The Batman Who Laughs has dropped his loot.
The metal box appeared incredibly sinister; its mere existence caused the radiant barrier around the Golden Superman to ripple as if encountering a natural enemy.
"You want me to use something from the 'Outside' to fight the 'Outside'? Are you certain this won't cause an even greater catastrophe?" The Golden Superman turned to look at the consciousness dwelling within the shadows.
The laughter continued. The distorted shadow-face remained silent.
However, the silent laughter became more unrestrained as more dark tentacles coiled around the metal chest, pushing it forward a few inches until it nearly touched the Golden Superman's chest.
The laughter grew louder, nearly tearing his sanity apart. The Golden Superman closed his eyes, cold sweat beaded on his forehead—Kryptonians shouldn't sweat, but this was the physical manifestation of pure mental pressure.
Simultaneously, a more massive, turgid dark energy began to squeeze the Golden Superman from all directions, the volume of the mad whispers increasing sharply. It was like a billion vengeful souls screaming in his brain, forcing him, tempting him.
"What exactly is this?"
The Golden Superman's heart began to waver silently once more. He knew he had only two choices. Either uphold his possibly tainted "perfection" and be slowly assimilated by this shadow under internal and external pressure, or open the box and embrace this power from outside—a power capable of subverting everything—to combat the local Superman who held the Blackest Night sword and acted so abnormal.
"..."
All Supermen love to hesitate. Just as all Flashes love being a step too slow.
"No matter what it is, it is far too evil." Kal-El's gaze, like the most precise scanner, had already pierced the conceptual metal barrier to see the contents clearly.
It made sense. The Golden Superman is a mid-to-high-tier Superman in the DC Universe. While he hasn't reached the level of Flagship or Ultra-Flagship models—those who can name their organs things like *The Heart of Jesus* or *Divine Sixteen-Cylinder Composite Kidneys*—he was still an idealistic-level Superman. Peering through a metal box was child's play for his super-vision.
Of course, seeing clearly and understanding are two different things. The form of the object contrasted so absurdly with the ancient, dark, and terrifying aura he sensed that his brilliant idealistic core fluctuated violently, like a precision instrument injected with the wrong data.
'It will stain the sun in my heart,' the Golden Superman was certain of this.
Because of this, he felt a deep resistance. He hovered in place, his brilliant gaze moving back and forth between the ominous metal box and the endless, malicious darkness. He knew the darkness was brought by the item inside; the moment he touched it, the sun in his heart might turn into a Black Sun.
Hesitation, like cold cosmic dust, spread through his heart. Using such a power of unknown origin and nature ran counter to the absolute, pure Justice he pursued. This was a fall in itself, a betrayal of his own beliefs.
"I cannot do this. Just because this universe's Superman has fallen doesn't mean I should use a fall to fight a fall." Just as he was preparing to give up, the mouth of the face in the shadows moved.
The whispers at his ear shifted. The silent laughter of the twisted shadows suddenly transformed into a more devious, penetrating murmur. The shadows churned. It was no longer simple noise, but a woven logical chain of temptation, striking directly at the weakest part of his will.
No one knew what the voice said except for the Golden Superman himself. The whispers from the Laughing One were like venom, seeping into every crack of his mind.
Then came a long pause, as if time itself had frozen. Finally, the brilliant but no longer pure light in the Golden Superman's eyes fixed with resolve.
As expected, Batman knows best how to tempt Superman. It has been thus since ancient times in the DC Universe.
He slowly, with extreme heaviness, reached out the hand that once shone with infinite glory and pressed it onto the lid of the box with its shifting geometric patterns.
"For... the ultimate order and salvation," the Golden Superman whispered, his voice incredibly dry.
The lid slid open silently. There was no expected explosion of energy, no myriad of phenomena, only a more solid, heart-palpitating sense of abnormality spreading out.
From the reflection in his pupils, one could see the box was lined with soft, black velvet that absorbed all light. And resting on that velvet was something very specific. A device the Golden Superman couldn't understand.
It looked like a toy. At least at first glance, it resembled a cheap plastic toy from a children's show. The device was only the size of a phone, colored in an ominous, soul-absorbing matte black. Its design was simple, even crude, with a dark red oval crystal embedded in the center, looking like a drop of congealed blood.
It emitted no powerful energy fluctuations. It was as quiet as a dead thing, forming a hair-raising contrast with the ancient, dark exterior of the box.
*Huff... huff...*
The Golden Superman's breathing hitched. His indestructible hand, capable of lifting stars, hovered over the toy, trembling and hesitating to descend. His super-vision, super-perception, and idealistic power were all screaming warnings, telling him that its essence was anything but harmless.
It was a dormant, highly concentrated Darkness belonging to another universe's system—an Evil concept entirely different from any power he knew. Perhaps only the Batman Who Laughs knew why it was here, or why it had been delivered like a common parcel to the Golden Superman.
The whisper rang in his ear again. Still undetectable, still hidden from a sixth ear. Regardless, the talk therapy was highly effective on the Golden Superman.
"I understand."
His hovering fingers finally curled. His eyes became incredibly complex—fear, resistance, but ultimately, they were covered by a warped "resolve" born of desperation. To defeat that anomalous Superman and for the future of the Multiverse, he knew he had to hold this toy-like darkness from a foreign universe.
'Just one person's sacrifice. A necessary sacrifice is worth it.'
"I know you are using me, but... I have my own plans." His fingertips finally touched the cold, dormant object.
And at the moment of contact— *VROOOOM!!!*
A vibration that couldn't be described with sound—as if the absolute silence of the universe's birth was being forcibly torn apart—exploded from the toy-like object! It wasn't deafening, but a silent boom that acted directly on the deepest part of the soul!
Deep, viscous, liquid-like dark light erupted from the dark red crystal as if escaping a prison of billions of years! It wasn't a power that destroyed everything, but a living darkness, surging like a thick tide, swallowing the Golden Superman instantly with whispers and fragments of illusions.
His golden brilliance struggled violently in the darkness, but he actively allowed his light to go dormant. The gold was completely submerged in the blink of an eye, like a candle in the wind. Infinite radiance was the best nourishment for this power.
"It seems this transformation is a road with no turning back." His body froze, his eyes losing focus, but his pupils reflected countless images. He stood in the wheat fields of Kansas, Jonathan and Martha waving at him; he was in the Daily Planet office, his Lois turning to smile at him; he stood beside his Justice League comrades, no one questioning him, no one fearing him... It was the ordinary life he could never get back.
The darkness clung to him, changing him into a different kind of life.
If someone with a truly discerning eye were here to witness this, they would surely recognize the toy taken from the metal box.
In truth, it wasn't a toy at all.
It was a Dark Spark Lens. The core power of the Ultra Ancient Dark Giants. The ultimate darkness capable of turning all light into death.
...
The Solar System
On the planet most suited for the proliferation of life, Clark Kent—carrying his lively surprise in one hand and the parallel-universe pregnant man in the other—tore through the atmosphere like a meteor.
He habitually glanced toward Metropolis first. Thank God, though some windows were shattered, the city's structure was intact; it hadn't become the main battlefield again. He knew it was uncharitable to feel relieved now, but his body had a mind of its own. He let out a small breath, then adjusted his course toward the ruins of New York.
Dust filled the air. The once-prosperous streets were now covered in rubble and twisted metal. However, the most shocking sight wasn't the city's wounds, but the ground... covered in various Batmen.
At least a dozen corpses wearing different styles of Bat-suits lay among the ruins. Some had their necks snapped by immense force, with terrifying puncture wounds in their chests; some were charred black as if carbonized by high voltage; others looked like they had been torn apart by primitive strength.
Among them were some Bat-counterparts, but most were clones Bruce had created himself.
Clark found the scene hard to evaluate. Before he could speak, Ian wriggled out of his grasp like a loach. The boy lunged toward the nearest Batman corpse with lightning speed.
"Uncle Bruce! You died such a miserable death!!!" He wailed with genuine emotion, throwing himself onto a corpse with a hole in its chest, even squeezing out two tears. But a second later, he darted to another torn-up body. "Oh no! This Uncle Bruce died even more tragically! Heaven is jealous of geniuses! Gone too soon!"
Ian wasn't acting like a drama queen for no reason. While wailing, he used incredibly practiced movements to shove several relatively complete Batman corpses into his seemingly bottomless dimension pocket. Only Ian could open the other side of that dimension.
Regarding Ian's secret body-snatching, Clark—who knew his son best—didn't scold him. He only let his lip twitch. His gaze moved past this bizarre funeral director scene toward the center of the ruins, landing on the still-living, wheelchair-bound Bruce Wayne.
Undoubtedly, this Wheelchair-man was the original. He was currently loading a person in a black skin-tight suit into a device emitting a faint blue energy field—some kind of special cage. Batman's movements were slow; he was using psionic assistance to help with the containment. His armor was heavily damaged, and his jaw was set tight; he had clearly been through a bitter struggle.
Seeing Bruce's actions and the field of Batman corpses, Clark gently placed the hollow-eyed, despairing Injustice Superman on a relatively intact section of a broken wall.
"You are touching a forbidden experiment, Bruce." Clark walked over, his footsteps heavy and his voice low, carrying disapproval and a trace of worry. Creating and consuming clones like this crossed certain lines Bruce had set for himself.
Batman didn't look back, focusing on locking the final failsafe of the cage. "It at least reduced a lot of... unnecessary 'real' casualties." His voice through the cowl was cold and weary.
The air fell silent, save for the sound of Ian assigning serial numbers to each Batman corpse and the wind whistling through the wreckage.
Then, footsteps approached. Wonder Woman, Diana, supported a heavily injured Aquaman, Arthur, and his wife, Mera. She carefully settled the royal couple on a large concrete block and looked at Clark.
"I think Bruce is right, Clark. You might not know how powerful and... insane this enemy was." Diana's beautiful face was bruised. She looked toward the figure in the cage with apprehension. "He calls himself Teth-Adam."
She explained the situation to Superman. "He claimed we should kneel to welcome the return of an Emperor and accept his 'just' rule."
This rhetoric sounded familiar to Ian. Since every time he saw the Aquaman couple they looked like they were on the verge of death, Ian—who was currently suggesting they buy more accident insurance—immediately perked up his ears. Or rather, his belly-mouth.
"I know, I know. The Desert Black Chicken, Black Adam."
Authors love to show off their knowledge, and Ian was no exception. But his interjection made Wonder Woman and the Aquaman couple stare at each other.
"Why is your son talking with his stomach? Did he obtain the power of Xingtian, the Headless God of War?" Finally, Mera, who didn't know Ian well, couldn't help but ask.
"..." Clark's forehead developed several dark lines. "You can take the tape off your mouth now." He knew Ian wouldn't annoy his family when he had others to bother.
Following his father's divine oracle, Ian spoke with his actual head. "No, my head is the main body. I can't be Xingtian. Anyway, this guy was indeed an Emperor in history—by the way, did this antique promise to name you Great Generals?"
Inside the cage, the unconscious Black Adam seemed stimulated by the title. He let out a low growl like a wounded beast, a trace of black lightning flickering around him as he slammed into the blue field. He glared fiercely at Ian.
"Black Adam... an ancient Pharaoh..." Superman's super-perception had already picked up some information from the man's mind. "You guys actually... defeated him?" Clark's surprise was genuine; he could feel the vast, ancient divine power within the man.
Batman remained silent, turning his wheelchair to check the field generator readings from when Ian provoked Black Adam.
"Did you think I hand-crafted this special cage on the spot?" Batman's voice was flat. Clearly, this thing was originally designed for Shazam, but adjusted for Black Adam. Batman once again proved that his contingency planning wasn't just paranoia.
"..." Clark was speechless. Right, he should have known. Batman had thousands of plans for his teammates; having a few cages for Shazam was just standard procedure.
"However, there is something much darker in him than the divine power Shazam should have," Clark noted, his gaze piercing the cage.
As he spoke, Black Adam looked up, a pure scarlet light—completely non-human—flashing in his eyes. "You may have defeated me, but you cannot defeat my nightmare... Believe me, the nightmare will take you all," Black Adam whispered like a curse.
The cage's field flickered unstable, emitting an overloaded hum. Batman's hands froze on the controls, his gaze sharpening. "Yes, this is the 'situation' I mentioned. I needed you back—more accurately, I needed the expert you brought back."
With that cold but information-laden sentence, Batman's armored finger pointed precisely at a certain figure sneaking around in the corner of the ruins.
Clark didn't show any surprise or attempt to block the view. He silently stepped aside. He knew better than anyone that when a problem involved this kind of Outer Universe absurdity, his son, with his bizarre mind and unpredictable methods, was the true "authority."
"What?" Ian jumped, nearly dropping the vibrating Black Box into his mouth. He was flustered because, when Batman called him out, he had been focused on his Black Box.
He was currently discussing with his Gotham fanboy (ID:IReallyAmNotARichSecondGen) on how to use the raw materials on the ground to hold a Licensed, Luxurious, Limited-Edition Funeral for Batman. They had already reached a preliminary agreement on a 50/50 profit split.
"Uh... I was listening! I've been listening the whole time!" Locked by Batman's freezing gaze, Ian managed his expression with incredible speed. He tucked the Black Box into his dimension pocket and brushed non-existent dust off his hands, then walked toward the humming cage with a stride that mimicked his father's God Among Men walk.
"Fine, I get it. Leave it to me..." He cleared his throat. "No matter what happens tomorrow, Uncle Bruce, you must remember that your Uncle Ian has come to save you again!" He patted his chest.
"What 'Uncle'?!" This sentence was like a depth charge, exploding among the Justice League. Diana's eyes widened, looking between Ian and Batman. The newly bandaged Aquaman nearly slid off his concrete block.
In this moment, Batman was "evolving" at a speed that would baffle Darwin. His face turned a deep shade of liver-purple. Clark silently covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking slightly. He was a professional; he could hold it in better than the others.
"Yes, that's right. I've been telling the truth lately."
Ian successfully established his seniority within the Justice League. He looked at the heroes who weren't using their super-brains enough to realize he had just stealthily become the highest-ranking member in the room.
Stifling the urge to laugh, Ian stepped into the buzzing cage. The blue field that could imprison gods seemed to offer him no resistance; it didn't even ripple as he passed through.
Inside, Black Adam was on the verge of explosive rage. Seeing a seemingly thin boy walk in, his eyes flashed with malice. He lunged like a leopard, his giant hand clutching Ian's throat!
'I got him!' Black Adam thought, intending to use him as a hostage. But the expected gasps or intervention from the heroes outside didn't happen. Diana only frowned; Aquaman scratched his wound; Batman just kept that liver-purple face.
But was that... a trace of pity in Batman's eyes?
Before Black Adam could process the contradiction, the "victim" spoke.
"Hey, give us a hug!"
Ian, whose throat was being crushed, wasn't suffocating. Instead, he sounded cheerful. The next second, with several squelching sounds, six flexible limbs made of a black symbiote material sprouted from Ian's back and waist!
These limbs acted with a mind of their own, coiling around Black Adam! Two locked his arms, two hugged his waist, and two wrapped around his thighs! Ian was like a giant, friendly octopus hugging the shocked Black Adam tightly. They were face-to-face.
Enraged, Black Adam tightened his grip—*CRACK*—he precisely crushed Ian's throat!
'Got him!' Black Adam thought, but he was immediately replaced by horror. Ian, who should have been dead, spoke clearly with his supposedly destroyed vocal cords.
"Nice grip." It sounded like a judge on a talent show.
"Impossible!!" Black Adam roared, trying to tear the boy off him. "What kind of monster are you?!"
"As you can see, I'm a pure human," Ian said easily, his tone carrying a hint of disdain. "Don't look at me like a country bumpkin. Every Earthling knows common sense—the most important organ for a human is the heart!"
Black Adam's face grew even darker. "What does that have to do with me crushing your throat?!"
Ian explained patiently, as if teaching a toddler: "The heart is a great place. So, as a precaution, I moved my precious throat-hole slightly and tucked it safely inside my heart for protection. You just crushed a useless, decorative external Adam's apple."
"You can't crush my real 'voice box'."
"Understand?" Ian showed off a bit of his Ancient Egyptian linguistic skill on the last word.
"Nonsense!!" The logic was so absurdly powerful that Black Adam didn't know how to refute it. He erupted with divine power, one arm breaking free from the symbiote's grasp. His fist, wreathed in black lightning, smashed into Ian's unprotected chest!
*THUD!!!* Ian's chest caved in, forming a deep crater as if every structure inside had been pulverized.
[Berserker XP +98]
Black Adam panted, a cruel satisfaction in his eyes. He believed that no matter where the organs were hidden, a direct hit from divine power to the heart area was fatal!
However, Ian looked down at his sunken chest, then looked up with a healthy glow on his face. "Uh... thanks for the help? I've been feeling a bit congested lately; that punch really cleared my meridians!"
"??????"
Black Adam was stunned. He looked at the collapsed chest, then at Ian's rosy cheeks and bright eyes. An absurd, skin-crawling thought formed in his ancient mind.
"Didn't expect that? I moved my heart up to my throat! Hehe, perfectly avoided the main damage! Our human physiology is just that miraculous and full of survival instinct!"
As Ian spoke, Black Adam's teeth began to grind.
"I... WILL... KILL... YOU!!!"
The extreme rage temporarily suppressed the dark energy within him. At the moment his consciousness fluctuated with fury, Ian's eyes flashed—he seized the opportunity!
Ian threw his head back and, with a forehead that seemed to have a hardness beyond common sense, he slammed it like a battering ram into Black Adam's forehead!
*BAM!!!*
The ancient King met the most frustrating and humiliating consciousness intrusion of his life.