been retired, the mission of providing Ian with "free long-distance calls" had been transferred to the Black Box. A barrage of soul-interrogating questions poured out like Gatling fire, precisely covering moral scrutiny, environmental concern, and the ultimate social-death threat of end-of-life care.
The other end of the line fell into a deathly silence. Only the faint background noise of a high-frequency energy weapon charging and the urgent beeping of a computer could be heard. Of course, Batman's heavy breathing was also quite audible.
However, he likely hadn't reached the point of flying into a rage yet. Ian trusted that his Black Box could manage his social relationships; it was a magical tool with great social tact. With a bit of setup, it would automatically judge the caller's situation and thoughtfully screen, connect, or hang up on outsiders.
*Huff... huff... huff...*
Now was the time for Batman to breathe the Breath of Nine Dragons after being linguistically assaulted. After a long while, an extremely suppressed, gravelly voice—as if his throat were filled with volcanic ash from Hell—came through the Black Box. Every word carried the weight of gritted teeth.
"Besides that ghostly thing in your hand that can receive a signal even in a cosmic rift, did you really expect me to call your father's 'Nokia'?" He emphasized the word "Nokia," clearly not referring to the brand, but describing Clark Kent's phone as being too archaic. Finally, the voice added stiffly, with a complex tone as if fearing Ian would start rumors if he didn't explain: "And, I am not dead."
Batman didn't fear people making up dirty rumors about him, but he was truly worried that if he didn't record a log today to explain his physiological status, he might see his own funeral on the streets of Gotham that night. Ian was exactly the kind of person who would hold a funeral just to collect gift money from Gotham's villains. Batman knew he had thoroughly figured out this youngest son of the Kent family.
"Fine, if you're not dead, you're not dead." Ian silently switched interfaces and canceled the All-in-One Funeral Service he had already pre-booked for Bruce Wayne. He wasn't actually that surprised that Batman was alive.
He was, after all, a believer in the NPC Law, knowing that a soul-level NPC as pivotal as Batman in the DC Universe wouldn't be killed off by a mere shockwave. God would surely arrange a grand, world-shaking event for that.
Ian, with his discerning eye, could see through this, but he felt his laconic father looked a bit disappointed. It was as if a short-lived dream of "the world is finally quiet" had just been shattered. The expression was subtle, detectable only by a master of facial management like Lord Ian.
"Tell your father to wipe that look of disappointment off his face." Although Ian hadn't spoken, the other end of the line seemed to have a 360-degree, all-weather surveillance system installed.
Batman was also a master of facial management and the world's only expert on studying Superman; he didn't need cameras, he could practically divine Clark Kent's psychological state. One could say even Ian's mother, Lois, didn't understand Superman as well as Batman did.
"Cough, cough..." Clark coughed violently, instantly adjusting his facial muscles to the standard "God Among Men" expression of solemnity mixed with slight impatience. He even raised his voice in an attempt to cover his tracks.
"So what does he want? I'm busy!" Clark's face was turned toward Ian, but he was actually speaking to the person on the other end to deflect. His acting lacked soul—zero points.
However, Batman clearly didn't intend to dwell on the clumsy performance. A very faint sound, like a Batarang cutting through the air, came from the background. "Something has come up. I need you to return immediately." His speaking pace quickened, with clear explosions and the sharp shrieks of non-human creatures beginning to mix into the background.
Just as he finished speaking— *BOOM—!!!*
An exceptionally violent explosion erupted, making the Black Box nearly jump in Ian's hand. Following that, the communication between Batman and Ian was abruptly cut off. This certainly wasn't an issue with Ian's Black Box.
"Hmm?" Clark's super-hearing had already captured the chaotic sounds from the other side of the planet. His ears twitched imperceptibly, every soundwave constructing a mental picture of the disaster occurring in Gotham. Indeed, super-hearing plus a super-brain was just that powerful. (The reason his second brother, Jordan, didn't use lubricant with his plane cup might also be related to this powerful associative ability.)
"It seems there's just no time to rest, is there?" This sentence was directed at Ian and fate alike; Clark Kent truly felt physically and mentally exhausted. He took a deep breath of the cosmic vacuum and exhaled a helpless sigh so heavy it felt as if it could crush a minor planet.
"Alright, it's time to go back to Earth." Clark's large hand, like a pair of iron pliers of destiny, precisely pinched the back of Ian's neck. This was a classic move forged through countless practical battles of catching a problem child, balancing control, portability, and a precise strike to the child's dignity. It was an old Kent family tradition.
Ian was used to it and accepted his fate. However, at the exact moment Clark's leg muscles tensed to break through the atmosphere and temporarily leave the cosmic mess behind—
"Wait a second." Ian suddenly raised his hand, his voice carrying a rare solemnity, as if he'd suddenly remembered he'd left the stove on. Clark's hand instinctively loosened slightly. In that split second, Ian slipped away like a greasy loach. With a flash, he appeared beside the Injustice Superman, who was still lying like a corpse, staring vacantly at the shattered stars.
"Come on, come experience the suffering of the common people—and by 'common people,' I mean me. Pretend you're a chicken. Not a broiler from KFC, but a free-range mountain chicken."
Before Clark or the Injustice Superman could react, Ian used the same trick, reaching out with a hand that was far less powerful than his father's but equally precise, and grabbed the Injustice Superman by the muscled back of his neck! Then, like he was dragging a life-sized body pillow, he *whooshed* back in front of Clark.
As mentioned before, Ian was used to being pinched by the throat/neck. He naturally offered his own neck back into his father's grasp, even actively adjusting the angle to make it easier for his dad to hold. His face was full of the calm "Alright, it's settled, let's go" look.
"????" Clark's expression instantly became extremely bizarre. He looked at his resigned son in his hand, then at the parallel-universe version of himself being carried by his son like a kitten—still maintaining the gaze-at-the-stars posture and radiating philosophical despair. He felt his super-brain's CPU was overloading. The picture was so "beautiful" he didn't dare think about it further.
Finally, the God Among Men took a deep breath of cosmic dust and decided to temporarily ignore the scene that transcended understanding. Clark's legs made a motion as if pushing off from a non-existent floor in the starry sky.
*BOOM!*
His speed could no longer be described as supersonic; it was a burst of speed heading toward the speed of light. A streak of light tore through the stars, shooting straight toward the azure planet. During the high-speed flight, the surrounding nebulae stretched into long, colorful ribbons. Along the way, Clark secretly observed the Injustice Superman, and Ian, who was staring at the Injustice Superman's belly.
Finally, after holding it in for a long time, Clark couldn't resist. He turned his head slightly, using super-vision to observe the Injustice Superman held by Ian like a little chick—no, a Big Chicken. The man remained completely motionless, his eyelashes not even twitching, with only those two trails of icy tears telling of a silent tragedy.
"What... exactly happened to him?" Clark's voice was transmitted directly into Ian's mind during the flight—which was faster than the speed of sound—via a somewhat idealistic method.
"Thinking about life is just like that. It's the prelude to enlightenment, a necessary stage for soul sublimation. Try to understand." Ian was being held by the neck, his posture awkward and his gaze shifting.
Since he was currently speaking with his mimic mouth, he could also ignore the rules of sound propagation; after all, in the DC Universe, the lids of most scientists' coffins had to be replaced tens of thousands of times a year.
"But he looks more like he's lost all will to live?" Clark's brow furrowed tighter. He had a bad premonition but couldn't help asking further.
"Wrong!" Ian corrected him immediately, his tone carrying the rigor of an academic discussion. "That's not a loss of the will to live; it's 'not daring to have too much emotion'! Internal energy needs to be absolutely stable. Any intense joy, anger, or sorrow could trigger an energy tide and interfere with the stability of the embryo's implantation! In Earth terms, he's afraid of 'disturbing the fetal qi'."
Clark could understand each of those words individually, but combined, they had a level of complexity that made him feel as if he had stopped thinking altogether. It wasn't just mystification. The main point was... what on earth is "fetal qi"?!
"!!!!!??????" A series of giant question marks almost physically slammed into Clark's forehead.
Fetal qi? Embryo? Implantation? He knew each of these words, but combined and applied to the Injustice Superman, they formed a terrifying meaning that made even Kryptonian genes tremble.
Clark Kent could stare into the core of a sun and withstand the gravity of a black hole, but now, he didn't quite dare to look at the Injustice Superman, whom Ian had plagued in the name of moral kidnapping.
He opened his mouth, only to find all his questions stuck in his throat. His super-brain came online again, making him realize that every question might lead to an answer he absolutely did not want to know.
Consequently, Clark decisively shut his mouth and decided to use Kryptonian super-wisdom for more meaningful things. Just then, the Injustice Superman, who had been as unresponsive as an exquisite statue, finally showed a flicker of change. It was no longer pure despair or philosophical contemplation.
His eyeballs moved extremely slowly and with great difficulty. Finally, that gaze—laden with endless, complex emotions—fell upon Clark. It was a mix of terror, bewilderment, humiliation, and the deepest, inexpressible plea for help.
Clark had seen this look countless times. In the eyes of civilians about to be buried by collapsing buildings, in the eyes of the desperate trapped by disaster, and in the eyes of the innocent chased by incomprehensible horrors.
Who would have thought? At this moment, such a lost and helpless look appeared on the face of another self. The Injustice Superman looked at Clark Kent like every poor soul pleading with Superman for help.
"..." At this moment, it wasn't just Clark Kent who didn't know how to comfort the other; even Ian had exhausted his repertoire of Manipulative vocabulary. The Injustice Superman had never truly realized that Ian was providing a form of "help."
Clark felt that gaze like a needle in his back. Just as Clark was about to speak to break the suffocating atmosphere, the Injustice Superman's parched lips twitched slightly, emitting a raspy sound like rusty gears grinding: "I think... I finally understand one thing."
Clark instinctively held his breath and listened. The Injustice Superman's eyes rolled slowly, his incredibly complex gaze moving with difficulty from Clark's face to Ian on the other side—who was also being carried and was trying to catch the surrounding light streaks with super speed. His eyes were filled with inexpressible shock, lingering fear, and a trace of... eerie reverence.
"I finally understand why you can be so powerful," the Injustice Superman continued in that broken tone, drained of all vitality. His gaze was locked onto Ian, the meaning of his words self-evident.
To be able to survive in this universe and successfully raise such a "filthy thing" that defied all common sense required a level of mental resilience, survival ability, and combat grade that far exceeded any battle with Doomsday or Darkseid. This wasn't even the same dimension of power! This was a miraculous tenacity that transcended physical laws and reached deep into the soul!
The Clark Kent of this universe *had* to be unbeatably strong. Otherwise, it truly wouldn't be Krypton-logical!
"Er..." A flash of extremely unnatural embarrassment crossed the face of this universe's God Among Men. He forced a couple of dry laughs, his voice sounding a bit airy.
"Heh... hehe... this... well... once we get back, I'll have Bruce give you a comprehensive physical exam. He has the best equipment; he can definitely... uh... help you figure things out." Clark tried to steer the topic toward a seemingly scientific and rigorous direction to cover the absurdity and bizarreness galloping through his heart.
Hearing this, the Injustice Superman didn't respond to the suggestion of a physical exam. He only took another slow, deeply meaningful look at Clark. That look seemed to say: "An exam? You think that's the point? You think the core issue of my current state is something that can be checked with medical equipment?" That one glance contained too much information.
Silence fell again, with only the roar of breaking through the atmosphere. After a long time, just as the blue of Earth occupied their entire field of vision, the Injustice Superman spoke again. His voice was still raspy, but it carried a hint of something else—a calm that bordered on resignation.
"You haven't truly defeated him. That golden one... you and me," the Injustice Superman continued, his eyes looking toward the deep universe, as if he could see through space to the Golden Superman who had fled earlier. "He has only retreated temporarily. He will definitely come again... to decide the true winner with you. To prove his 'perfection,' or... just to end you, the greatest 'anomaly'."
"The leader of the High Council has an irresistible brainwashing ability for all Clarks." This sentence already contained information; the Injustice Superman didn't dare say that name.
His words were like a cold stone dropped into Clark's heart. It wasn't a threat, but a precise judgment from an individual with the same source, the same Superman-level wisdom, and the same paranoia.
"Yeah." Clark also understood "himself." That battle was far from over.
"You have to help us understand this High Council you speak of." Clark stared at the Injustice Superman captured by Ian; his voice wasn't an inquiry, but an assertion.
The Injustice Superman didn't speak. He just looked toward the stars. As Superman descended toward Earth with Ian, his super-vision caught some anomalies. In a certain corner, a familiar shadow was flowing.
...
The Golden Superman was suspended within an absolute shadow. This place seemed like a necrotic node of the universe, where even the faintest photons were greedily devoured.
The brilliant golden light that could illuminate a galaxy had completely retracted, hugging his skin to form a thin but tough idealistic barrier, stubbornly resisting the pervasive erosion of the surrounding shadows and the continuous, maddening whispers.
Those were the murmuring verses of the Laughing One.
In front of him, the thickest part of the shadow churned and stretched like boiling asphalt, finally condensing into a terrifying face that was constantly twisting and had no fixed form. The face had no features, only countless small, wriggling dark tentacles and a giant rift that kept opening and closing, emitting a silent, mad laugh.
It was an incredibly sinister scene. That mad laughter wasn't transmitted through the air but exploded directly in the deepest part of his mind, like ten thousand rusty needles scraping against his soul.
"The Superman of this universe isn't right. He might have turned to an outer universe." The Golden Superman's view was similar to Darkseid's. He didn't know who he was talking to and received no reply; the shadows simply churned, and a giant metal box was delivered before him.
The box had a strange shape, made of a material that was neither metal nor iron. Its surface was covered with constantly changing, incomprehensible geometric patterns that seemed to be self-altering the surrounding space and logical concepts.
"You want me to use power from an outer universe to fight against power from an outer universe?" The Golden Superman's brow furrowed tightly, his radiant gaze instantly piercing the conceptual metal shell. He saw what was contained within the box. It didn't belong to any universe he knew; the aura of an outer universe was exceptionally thick.