The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Only the faint chirping of crickets in the lawn and green belt outside the window could be heard.
Ian held the demon head, staring nervously at the door blocked by the wardrobe. He kept whispering repeatedly into the demon's ear, "Quickly tell him that all life cannot refuse the demon's temptation, and that his son put up a heroic resistance but was ultimately defeated by you, the evil demon."
"Be sure to emphasize that it was a tenacious resistance that even you admired, but there was nothing that could be done, since you are too powerful." Ian tried to keep his voice down, making it sound like the buzz of a mosquito.
Even so.
He was still extremely nervous, slightly regretting that he hadn't learned Klingon on the way back. Otherwise, he could have used the language of geeks to conduct encrypted communication with the demon.
"I..."
The demon's perception allowed the demon, which was only a head, to clearly sense how immense the oppressive force outside was. It didn't dare to speak such suicidal words.
It hesitated. It was just a small demon, which was why it was a pawn, and thus, unlike the great demons, it couldn't stand up to Superman at all.
Superman has low magic resistance?
The grave grass of any demon who believed that would be eight hundred meters tall!
Just as the Bull-Headed Demon was determined to resist to the death.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Ian's hammer struck again.
"Quickly tell my father that I put up a tenacious resistance on the spiritual level against your temptation, but couldn't hold out. Also, don't directly repeat my words again."
He added a warning.
"This is impossible!"
The demon grit its teeth and resisted stubbornly.
However.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The muffled thudding on its head was truly painful, a mysterious, soul-reaching agony. The Bull-Headed Demon was almost impressed that it had managed to endure eighteen blows.
But it truly couldn't withstand the nineteenth.
Seriously, the enemy was too strong. It completely agreed with this statement now. Unable to resist, the Bull-Headed Demon had no choice but to comply.
"Superman! Your son... your son's willpower is truly strong... But... Huh? Heh heh heh? Demons don't laugh like that! Oh, for heaven's sake! I'll laugh! I'll laugh!"
"But, heh, heh heh heh, my temptation is terrifying, truly terrifying, absolutely terrifying... I didn't forget the lines! I'm just building up the mood!"
"My temptation cannot be defied by any life! I am the most powerful demon in Hell! Look! I spoke very smoothly! With great momentum! I've heard it before! I know how to say it!"
...
The Bull-Headed Demon was extremely indignant.
Ian, however, muttered curses internally. He was quite sure that with the demon's poor delivery, it wouldn't make it in politics, and could at most be an extra in Hollywood. After the Bull-Headed Demon honestly delivered its lines, the room fell into a silence where breathing could be heard again.
Outside the door.
There was no response.
Ian's ears were pricked up, his vigilance maxed out.
The next moment.
His intuition gave him a chilling sensation down his spine.
"You know I can see and hear you coaching a mutilated demon, right? And your irregular heartbeat." His father's voice suddenly came from behind him.
Ian whipped his head around.
He saw.
His father was trying to squeeze into the room through his not-so-large window. The window was only "not so large" relative to Superman's robust physique, that is.
"Crap! I forgot to lock the window!" Ian looked at the hammer in his hand, slightly panicked. For a fleeting moment, he considered enacting a loving father and filial son scene, but ultimately he didn't have the courage to rush forward. He stared, eyes wide, at Clark, who had completely squeezed into the room, hastily put the hammer behind his back, and held his breath.
If Ian was like this.
The demon's head instantly turned pale.
"You're right! It was all this little brat coaching me!" Its survival instinct was fully engaged, and it frantically shifted the blame. It was well-known that the language of demons meant they were adept at betrayal.
In response.
Clark, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt, merely gave the demon a cold glance.
"You know the person you're accusing is my son, right?" His words carried a seriousness that made the demon's scalp prickle. For the first time in its life, the demon experienced being caught between a rock and a hard place.
Well.
It wasn't human to begin with.
Due to the demon's abilities, it could sense Superman's terrifying bio-field and formidable pure soul. The pressure caused scarlet sweat to profusely seep from the demon's head.
*Sizzle sizzle*
The demon's sweat dripped onto the floor, corroding small black spots into the wooden planks. At this moment, it felt an even more intense pressure that made its soul tremble.
"You also know I paid for this floor, right?" Clark's voice was at least eight octaves lower than usual. Ian could even hear his father grinding his teeth.
The damage to one floorboard.
For a frugal farm boy, the cost was exceptionally painful.
"It has nothing to do with me! This truly has nothing to do with me!" It was true that no one knows the father like the son. Ian reacted incredibly quickly, throwing the demon head towards Clark like a hot potato.
Clark gripped it tightly with one hand—the demon head's skull was visibly deforming. However, for the demon, this wasn't nearly as painful as Ian's wicked hammer blows.
Facing the prospect of being crushed, it managed to come up with a desperate idea.
"Would you believe me if I said I'm not a demon, but just a very useful trash can?" The demon's voice was thin and sharp, and it dared not look into Clark's eyes.
"I'm very valuable! I can be a garbage recycling station, and I can definitely earn enough money to compensate you for your floor!" It had even started to steal Ian's ideas.
"?????"
Clark looked at the creature in his hand, which claimed to be a "trash can," then looked at his son's face, which was plastered with innocence. His eye twitched a few times, and then he took a series of deep breaths.
He seemed to be trying hard to calm himself down.
"Tomorrow,"
Clark finally spoke, his voice clearly restrained, "I will find you a large, safe, and reliable cabinet to put your... peculiar toys in."
He clearly paused on the word "toys."
"Huh?"
Ian had expected "fatherly love."
He didn't expect genuine fatherly love instead of Clark immediately taking off his belt.
"Is this really okay?"
He was still slightly stunned, so his tentative words sounded carefully cautious. Honestly, Ian had always thought Clark would have a very rigid personality.
"As long as you don't put these strange things under my and your mother's bed, and you take the necessary safety precautions, it's fine." Clark's expression looked extremely helpless.
But he still nodded at Ian—as a child who was once equally unique, Clark perhaps understood better than anyone else how to accept a child's special nature.
His parents.
They had set the best example for him in the past.
Now.
It was his turn, of course.