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

Page 359

In the mirror, Thomas Wayne, forced to wear a lace veil, displays a series of changing expressions, revealing an even more desperate look than when he fell into hell.

It started very early.

Thomas Wayne was very sincere.

Just as he was wondering how long this story would continue.

"Click~"

A sudden human voice rang out. From the shadows of the hall, a floating black box slowly descended and landed steadily in the hands of the Three Palace Demons on the throne.

The next second, a shocking scene unfolded—Sangu Ma's enormous demonic body suddenly shrank, his six arms disappeared, and his ferocious face slowly faded away.

Instead, a handsome little boy appeared.

His golden pupils were filled with excitement.

Pinduoduo has put on quite a show.

"The show's over. Don't get so close to me. You can't afford to take advantage of me." He disdainfully pushed away two female succubi who were still trying to get close to him.

Then he pulled a bottle of holy water from his pocket and vigorously wiped the areas touched by the succubi. After cleaning, the boy pulled up the footage he had just recorded and began to examine the finished product with great interest.

"Hmm... the emotions were right, the lines were good, but the tear at the end felt a bit forced..." The boy stroked his chin, like a picky director.

It turns out it was all just filming.

The Great Hall of Hell remains eerie, but the atmosphere has completely changed. The air is thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, but today, this hall, a symbol of fear and torment, is hosting an unprecedented "ritual." Another classic masterpiece by director Ian McKellen was filmed here.

Ian believes this place will definitely become a popular spot for taking photos in the future.

"Everyone has worked hard."

When Thomas Wayne returned to the hall, all the demons in the hall looked at him. The great demons bowed in unison, and the jailer who had dragged him with chains and tortured him with instruments of torture was now prostrate on the ground, his forehead pressed to the ground, apologizing in a trembling voice, clearly terrified.

"Your Majesty! I was not paying attention! I have disturbed you, please forgive me!" The little devil trembled with fear for his negligence, and he had already found a place to cut his stun gun.

Thomas glanced at him.

Subsequently.

He simply waved his hand dismissively.

"Go collect your paycheck."

Thomas's words were also directed at the other demons. The next moment, the demons felt as if they had been granted a pardon and scrambled back, unable to believe that they had just participated in torturing the King of Hell.

"The next part is about you finally getting your revenge and becoming the Dragon King." Ian was clearly not truly satisfied; he already had the outline of the second part's plot in his mind.

This is the imagination and talent possessed by a renowned writer.

It can't be used up, it can't be used up at all.

"..." Thomas Wayne's gaze shifted to the boy in the corner who was engrossed in editing the video—Ian was sitting cross-legged on the ground, a straw from a fruit wine bottle dangling from his mouth, his fingers rapidly gliding across the floating screen, occasionally letting out a strange "hehehe" laugh, looking genuinely focused and absorbed.

To be honest, Thomas didn't want to agree to Ian's so-called "big smart" plan. Well, the boy's original words were "bigbigbig smart," which he thought was ridiculous. But Ian had shown him the picture of Martha and old Kent having afternoon tea together.

A son's wealth and a warm wife.

Which one is more important?

Thomas only had a capitalist's scale in his mind.

“Bruce isn’t someone who’s easily fooled.” Thomas took a deep breath, walked over and sat down beside him, took a silk handkerchief from his suit pocket, and wiped away the remaining “scar makeup” from his face.

he whispered.

There was a hint of helplessness in his tone.

"I'll add billions in special effects, you have to believe me. I can even fool ghosts and gods, so I can easily handle a little Batman." Ian continued operating without looking up.

"The emotions are spot-on, the pacing is tight, and the special effects could use a hundred million more blood and gore... mountains of corpses and seas of blood!"

He traced a dazzling light trail with his finger on the screen, speaking with the ease of discussing tomorrow's breakfast, brimming with confidence—and with an air of extraordinary wisdom.

It's not some kind of unfounded confidence.

“You underestimate Bruce’s intelligence.” Thomas Wayne recalled his previous filming experience and felt that it could definitely be called his embarrassing history.

He didn't think such an absurd story could fool his son.

In this regard.

Ian also gave a crooked smile, becoming more and more skilled.

"Even if Uncle Bruce sees through my plan, it doesn't matter. He'll just think you've fallen into my hands, and he'll be more alarmed than if he thought this movie was a documentary."

Do you know what word-of-mouth is?

"I am reputation! No matter what, it's a win-win situation for both of us." Ian talked about his winning philosophy. He never cared who would lose because he always won.

“Before I even got close to Damian, Uncle Bruce put the whole city on lockdown. He has a deep misunderstanding about me, but that misunderstanding is exactly what we can use.”

It must be said that Ian does have some self-awareness, but not much. His words still reveal that he thinks Batman is making a mountain out of a molehill.

"..."

Thomas opened his mouth.

He found it difficult to refute Ian's logic. However, as a grandfather, he still felt that Bruce Wayne hadn't done enough in preventing Ian from getting close to Damian.

Damian should be sent to an alien school in the Centaurus system to study, so as to ensure that Damian is not led astray by this boy who has already begun to walk the right path.

"When are you going back to Earth?" Thomas Wayne realized that Ian could always find impeccable logic, so he wisely refrained from commenting on Ian's resentment.

Old Wayne changed the subject.

This tactic has always worked well against Ian.

“I came here to see a therapist, but now my car and trash can are gone, and my workload has tripled.” Ian sighed helplessly.

His mouth never stopped; he kept drinking fruit wine. His superhuman physical condition gave him an unparalleled metabolic ability, so even if he secretly added some whiskey to the fruit wine, he wouldn't get drunk.

“I can help you find someone.” Thomas Wayne straightened his suit cuffs, took out a silk handkerchief from his inner pocket, and slowly wiped away the remaining “bruise makeup” on his neck. The carefully designed bruises and bloodstains gradually faded under the holy water-soaked handkerchief, revealing the Gotham King’s signature cold and stern face.

"You still have this ability?"

Ian, who was squatting on the throne editing a video, suddenly looked up, his tone surprised. He had thought Thomas Wayne was just a closed-off, hellish little prince.

I didn't expect there to be so many henchmen outside?

Otherwise, how would you find someone in hell?

Just as Ian was speculating, Thomas Wayne proved him right. A capitalist's smile appeared on Thomas's lips.

He pulled a gold-embossed business card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

The business card gleamed faintly in the sulfurous mist, bearing three lines of text printed in Gothic script.

Hell Human Resources Co., Ltd.

CEO: Thomas Wayne.

Let every soul realize its full potential.

……

"Where do you think I found the souls in those 'pain batteries'?" He tapped the ground lightly with the tip of his leather shoe, and the floor tiles of the entire hall suddenly turned transparent.

below.

Countless networks crisscross the internet, transmitting intelligence and even souls.

“I have a dedicated human resources department that goes to those little houses inhabited by souls to screen for targets, and many other powerful lords in hell also send me commissions.”

"And I can always find the kind of corrupted soul they need." As expected of the old king of Gotham, he once again displayed his divine power, transforming the surrounding space into a warehouse.

Countless neatly arranged crystal cages gathered all around.

The Soul Warehouse.

The souls here are not for "generating electricity".

It's a transaction of souls.

In the end, old Wayne was still in hell, doing the old business his ancestors had built up overseas. Ian never expected that Thomas would take advantage of those prison cells before he did.

Sure enough, capitalists all think in the same way.

“Great minds think alike.” Ian gave old Wayne a slight hand as he stepped forward to examine the place, where he saw all sorts of souls in tens of thousands of small cages.

They are the worst of the worst. These souls, dressed in costumes from different eras, are repeating the sins of their past lives. There is a Victorian miser counting an endless pile of gold coins, a Wall Street stockbroker screaming at a screen that keeps dropping, and even a few figures dressed in superhero costumes pounding on the walls in a cubicle.

They are a bunch of con artists who used superhero costumes to seduce women, resulting in 20,000 people in an island nation contracting HIV. However, Ian thinks they probably shouldn't be in hell.

"Wow! You even categorized them?" Ian's pupils reflected this Soul Matrix warehouse; it seemed old Wayne had even acquired the technology for those hellish cubicles.

It's unclear whether he bribed Commissioner Crowley or curried favor with Lucifer.

"certainly."

Thomas snapped his fingers, and a holographic projection of the operating interface appeared on the ground. "They are divided into zones according to the seven deadly sins. Souls in the Gluttony zone are best suited for driving kitchen equipment, those in the Greed zone are responsible for financial calculations, and the souls in the Pride zone are the most expensive, being the most sought-after souls by other hellish demons to kill Prey Lucifer."

“I’m a businessman, and I don’t usually ask them why they do this kind of thing,” Thomas Wayne said, demonstrating the wisdom of a capitalist.

He's doing really well in hell.

"I dare ask, I dare ask, tell me which great demons bought the Soul of Pride?" Ian's gossip instincts were second only to Madison's, so his eyes shone brightly.

“Sorry, the client’s information is absolutely confidential. Even if Lucifer comes… I usually have to be beaten for ten minutes before I can tell him.” Thomas Wayne was still a respectable man after all.

He didn't boast too much, just made a small boast.

“I don’t believe you unless you let me watch you get beaten next time.” Ian could sense the presence of his own kind, so he felt that old Wayne’s words contained at least three minutes of lies.

"..."

Thomas reluctantly untied his fingers from the tie, trying to get some breathing space. There were no tie pins in Hell, but the demons' fingers were actually quite useful.

"Your room is ready."

He changed the subject again.

"Oh, alright."

Ian reached into his hand and looked at his crayon watch, which was linked to the most accurate time on Earth, so Ian could know exactly when to go to sleep even in hell.

Are you really planning to sleep in hell?