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

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Bruce struggled violently.

Yet he was unable to regain control of his body—his consciousness gradually sank into Slaanesh's whispers, the sweet voice like venom, slowly corroding his will.

Why suppress yourself?

Slaanesh's voice echoed in his ears, "You longed for liberation more than anyone else... the darkness of Gotham, the destruction of Metropolis, the souls that died because of you... you didn't have to suffer all of this."

Bruce's breathing became rapid.

Cold sweat trickled down his back.

Countless visions flashed before his eyes—Gotham was burning in flames, the Joker's head was being cooked by himself, and Superman's corpse was floating in space.

Alfred's eyes showed disappointment... These were all fabrications that had not happened, but what was terrifying was that a twisted pleasure was mixed in with these desperate scenes.

“Accept it…” Slaanesh raised his fingertips, as if gently caressing Bruce’s soul from afar, “Turn pain into pleasure, turn repression into indulgence…You deserve to enjoy all of this.”

Bruce's resolve began to waver.

However, just as his defenses were about to collapse—

A blinding golden light suddenly ripped through the dream.

The light was like a sharp sword.

The crimson palace crumbled in the intense light that pierced through Slaanesh's domain. Slaanesh's laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by an angry shriek.

"Why don't you save your power for something else? Damn it! Our universe is gone! We need something to exist! You and your race need it too!"

Slaanesh is roaring.

Bruce felt an irresistible force pulling him.

He was pulled back from the abyss of chaos. His vision was filled with pure gold, and at the edge of that light, he could vaguely see a blurry figure.

A giant sitting on a golden throne.

His face was withered, yet he still exuded unparalleled majesty. His eyes burned with a cold flame as he stared directly at Bruce, as if they could pierce through his soul.

"Only once, humans from another world." A deep and majestic voice echoed in Bruce's mind; it was not language, but a will directly imprinted on his consciousness.

next second.

"boom!"

Bruce sprang from the bed, gasping for breath.

His heart was pounding and his muscles were tense, as if he had just gone through a life-or-death struggle.

"What happened?" Batman looked around blankly—the cold light of the Batcave remained, the computer screens flashed data, and Alfred's voice came through the communicator.

"Young Master, are you alright?" Bruce raised his hand to his temple, trying to recall the dream he had just had, but the memory was like an erased videotape, leaving only blurry afterimages.

"I...I'm fine," he said in a low, hoarse voice.

Batman slowly stood up and, guided by his intuition, walked to the metal cabinet containing the Red Death's body and inspected it—the sealing method was intact.

There was nothing unusual about the corpse inside.

"What kind of dream did I have?"

Batman took off his clothes and examined his entire body. He found no signs of corrosion, but he felt increasingly uneasy and terrified.

There is very important information.

It seemed to have left no trace in his mind. However, out of caution, Batman quickly dragged out the metal box and carried the Red Death's body back to the Batmobile.

The chariot sped out.

Rushed into the distance.

"Is it because of this corpse, or because I myself have already been contaminated?" Batman sensed something was wrong, but he didn't know exactly what was wrong.

Two hours later.

Mariana Trench.

The leaden clouds hung low, and restless undercurrents surged on the sea. The Batmobile hovered above the waves, its engines humming, its exhaust plumes sending up fine mists of water vapor in the damp air.

Bruce stood by the hatch, silently gazing at the dark sea. A few minutes earlier, he had sealed the Red Death's corpse into a container and temporarily stored it in a warehouse deep in this area of ​​the sea.

"Afu, close the underwater lock gate."

Bruce said in a low voice, which was more hoarse than usual.

"It's done, sir." The butler's voice came through the communicator, tinged with a rare hesitation. "What did you seal into that place?"

In this regard.

Bruce didn't answer. He reached out and gripped the edge of the tank's hatch, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. The sea breeze, carrying a salty, fishy smell, rushed towards him.

Like some kind of silent warning.

He looked back.

One last look at the sea that had devoured the Red Death Demon.

The water surface has returned to calm, as if nothing had happened.

But unease continued to gnaw at his nerves.

There are things that have already happened, and at some point they may happen again.

It had nothing to do with his own counterpart, but only with a certain state of his own—guilt? This thought was like a thorn, deeply embedded in Bruce's consciousness.

"I am now the best test subject."

The Batmobile drove away from the sea.

He still had no intention of asking for help.

Compared to before going to sleep.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, has clearly become increasingly arrogant—something is still at play, and perhaps this isn't the first time he's been affected by it.

……

metropolis.

On the site of the Kent family's old house.

The brand-new wooden house stood out against the night sky, its interior illuminated by candlelight and flashlights. Superman truly lived up to his name, managing to complete the construction of his new home in just a few hours.

Who else deserves the title of the best builder? In fact, Clark clearly has this hobby. Even after the cabin was repaired, he was still staying up all night making furniture.

"Zizzizi~"

In the living room, which was much smaller than before, Clark used thermal imaging to precisely carve the grain of an oak chair, the wood shavings carrying a faint smell of roasted pine as they drifted in the air.

“Oh, Dad, you didn’t make a bump in this area. Ian said the chair needs to be ergonomically designed, otherwise it will affect his inspiration when he’s writing.”

Jonathan squatted down beside him, helping out.

"Does Ian need inspiration when he writes? Doesn't he just blurt it out?" Clark's lips twitched, but he still adjusted the angle and made a new chair.

He was very satisfied with this new work.

And right now.

"Clark! Time to get back to work!"

Louise's voice came from the stairwell. She had changed into business attire, holding a voice recorder and notebook, but froze when she saw the scene in the living room.

“Huff, huff, huff~”

I saw.

Jordan, the second oldest brother in the family, was standing in the corner, his chest heaving dramatically, creating a visible vortex of air in the room.

"What are you doing?" Louise asked, her eyes wide.

"Air purification."

Jordan answered seriously, taking a deep breath as if all the dust in the living room was gathering at his nose. "Ian said there's a lot of formaldehyde in newly renovated houses."

"He gave me three hundred dollars for my services and let me use my skills." For some reason, Jordan even sounded a little proud when he said this last sentence.

"..."

Louise's gaze swept across the empty living room—aside from the chair Clark had just made, there wasn't even a carpet on the entire first floor, and the clothes she was wearing were old clothes she had brought back from her hometown.

"No, this environment is all solid wood, how could there be formaldehyde?" Mom looked around. The new house didn't even have any furniture, let alone her own special item, "red wine".

Hear the words.

Clark looked slightly embarrassed.

“I gave Ian six hundred dollars, and he said he could handle the burnt smell.” Clark’s super sense of smell was very sensitive, and he was still a little unaccustomed to the smell of his new home.

"?????"

Louise looked at her second son, who was starting to inhale again.

"Did you hear that?! Ian got six hundred dollars!"

She reminded Jordan, hoping he would realize his mistake.

however.

"It's a 50/50 split, very fair. He contributes his wisdom and I contribute my strength. We both cheat... and we both get the hard-earned money from our parents." Jordan truly has a super brain.

This answer made Louise immediately cover her forehead.

Where is Ian?

She knew perfectly well who was responsible for making her work overtime again tonight.

The heroic sacrifice of Superman's son?

Louise felt a headache coming on just thinking about the manuscript she had to finish that night.

He said he and Wonder Woman had developed a deep friendship and he wanted to write a book for her called "Catwoman, Don't Look Back, I'm Batman."

Jonathan gave his elderly mother an answer.

"It's clearly 'Wonder Woman treated me like Zeus all those years'."

Jordan refuted this.