What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

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It's as if they're playing the piano.

“God is much more ruthless than you think, Crowley,” Lucifer’s voice was meaningful. “Why do you think Heaven was polluted? The source of that pollution couldn’t have found its way in by itself.”

He paused deliberately, watching Crowley's pupils suddenly dilate.

"Yes, that old codger is like that. It seems like he's just doing nothing, but in reality... by doing nothing, he's already made the biggest statement."

Lucifer added a final sentence.

Full of malice.

His chilling implication nearly made Crowley drop his glass. He dared not respond or ask any more questions, fearing that if he did, he would become the Demon King who would be hit by pigeon droppings and die.

“Well… boss, it’s all my fault for being so talkative. Let’s talk about Constantine instead. Should I go and bring him back for you?” Crowley quickly changed the subject.

It's very stiff.

However, his profuse sweating this time wasn't acting, nor was it due to overexertion or physical strain. Lucifer gave the highly skilled tailor a disdainful look.

"No need, let Constantine play by himself. No matter how much he struggles, he won't get to heaven."

Lucifer casually swirled his wine glass, his tone scoffing, "Really, Crowley, you call yourself a collector, yet you haven't discovered the treasure that guy's hiding?"

“Baby?” Crowley looked bewildered.

Lucifer revealed a wicked smile.

"An artifact powerful enough to secure your throne in Hell."

His smile was truly sinister, even more sinister than the Dragon King's crooked grin. Upon hearing this, Crowley abruptly stood up, the chair scraping loudly on the floor.

"I'm going to go after him right now!"

Crowley knew Lucifer wouldn't lie, so Constantine might really have some treasure. But just as he reached the front door and burst out, he felt a blur before his eyes.

He returned to the seat opposite Lucifer.

“Some opportunities, once missed, will never come again.” Lucifer took a sip of his drink. “That thing has already been packed up and taken away. I advise you not to even think about it.”

"Otherwise you'll be in big trouble, and don't blame me for not warning you." This tone was very familiar to Crowley; he had recently warned his business partner in a similar tone.

His mind raced, and his gaze drifted involuntarily to the television screen—where Ian was holding a cup of milk tea, yelling at the transformed Jonathan.

"In Ian Kent's hands?"

Crowley, quick-witted, whispered to test the waters.

Lucifer's gaze then turned to the television.

"Not in his hands, but in his cup... The Sandman thing's punching bag has become vanilla seed boba milk tea, haha, I really love this guy."

Lucifer laughed heartily; this answer confirmed Crowley's guess. The King of the Crossroads stared at Lucifer's expression, recalling all the information about Ian in his mind.

The boy who suddenly appeared in the Kent family possessed power that even angels feared.

“Boss, I’m confused.” After much hesitation, Crowley finally asked the question that had been bothering him for so long, “This boy is clearly not Superman’s biological son. What is he?”

The bar suddenly fell silent.

Even the background music mysteriously stopped.

Lucifer slowly put down his wine glass.

“Believe me, Crowley,” Lucifer’s voice suddenly became as deep as an echo from the depths of hell, “getting the answer to this question might not be a good thing for you.”

Upon hearing this, Crowley's mind went blank again. Even Lucifer shared the same attitude, making him increasingly convinced that his guess might not be wrong.

"Okay, I won't ask anymore."

Crowley made a decisive choice.

“You do seem to have a tiny bit of an interesting quality.” Lucifer elegantly poured Crowley a glass of amber-colored liquor, and as the man looked on with a flattered expression, Lucifer turned his gaze back to the television screen. No one could fathom the thoughts of the Lord of Hell, and at that moment, Lucifer's mind seemed to drift back to that particular night.

Beside the sulfur lake of hell.

He witnessed Archangel Amanadir handing an infant to Clark Kent, the baby surrounded by a special aura that did not belong to the entire multiverse.

Just as Lucifer was about to approach and observe, a long-lost, chilling pressure descended from the sky—the first time since the Fall that God had cast his gaze upon his son.

Even.

It's just a warning.

This was also the only time Lucifer felt that God was still there since he chose to fall.

unbeatable.

Unchallenged.

Even today, Lucifer cannot forget it.

The music from the bar was echoing.

"Respect the unknown."

Lucifer suddenly raised his glass.

Under Crowley's bewildered gaze.

He downed his drink in one gulp. Crowley quickly followed suit, but as he tilted his head back, he missed the fleeting complexity in Lucifer's eyes—no one could discern the depth of emotion contained within them.

“Alright, now we should continue enjoying ‘Heaven’s Demise’ directed by God.” Lucifer suddenly laughed again, looking at the TV screen as if nothing had happened.

in the screen.

The disaster in the metropolis may be over.

However, Gotham, where the superheroes live, remains extremely busy.

A gray mist hangs over the ruins of Gotham, a hazy haze of pollution. The once bustling streets are now nothing but ruins and a pile of corrupted fallen angels.

In this somewhat sanity-destroying apocalyptic scene.

Several lithe figures were moving quickly.

They were carrying high-tech water guns, moving around every corner, whether it was the alleyways of the East District or the ruins of houses that had been removed.

Wherever there is a source of pollution, there is the Justice League.

The water gun, a seemingly comical weapon, actually contains a purifying fluid. It was something Batman rushed to make, capable of instantly neutralizing and removing the pollutants from Angel's body.

"The alleyways in the East District have been cleared."

Steelbone's voice came through the communicator.

"Three more corrupted angels have been discovered and have been purified." Batman stood on the roof of a half-collapsed apartment building, his cape fluttering gently in the stench of decay. In his hand he held a strangely shaped high-pressure water gun, its barrel covered with Batman's signature black technological patterns.

“Pay attention to the seven o’clock direction.” His deep voice rang out in the Justice League channel. “There’s a strong abnormal energy reaction there; there should be more than one corrupted angel gathered there.”

It's not just people cleaning up the pollution sources.

Others are cleaning up the pollution that has spread.

The Flash darted about like a red lightning bolt, precisely spraying a pale blue liquid from his water gun. The liquid hissed as it touched the black, viscous substance seeping from the ground.

Wisps of smoke rose up.

Subsequently.

The pollution on the ground was thus purified.

"Seriously."

The Flash ran while making sarcastic remarks.

“I never imagined that the daily life of a superhero would become—the daily life of a firefighter.” He slammed on the brakes and pulled the trigger, aiming at the shadows in the corner.

In the shadows struck by the blue liquid, a curled-up angel suddenly trembled violently. His once jet-black wings began to shed their filth, gradually returning to their pure white color.

But the process was clearly excruciating; the angel let out a heart-wrenching scream and collapsed to her knees—though she eventually regained her senses and stopped chanting that filthy hymn.

Wonder Woman quickly stepped forward.

The Lasso of Truth was binding a defiled angel who had begun to sing even more filthy hymns, frantically praising the God of All Laws, Ion: "Calm down! The purification process will soon be over."

She also used a water gun to purify the angel's body of impurities.

however.

The new hymns did not stop.

Wonder Woman could only release the bound angel. The next moment, the angel, who had lost her glory and the power link with Heaven, regained true clarity in her eyes.

The powerless angel raised his head, revealing a handsome but haggard face. His eyes were filled with wariness, and he instinctively shrank back when he saw the fully armed heroes around him.

"What did you do to me?"

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

With a whooshing sound, Batman leaped from the rooftop, his cape unfurling like bat wings: "We've cleansed you of the corruption. You're safe now."

While talking.

Batman scanned the angel in front of him with his device. Just like the angels who had been purified of corruption before, the angels showed information feedback in his device that was just like that of an ordinary person.

"Mortals, you should not interfere in the affairs of angels." The angel, still maintaining his arrogant attitude, stood up unsteadily and tried to spread his restored white wings and ascend into the sky.

Although he crashed into the ruins after flying less than ten meters, he still insisted on getting up and continuing to try—he looked like an ordinary person with a pair of degenerated wings on his back.

"I bet there's a rule in Heaven's orientation program that says 'Never accept help from humans.'" Aquaman couldn't help but make a sarcastic remark when he saw how arrogant the angels were.

"You can rest here for now. I will arrange safe accommodation for you and help you find a way back to heaven. You don't need to worry about anything else."

Batman continued to step forward and try to persuade him.

“Angels don’t need mortals’ charity; we will solve our own problems.” The handsome angel raised his head and looked at the mortal in battle armor.

He ultimately just nodded slightly.

No help was accepted.

This is not the first time this has happened. Although the superheroes have purified the angels from the corruption, the angels who have lost their powers still retain their pride.

Why are they all so stubborn?

not far away.

Steelbone sighed helplessly.