Ian's logic was, as always, unassailable.
Even Raven could follow his "middleman" analogy—this guy had been itching to touch her forehead since they met, and she knew perfectly well he was lusting after the power sealed within it.
Since that power originated from Trigon, Ian's claim that finding Trigon directly was "bypassing the middleman" was a reasonably accurate, if horrifying, metaphor.
Because Raven was sharp and logical, she found herself momentarily speechless, her brow furrowing into a tight knot. She looked like a beautiful, tiny, grumpy old lady.
Upon deeper reflection, she realized she was being "infected" by a terrifying mental meme—this guy was bold enough to treat the seventy-two demons of Solomon like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Him having this attitude toward Trigon... was actually somewhat understandable?
'Dammit! I can't think like that!'
Raven shook her head violently as if to rattle out the invisible corruption. The shaking worked; her thoughts snapped back to normal.
'Maybe he acts like this because he's a hybrid... Lois Lane's lineage must be something else to produce a child like this.'
'Feeding on demons...' Raven gave Ian a long, penetrating look, trying to see past his human exterior to figure out what kind of world-shaking species he actually was.
She clearly hadn't uncovered the truth of his birth—that was a project personally managed by Batman, a secret even magic-users struggled to penetrate.
"Stop spacing out, sister! Go, go, go—follow me home! Let's go get Baal's head... uh, I mean, let's go ask my Abyssal Demon Bucket to take on a second job!"
On the other side, Ian was already impatiently urging her along.
Caught off guard by his eagerness, Raven asked instinctively,
"Did you seal him in a special container? Do we need to prepare a de-sealing ritual?" She imagined some sacred urn or cursed box locked with heavy enchantments.
However.
Ian tilted his head, thought for a moment, and said uncertainly.
"A container? Well... I guess there is one. But there is absolutely zero sealing involved."
"I just put Baal in the fridge—the big double-door one in our kitchen, in the zero-degree freshness drawer. Recently, some bastard has been stealing my chicken breast, so I told Baal to watch it for me. I told him to bite anyone who tries to steal!" He said this with total righteousness and indignation.
Raven: "???"
The fridge? To watch chicken breast? To bite thieves?
She was utterly stunned. For a moment, she couldn't tell if Ian was talking about a bull-demon from Hell or a domestic guard dog.
"Are you sure we're talking about a bull-demon and not, say, a Hellhound?" Raven finally couldn't help but ask. Given Ian's mental state, she felt she had to double-check everything for safety.
"Of course." Ian felt Raven was doubting his memory.
"Aren't you afraid of him rebelling? Taking the chance to cause trouble, possessing a neighbor, and vanishing into the crowd?" Raven had spent a long time studying demons. Her expression was deeply skeptical.
"If you had the 'Aura of Tyranny' like I do, you wouldn't worry about that." Ian chuckled, his voice feigning a casual nonchalance. His posturing skills were still remarkably unpolished.
"What does that mean?" Raven shook her head, baffled. Aura of Tyranny? What was he talking about now?
Ian was kind enough not to mock her for her limited cultural literacy.
"It's fine if you don't know now! My company is planning to go head-to-head with Hollywood soon. Once my 'Green Fruit Shorts' app hits the market, you can binge-watch some of our short dramas and you'll get it!"
"They're full of knowledge points!"
Ian even offered helpful guidance and a learning direction. He was such a gentle soul, though Raven didn't seem to perceive that gentleness.
"??????" Raven couldn't keep up with the leaps in logic. "Do you even remember what we were talking about? I suspect you're just taking the opportunity to run an ad."
Before she could figure out the connection between the "Aura of Tyranny," "Green Fruit Shorts," and a "Demon in the Fridge," Ian was urging her again.
"Alright, enough of that. Stop stalling and follow me home to get my Abyssal Demon Bucket! Don't keep Trigon waiting! That would be disrespectful to your father!" Ian's expression actually turned serious.
"To lure Trigon out, I wouldn't even mind dyeing my hair blonde to go see him as your 'boyfriend.'" As he said this, he instinctively swallowed his saliva again.
He was even willing to sacrifice his reputation. It was clear Ian was going all-in for the "revenue" Trigon could provide. He did have a grudge against Trigon; he'd been backstabbed by the demon once in Hell.
Missing out on the rewards of a Demon Lord was not something a "small-minded" person like Ian would let slide. He planned to get back every bit of EXP he'd been forced to lose.
Of course, he couldn't use such a vengeful excuse publicly. He remembered he was a superhero, so he planned to use the "I've become Galactus and eternal hunger has seized my brain" excuse.
He had already drafted his excuses in his mind. All he could think about was the harvest. If he could find a way to summon Trigon to the mortal realm—even just an avatar—how much EXP would that yield? He hardly dared to think about it! Just the thought made him giddy!
"Can you please wipe the drool? I'm begging you."
Raven looked at the blatant "appetite" in Ian's eyes directed at her father. She weighed the urgency of tracking Trigon's conspiracy and finally made up her mind.
"But you're right. I don't want my father to wait too long either—we have too many scores to settle. He must pay for everything he's done." Raven took a deep breath, suppressing her complex emotions. Her tone became icy and determined, filled with a bone-deep hatred for Trigon.
"Spoken like a pro! The demonic tradition of father-son... or father-daughter conflict should be exactly like this!" Ian acted as the hype man.
The two reached a bizarre consensus. Just as Raven was about to use magic to transport them away, Ian leaned in again.
"Even though we're not strangers anymore—we're strangers who have met once—I still have to be clear: after we find Trigon, I want a 30/70 split." Ian spoke with a serious, earnest tone.
Raven blinked.
"If we really manage to kill him... everything of his goes to you. I want nothing."
Raven's answer was unhesitating. Her tone carried no desire for that terrible power, only a pure, twisted "daughterly love" that wanted Trigon utterly destroyed.
Ian was deeply moved.
"I knew it! Trigon is a demon after all, and just as a mouse's son knows how to dig holes and I, as Superman's child, am also a Superman, Trigon's offspring is definitely a 'Demon Pill' too!" He gave Raven a thumbs up.
"Since you loathe him so much, don't use his surname anymore. I've thought of a new one for you. Next time we meet, you can call me 'Benefactor.' And I'll call you Rachel Garfield."
Ian's suggestion was so avant-garde that Raven still couldn't understand it.
"???"
Just as she was about to ask which wire in Ian's brain had crossed this time, he cut her off with a correction. His gaze was firm.
"Oh, by the way, about that 30/70 split—I think you misunderstood my phrasing. That's actually a common split ratio in the new era."
"It means you sear him to a medium-rare (30% done), and I spend seven days eating him. Don't worry, my age is already in the double digits; I don't need you to spoon-feed me."
Ian didn't want Raven taking advantage of him regarding his age, so he chose an ambiguous way to reveal it.
"..."
Raven fell into a stunned silence. She stood there, frozen in a state that looked like severe constipation. She opened her mouth, but found any words inadequate for such a "plan." A flush of frustrated heat rose to her cheeks and ears.
"Let's go, let's go! Time waits for no man!" Ian was already fully immersed in the anticipation of the "medium-rare father feast" Raven was hosting for him.
Completely ignoring Raven's emotional shift, he grabbed her wrist while she was still in her "red-faced" freeze and activated his Superman family specialty.
Flight.
Of course, while many heroes could fly, the sky over Metropolis only allowed those with a specific surname. Ian was already arranging for people to bribe the local officials regarding the relevant traffic rules.
*CRASH!*
Ian smashed through the beautiful stained-glass window of the church. Amidst the sound of shattering glass, the two soared into the sky, instantly becoming a small black dot in the night.
Behind them, Jonathan, Jordan, and Damian remained firmly tied to the pillars.
"Wait, we're still tied up!"
The night wind blew through the broken window, bringing a chill that made the candle flames flicker. The three "unlucky brothers" looked at each other, completely forgotten in the church that had suddenly become desolate and silent.
Jordan blinked, speaking with difficulty: "So, we're just... left behind? That woman took our crazy brother to go find her old man?"
"That's my idol for you. Sigh, I hope one day Lord Ian can take me to sear my dad, too—preferably searing him until he's howling and begging for mercy." The real Demon Pill was still right here. Damian's sigh was filled with "filial piety" toward Batman.
"I knew it... last night when I opened the fridge, something bit me. It nearly took my finger off. I thought I was just so sleepy I was hallucinating." Jonathan was feeling guilty for eating Ian's chicken breast.
Of course, the guilt was fleeting. When the fear of losing muscle mass seized his brain again, he wouldn't be able to control his hands or mouth. That's how athletes are—especially those who love bodybuilding.
"We have to save ourselves!" Jordan struggled, but it was useless; Raven was an expert at tying knots.
"Jordan! My belt is over there!" Jonathan urgently called to his brother. "Use your super telekinesis to bring it to me! I can transform and use my powers to cut through this illogical magic rope!"
His gear was lying not far away, maybe twenty meters. It was right before his eyes, but he couldn't grow an infinitely long rubber hand like Ian.
"And mine! My gear bag is there too!" Damian Wayne chimed in, clearly assuming Jordan had such a convenient ability.
Only Jordan himself knew he didn't.
"..." Jordan looked at his companions' expectant gazes with a face full of helplessness.
"Do you guys have some misunderstanding about me? How would I have something even Dad doesn't have? If I had that kind of power, I wouldn't have to do that thing to lower my cortisol before bed..."
He didn't finish his sentence, leaving an infinite space for imagination.
"Regardless, even if I did have that power... that woman put more than one piece of Kryptonite on me! The fact that I can even talk is thanks to my good constitution!"
Jordan, the mortal vessel of the "God of Flaunting Restraint," narrowly avoided a slip of the tongue and changed the subject, admitting in a dejected tone that he was currently less capable than an average human.
The three looked at each other again. A sense of desolation filled the air. After a moment of silence, Jonathan, as the eldest, sighed again with a look of resolve: "In that case, I have no choice but to bring out my trump card."
Damian's eyes lit up behind his Robin mask. "I knew it! You're the eldest son of the Kents; you must have a hidden, unknown final resort! Is it some Kryptonian secret technique that requires a sacrifice to activate?"
His mind went straight to classic superhero comic tropes. Jordan also looked at his brother expectantly, waiting for Jonathan to reveal his secret move.
Jonathan took a deep breath, focusing his energy in his diaphragm. His chest expanded slightly as if he were brewing some earth-shattering energy—Damian and Jordan both held their breath in anticipation.
The next second.
Jonathan opened his throat and, with every ounce of his strength, let out a world-shaking, high-piercing cry for help:
"OH GREAT GOD! OH KIND OLD FATHERS! ANYONE WHO'S FREE! PLEASE COME SAVE US!"
His voice echoed through the empty church, shaking dust from the ceiling and carrying far out through the shattered window.
***
Meanwhile, near the Orion spiral arm, inside a twisted sector of space known as an absolute forbidden zone that terrified advanced civilizations.
There should have been a massive, living planet here—Apokolips—its surface covered in lava rivers and terrifying spires. But now, there was only a void of silent space lingering with traces of horrific energy fluctuations. It was as if a giant eraser had completely wiped Apokolips from the cosmic canvas.
Not even a speck of debris or dust remained.
In the empty environment, only two outsiders hovered in the vacuum.
One wore the classic blue suit and red cape, the "S" on his chest shining even in the cosmic void. This was Clark Kent, the father of the three boys back home. He had a deep frown, scanning the empty space with a solemn expression.
"Did you analyze anything?" Superman turned his head.
Beside him stood Bruce Wayne, wearing the pitch-black, heavy Hellbat armor, adorned with spikes and demonic wing structures, radiating an aura of Hell.
This was why Lois suspected Superman was often secretly "dating" Bruce. The two had been teaming up frequently lately.
"In a moment," Batman replied in a deep voice. This ultimate armor, meant only for the most desperate moments, was currently running at full capacity, the red lights on the faceplate flickering as it analyzed the surroundings.
Just then, Superman's ear twitched slightly. He tilted his head as if hearing something incredibly distant and faint. The solemnity on his face was instantly joined by a hint of helplessness and a headache.
"Bruce." Superman turned toward the distant Milky Way. "I have to head back to Earth."
His tone was full of "tired father" energy. Batman didn't respond immediately; he was focused on operating the complex instruments extending from the armor's gauntlets, scanning the void. Rows of data scrolled rapidly across the screens, emitting soft beeps.
The Dark Knight's expression grew grimmer.
"Wait a moment, Clark," Batman's voice came through the helmet, carrying a metallic hum and unprecedented seriousness. "The scan is almost complete... I have to be sure..."
A few seconds later, the device let out a long beep, presenting the final analysis. Batman stared at the result in silence for a long time before letting out a deep, heavy sigh.
The sound couldn't travel in the vacuum, but it reached Superman clearly through the internal comms.
"As I thought... it's completely gone." Batman's voice carried a hint of disbelief and immense pressure. "Not even a molecular trace can be detected. Apokolips, and everything that might have been on it... was utterly annihilated. Without evidence, we have to prepare for the fallout."
His hands were sweating inside the gauntlets. Every member of the Justice League knew the terror of Darkseid; back when Steppenwolf was just a minor lackey, he had nearly wiped them out.
"I see." Superman's helplessness deepened as he rubbed his temples.
"So... we're going to be the scapegoats for some unknown entity that can wipe out Apokolips at will? Earth already has enough trouble as it is..." The thought of Darkseid's vengeful nature and the potential for a mad retaliation made even the current "Mind-over-Matter" Superman feel a bit of a headache.
After all, he and Golden Superman had fought Darkseid before, and they only managed to drive him back thanks to Ian's gear.
Heaven only knew how fast Darkseid grew. If Darkseid hid in a temporal rift for a while before resurfacing, even Clark couldn't guarantee his growth rate would match Darkseid's.
They had already researched Darkseid's condition. That guy was just a juvenile. God only knew how terrifying an adult version would be.
"Combat is likely unavoidable," Batman said, cold and rational. "The priority is ensuring Darkseid's revenge doesn't land directly on our turf. We need to..."
Before he could finish, Superman suddenly looked up toward the space behind Batman. His super vision caught an entity approaching from deep space at staggering speed, radiating infinite rage and the scent of destruction.
Superman was silent for a moment before his voice reached Batman via comms.
"Actually, the battle won't be on our turf... I can guarantee that now." Superman raised his hand, pointing behind Batman.
"What! How can we be this unlucky!" Alarm bells rang in Batman's head. The Hellbat armor entered maximum alert as he whipped around.
Sure enough! He saw him—Darkseid.
The tyrant of Apokolips, the ruler of the dark world, was floating in the void nearby. His rocky face, usually locked in an eternal expression of cold cruelty, was now shattered into extreme shock and an inexpressible, infinite rage that looked ready to incinerate the universe!
He had apparently just finished a detour across countless star systems. After losing Superman earlier, he had cautiously taken a long route home before heading back to his "house."
However, Darkseid never expected that what awaited him wasn't the kneeling of subjects or the roar of planetary engines, but... an empty void of nothingness.
'Where is my home? Where is my massive Apokolips?!'
'Wait! You couldn't find me, so you stole my house?! Where did you learn these 'backdooring' tactics?!'
"YOU—!!!" Darkseid's roar was like billions of supernovas exploding at once. The horrific sonic waves warped the surrounding space and vibrated the dimensional barriers of the multiverse.
"HOW DARE YOU!!!" Darkseid, who had traveled a long way only to find his home gone, went completely berserk! He naturally poured all his rage toward the two individuals he hated most in the universe who happened to be standing on the ruins of his home—Superman and Batman!
Darkseid didn't believe for one second that the destruction of Apokolips had nothing to do with them. How could it be such a coincidence?!
"Dammit! I knew he'd think that!" Facing this sudden, cosmic-level misunderstanding and rage, Batman reacted even faster than Superman!
Almost at the same instant Darkseid roared, Batman didn't hesitate. A slot popped open on the Hellbat gauntlet, and with lightning speed, he pulled out a black credit card with the Wayne Enterprises logo and swiped it through the armor's reader!
[Funds Confirmed! Welcome back!]
A gentle prompt rang inside the armor. For this set of armor that Ian had helped build, Ian had actually incorporated a lot of the "shocks" he'd learned from new energy brands.
Voice packs were also a paid item. Honestly, given that Ian had allowed the armor to fly and brake without a subscription fee, he was already showing his conscience as a capitalist.
Lord Ian's kindness was known to all.