Chapter 51: Trying to Moral Blackmail Me? I Will Smash You Straight Into Earth's Core
"Country mongrel."
These four words accompanied Shen Che's short, sneering laugh.
They echoed in the spacious office, cutting through the fierce wind and slamming solidly against Clark's eardrums.
Clark's breathing hitched abruptly.
He had always had a very good temper. In the twenty years he grew up on the Kansas Farm, he had been called a freak to his face and had mud thrown at him by the town's hoodlums.
He had never fought back, nor had he ever replied with a single harsh word.
Jonathan taught him to endure and to tolerate the ignorance of ordinary people.
But now it was different.
The man in the custom-tailored suit before him was no ignorant commoner.
This was a villain who possessed equal power yet stepped on human lives like rotten vegetable leaves.
That condescending taunt was like a red-hot iron rod poking straight into Clark's lungs.
The repressed anger deep within his heart was instantly doused with a large bucket of gasoline.
With a loud roar, it burned right through his sanity.
Clark's face flushed bright red, all the way down to the root of his neck.
The veins on his neck bulged like thick earthworms, throbbing violently beneath his skin.
His teeth gnashed with a creaking sound, and his mouth was filled with the taste of rust.
"You are simply unreasonable!"
Clark roared, his voice shaking the remaining few pieces of glass into a rattling clatter.
He could no longer reason with this man; the other party's brain simply did not possess concepts like conscience.
He strode forward.
His rugged red leather boots stepped onto the obsidian floor.
Force burst suddenly from the soles of his feet, trampling a shallow pit several inches deep into the ground.
He was going to force this man to understand reason.
Clark reached out that rugged, large hand—
—the hand that could lift heavy tractors barehanded on the farm, carrying a muffled sound of wind.
With his five fingers spread open, he went straight to grab Shen Che's suit collar.
He did not intend to kill. He only wanted to grab Shen Che's collar and lift this guy reeking of copper stench up.
Let him take a good look at the World outside that had fallen into panic because of him.
The high-pressure air wave kicked up by his palm blew several documents on the desk to pieces.
There was only half a foot left from Shen Che's chest.
Shen Che still leaned against the genuine leather chair back.
He did not even turn his head, his gaze still lingering on the spot where he had just set down his wine glass.
He merely raised his right hand.
His movement was casual, just like casually shooing away a fly buzzing around the dining table in the hot summer.
The back of his hand faced outward, casually swiping to the side.
There was no sonic boom, nor any superfluous portent.
"Bang!"
The back of Shen Che's hand slammed solidly against Clark's probing forearm.
The collision of muscle against muscle—
—exploded with a loud noise even more muffled than the sonic boom just now.
It was like a multi-ton iron hammer fiercely swinging down onto a solid steel pillar.
A circle of white air waves exploded at the intersection of their arms.
The mahogany bookshelf nearby was directly overturned by this air wave, sending hundreds of books spilling all over the floor.
Clark's body stiffened abruptly.
That rugged, large hand could no longer reach forward a single millimeter.
A terrifying reaction force, arrogant to the point of being completely unreasonable, poured madly backward along his forearm bone.
"Crack."
Clark's wrist joints emitted a sore grinding sound.
His entire right arm was shaken high outward.
A tearing pain wracked the web of his thumb, and his muscle fibers spasmed in an instant.
This force was too great.
Great enough to far exceed the upper limit of Clark's cognition of his own strength.
His body of over two hundred pounds could not stand steady at all, and he was dragged back two large steps by this residual force.
His leather boots plowed two deep gullies into the carpet.
Clark steadied his stance.
He looked down at his numb, trembling right hand.
His blue eyes were filled with shock and disbelief.
This was impossible. Everyone was equally a Kryptonianbathed under the yellow Sun.
Why was the gap in strength so absurd?
Under this man's casual swat, his proud physical fitness—
—was just like an infant who had just learned to walk trying to push a load-bearing wall.
It was completely a one-sided crushing defeat.
Shen Che put down his right hand and straightened his cuffs.
He pressed both hands on the armrests of the seat and stood up.
Standing over 1.9 meters tall, he blocked the light shining in from outside the window.
The shadow cast over Clark.
With his leather shoes stepping on the carpet, Shen Chetook a step forward.
He bypassed the spacious obsidian table.
He looked down condescendingly at Clark, looking at that rough red and blue bodysuit.
His pitch-black eyes revealed a piercing, bone-chilling coldness.
"Morals."
Shen Che spat out these two words, his tone sounding like he was chewing on a piece of moldy wood.
"You bumpkins who have stayed in the farm mud for too long—"
"—always like to use such illusory words to move yourselves."
He stopped two steps away in front of Clark.
"You think helping an old lady cross the street and blocking a few bullets is justice?"
The corners of Shen Che's mouth twitched upward.
"Morals are merely a dog leash used by the weak to kidnap the strong."
He pointed at Metropolis outside the window.
"Those commoners. They are cowardly, greedy, and stupid."
"They cannot build weapons to protect themselves, so they invented the word morals."
"They want to use this word to put a collar on those who possess absolute power."
Shen Che pressed half a step forward, his oppressive sense like a toppled iron tower.
"They want you to act as free security guards, to risk your life for their pitiful property."
"Then they hide in safe places, blaming you for moving too slowly and blaming you for trampling the road."
Clark's breathing grew stagnant, his fists clenched tightly.
"I do not buy that routine."
Shen Che's voice turned cold, every single word smashing onto the wooden floor.
"I was not born to be a babysitter for this group of trash."
"I possess power, so this World must revolve around me."
He looked into Clark's eyes.
"I am going to stand right at the very top of this Planet's food chain."
"Rules."
Shen Che tapped his own chest with his index finger.
"I set them."
Clark's chest heaved violently.
He wanted to retort. He wanted to roar out loud that this was wrong.
But Shen Che did not give him the chance to open his mouth.
The very moment those words fell—
—Shen Che moved.
There were no air waves stirred up, no howling wind.
Because at this moment, his speed directly severed the medium of sound propagation.
It reached a terrifying degree that completely defied common sense in physics.
Clark's super vision, which could see the ballistic trajectories of high-speed bullets—
—completely failed in this second.
Not even a black afterimage was captured on his retina.
He only felt darkness before his eyes, and that oppressive sense carrying cedar perfume had already pressed against his face.
Shen Che's large hand spread open,
like an indestructible iron hoop,
covering directly onto Clark's sharp-featured face.
His five fingers were like steel claws, locking tightly onto his cheekbones and jaw.
All the hairs on Clark's body stood on end.
He wanted to raise his hand to grab Shen Che's arm, wanting to use Heat Vision to force the opponent back.
Too late.
The muscles on Shen Che's arms suddenly bulged, and his suit sleeves were stretched taut.
His wrists flipped downward.
Carrying absolute crushing power,
Shen Che forcibly flipped Clark's body over in mid-air—
—head down, feet up.
Then,
he fiercely pressed downward.
"Boom——!"
Clark's back of the head was used as a physical city-breaking hammer,
slamming solidly into that obsidian floor.
This bulletproof high-grade stone shattered into powder the instant it made contact.
The reinforced concrete floor beneath was more brittle than a soda cracker.
The thick threaded steel bars snapped on the spot, emitting a harsh metal-breaking sound.
Concrete blocks exploded in all directions like cannonballs.
The floor of the 112th floor had a two-meter-wide large hole smashed straight through it.
Shen Che did not let go.
His five fingers were still gripping Clark's face tightly.
His body jumped down that dark hole along with him.
Utilizing his own weight and the terrifying kinetic energy of Silver Age Superman,
he carried Clark, plunging straight down toward the floors below.
"Bang!"
The 111th floor. The ceiling exploded.
Clark's head smashed through a conference table over a dozen meters long, snapping the solid wood tabletop into two sections.
Immediately afterward, it smashed through the floor of this layer again.
"Bang!"
The 110th floor.
Glass partitions shattered, countless glass shards flying around the two of them.
The sound of wind and the roaring of heavy objects smashing through walls intertwined, deafening.
Clark's back scraped against the shattered cement edges, his uniform slashed open.
He used both hands desperately to pry open Shen Che's fingers.
He could not pry them.
That hand was like it was welded onto his face.
The two of them were like a straight-falling black meteor, frantically penetrating through the interior of Vought Tower.
One floor. Two floors. Ten floors.
The ventilation ducts between floors were smashed and exploded, white cold air spraying everywhere.
Thick main tap water pipes broke, and high-pressure water columns poured over them.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The continuous impact sounds formed a string of terrifying muffled thunders inside the building.
The entire Vought Tower trembled slightly under this piercing violence.
The sixtieth floor. The fortieth floor. The tenth floor.
Steel bars curled. Cement turned to ash.
Those Vought civilian personnel hiding under the desks—
—only saw a large hole explode above their heads. A black shadow pinning a red and blue intertwined shadow smashed down.
In less than a second, another hole exploded in the floor beneath their feet, and the people were already gone.
Clark felt as if a symphony orchestra had opened up inside his brain.
Buzzing loudly.
His vision went completely black, with only the numb vibration of the back of his head continuously smashing concrete.
Even a Kryptonian's body of steel felt dizzy under such high-intensity impacts across dozens of floors consecutively.
The ground floor lobby.
The marble floor bulged like water waves.
"Rumble!"
A huge deep pit exploded. The lobby's sofa and potted plants were blown away by the air wave.
Shen Che pressed Clark's head down, not stopping at the ground floor.
Continuing downward.
He smashed through the underground garage, flattening a bulletproof SUV parked in a parking space.
He smashed through the backup generator room on the second basement level.
Mud and gravel splattered.
There was only faint sparks generated by the two of them rapidly plunging and frictioning the air.
Shen Che's arm was straight, his suit jacket rolling upward in the fierce wind.
He brought this true Superman full of morality—
—tearing apart the rock structure of the Earth's crust surface like destroying dry weeds and smashing rotten wood.
All the way toward the hardest granite bedrock deep beneath the Vought Tower,
slamming fiercely down.
Chapter 52: Son of Kryptonian? Sorry, I Only Recognize the Identity of Vought Company CEO
"Boom—"
This muffled sound exploded deep underground, the sound unable to travel up, only reverberating within the rock strata.
The bedrock layer of Manhattan Island is hard granite, capable of supporting the weight of hundreds of skyscrapers.
Now, this solid slab of bedrock had been forcefully smashed into a crater over ten meters in diameter.
The bottom of the crater was filled with pulverized rock debris.
Underground water pipes burst. Murky muddy water poured backward along the rock fissures.
Clark lay right in the center of the crater's bottom.
His head was deeply embedded in the gravel.
He felt as if hundreds of pneumatic drills were working simultaneously in his brain, buzzing loudly.
Although the back of his head wasn't broken, the violent shock of crashing through over a hundred floors of ceiling plus dozens of meters of Earth's crust left his retina flashing with chaotic white dots.
"Bah."
Clark turned his head aside, spitting out a mouthful of bloody froth mixed with sediment.
His lips were split by his own teeth, carrying a heavy metallic taste of blood.
Shen Che straddled his body.
His right hand was still tightly pinching his jawbone.
His black custom-made suit was undamaged, except for his cuffs being stained with a bit of yellow mud spewed from the underground water pipe.
Shen Che looked down at him from above, his gaze like two cold, hard blades.
Clark raised both hands.
His rough, large hands grabbed Shen Che's arm that was pinching his chin.
His fingers tightened, knuckles turning white. He tried to open this hand that felt like an iron hoop.
He couldn't open it.
Shen Che's arm didn't even tremble the slightest bit.
Clark breathed heavily, his nasal cavity filled with the damp smell of Earth.
He looked into Shen Che's pitch-black eyes.
He recalled the recordings of his home Planet on that spaceship in the farm's Underground Room.
They were of the same kin, the only remaining bloodline in this Universe.
"Karl… (Kryptonian language: Stop…)"
Clark squeezed out an obscure syllable from his throat.
This was the native language Jonathan had spent a great deal of effort teaching him using the translator on the spaceship.
"We are descendants of the House of El… Sons of Kryptonian…"
Clark breathed in hurriedly, his voice echoing in the cave.
He tried to use this remaining bloodline connection to awaken a bit of empathy in the man before him.
"Kryptonian has already been destroyed… We should stand together…"
Clark's hands tightly clutched Shen Che's wrist.
Carrying a trace of entreaty.
Shen Che understood.
Inside Silver Age Superman's super brain, the Kryptonianlanguage system existed like an instinct.
But he didn't respond.
Shen Che looked at the farm boy at the bottom of the crater, whose mouth was covered in mud and blood, and who was still trying to claim kinship with him.
In his pitch-black eyes, the sense of mockery dissolved like ink, so thick it was about to overflow.
"Son of Kryptonian."
Shen Che repeated the word in English.
The tip of his tongue pressed against his teeth, chewing on these words as if tasting a ridiculous joke.
He suddenly loosened his right hand that was pinching Clark's chin.
Clark was stunned for a moment, thinking the other party had listened.
Just as he wanted to prop up his body,
Shen Che's right hand suddenly clenched into a fist in mid-air.
Without the slightest warning.
His fist tore through the damp underground air, emitting a sonic boom.
It smashed directly onto Clark's bridge of the nose.
"Bang!"
This punch held back no strength.
Clark's head was heavily rebounded back into the pile of gravel from the blow.
The granite at the bottom of the crater emitted another mournful cry, cracks spreading outward.
Muddy water was shaken half a meter high into the air.
"Mph." Clark let out a muffled grunt.
Although the bridge of his nose wasn't broken, the soreness rushed straight to his brain. Two streams of bloody nose fluid flowed out, dripping down his cheeks into the muddy water.
Shen Che's fist opened.
He grabbed Clark by the neck in one grasp.
Raising his upper body slightly out of the muddy water.
"Kryptonian?"
Shen Che stared at Clark's bleeding nose.
"A trash Planet that couldn't even solve the decay of its own star, watching helplessly as it turned into cosmic fireworks."
"That rotten place, does it deserve to have me associated with it?"
Clark widened his eyes.
He couldn't understand how Shen Che could use such insulting vocabulary to describe the home Planet that gave birth and raised them.
"That is our home!" Clark roared, his neck struggling in Shen Che's iron hand.
"That is your home."
Shen Che interrupted him, his voice as cold as falling ice shards.
"You harbor fantasies about a dead Planet that doesn't even have memories left, only a bunch of broken iron sheet spaceships."
"It is simply foolish enough to make people laugh."
Shen Che's fingers tightened slightly.
Clark felt breathing become a bit more difficult, his trachea being compressed.
"You think we are of the same kind?" Shen Che shook his head.
"You are nothing more than a country bumpkin brainwashed by a farm old man, wearing a funny tight suit."
"You spend all day thinking about how to hide your strength, how to help those idiotic civilians cross the street."
Shen Che's eyes revealed the arrogance of a superior being.
"I am different from you."
His free left hand pointed upward at the pitch-black vertical passage overhead.
The passage led all the way to the CEO's office on the 112th floor.
"I don't care about any damn Kryptonian heritage."
Shen Che said word by word.
"My only identity right now."
"Is the only legitimate dictator on Earth, the supreme CEO of Vought Company."
He loosened his strength a little bit, allowing Clark to catch his breath.
"On this Planet, all the rules, all life and death."
"Are all in my ledger."
Shen Che patted Clark's face. The force was not heavy, but the insult value was extremely high.
"Don't use that kind of dead person's identity to cozy up to me again. You don't deserve it."
Clark lay in the muddy water.
Listening to these cold words.
That was the glory of his home Planet that he had always carefully treasured deep in his heart and regarded as his spiritual sustenance.
Just like that, by the man in front of him, it was treated like a shit-stained rag, trampled underfoot casually.
Fury.
Pure, unmasked fury.
Instantly devoured Clark's rationality.
The forbearance Jonathan taught him. The tolerance Martha taught him.
At this moment, they were all burned clean away.
He didn't try to pry away the hand Shen Che was using to pinch his neck.
Clark's eyes suddenly widened.
The blue at the edge of his pupils was instantly submerged by blood color.
The whites of his eyes were covered with bulging red blood vessels.
The energy in his blood vessels rushed toward his optic nerves like floodwaters from an opened gate.
"Shut up!"
Clark let out a heart-rending roar.
At point-blank range.
Two crimson Heat Visions.
Erupted from his eyes without reservation.
The temperature approached that of the Sun's surface.
Carrying the most primitive and violent power of a Kryptonian.
With no deviation. With no room to dodge.
Solidly.
It fiercely slammed toward Shen Che's chest wrapped in a custom-made suit.
Chapter 53: Beating the Real Superman Until He Vomits Blood, Your Power Is Too Weak
Two crimson beams of light exploded at the bottom of the pit.
The distance was too close.
There was not even half an inch of buffer space.
The Kryptonian Heat Vision, capable of melting aircraft carrier special steel armor, slammed solidly against Shen Che's chest.
The blinding red light illuminated the entire underground cavern.
The high temperature instantly evaporated the muddy water pouring backward into the bottom of the pit.
The water turned into a cluster of white high-temperature steam, rolling upward with a sizzling sound.
The fabric of Shen Che's custom-made suit vaporized instantly the moment the beam of light made contact.
Not even a speck of fabric ash was left.
Revealing his sturdy pectoral muscles.
The veins at the corners of Clark's eyes throbbed violently from excessive exertion.
He held nothing back.
This was the first time in his life he had pushed the power of his Heat Vision to the limit.
He wanted to force back the villain who insulted his homeworld.
The beam of light continuously bombarded Shen Che's chest.
The surrounding granite was baked red by the heat wave, and the rock surface began to show a vitrified molten state.
Clark felt his eyes sour and swell.
This was a physiological reaction to energy overload.
But he didn't stop.
He stared fixedly at the point of Impact of the beam.
Waiting for the smell of charred flesh, waiting for the opponent to retreat in pain.
Nothing.
There was nothing at all.
Amidst the white mist and red light.
Shen Che stood in place.
Not even his shoulders swayed a bit.
That temperature, sufficient to burn through the Earth's crust, struck Silver Age Superman's skin.
Just like a breeze mixed with a bit of heat brushing across the chest on a hot day.
No broken skin.
No bleeding.
Not even a fingernail-sized red mark was left behind.
Shen Che lowered his head.
He looked at the large chunk of his suit's front lapel that had been burned away.
Then he looked at Clark below, who was gritting his teeth with reddened eyes.
Shen Che raised his free left hand.
Covering his mouth.
"Ha—"
He let out a yawn without any concealment.
Lazy.
Bored.
Exuding a sense of despairing contempt.
"Your Heat Vision," Shen Che put down his hand.
"Is it used for lighting dry haystacks on the farm?"
The light in Clark's eyes suddenly stalled.
This taunt was like a basin of ice water poured straight over his burning forehead.
The Heat Vision cut off due to this split second of losing his composure.
The bottom of the pit returned to dimness.
Only the remaining magma in the rock crevices was still emitting a weak red light.
Clark opened his mouth.
Panting heavily.
He couldn't understand.
Why the opponent didn't even blink an eye at his strongest attack.
Before he could react.
Shen Che's right hand had already moved.
He didn't go to choke Clark's neck.
He flipped his wrist downward.
And grabbed a handful of that shortened, Martha hand-sewn red cape.
The rough fabric was clutched in Shen Che's hand.
Shen Che's right arm muscles instantly tensed.
Without even a squatting motion to build momentum.
Exerting force with a single arm.
The two-hundred-plus-pound Clark, like a burlap sack stuffed with rags.
Was directly swung up from the mud pit by Shen Che with one hand.
The sound of the wind shrieked shrilly in his ears.
Clark was swung more than half a circle in mid-air.
He wanted to stabilize his center of gravity.
But the force swinging him was too savage.
It forcibly shattered his own flight force field.
He was just like a steelyard weight.
Grabbed by the cape by Shen Che, he was fiercely smashed toward the granite cave wall on the side.
"Boom!"
Clark's back heavily slammed into the stone wall.
The hard granite was smashed to pieces like tofu.
A humanoid giant pit appeared on the rock wall.
Rubble fell down like rain.
Clark let out a muffled groan.
The Impact didn't cause him heavy injuries.
But he was dazed by the smash.
Before he could slide down from the rock wall.
Shen Che had already let go of the red cape.
He took half a step forward with his right foot.
Twisting his waist and hips.
His left arm was tucked at his waist.
His right fist was like a cruise missile emerging from its tube.
Accompanied by a white sonic boom cloud tearing through the air.
An uppercut that defied physical common sense.
Fiercely smashed into Clark's abdomen.
"Bang——!!!"
The sound of this punch.
Was even louder than the commotion of smashing through over a hundred floors just now.
The underground cavern seemed to experience a magnitude-8 earthquake.
The Impact, centered on the two of them.
Spread wildly around in a ring shape.
The granite bedrock within dozens of meters instantly shattered into powder under this matchless violence.
The underground of the entire Manhattan Island was faintly trembling.
Clark felt that his internal organs were all displaced at this moment.
That was not a dull pain.
It was a sharp pain that would tear him apart from the inside out.
His body couldn't even fly out.
Because the power of this punch was too concentrated.
It directly pierced through his defensive force field and penetrated into his internal organs.
Clark's body hunched into a shrimp.
His chin involuntarily lifted.
"Pfft."
A large mouthful of blood with tiny golden specks spewed out from his mouth.
Kryptonian blood.
Bloody foam sprayed onto the upper part of Shen Che's leather shoes.
The scene before Clark's eyes went completely black.
He was like a puddle of soft mud.
Sliding down the stone wall to the bottom of the pit.
His limbs sprawled out powerlessly.
The red cape was soaked in the mud mixed with his own blood.
So dirty that its original color could no longer be seen.
He gasped heavily for cold air.
With every breath, a tearing pain came from his stomach and intestines.
He couldn't stand up anymore.
Shen Che did not press his advantage.
He walked leisurely to Clark's side.
Raised that blood-stained leather shoe.
Precisely stepping on the crooked yellow-lined "S" logo on Clark's chest.
He didn't use full force.
He just happened to nail Clark tightly in the mud pit.
Rendering him unable to move.
Shen Che looked down at him condescendingly.
Looking at this farm boy whose mouth was full of blood and whose eyes were filled with unwillingness and confusion.
"You said earlier: With great power comes great responsibility?"
Shen Che's voice echoed in the dripping cavern.
Very cold.
"You say those words quite smoothly. Who taught you? That dead adoptive father of yours on the farm?"
Clark's fingers dug into the mud.
His nails broke.
"Don't... talk about him..."
He coughed up a mouthful of bloody water.
His voice was weak.
Shen Che added half a fraction of force under his foot.
Clark's sternum issued a muffled protest.
"I insist on saying it."
Shen Che twitched the corner of his mouth.
"He taught you a bunch of useless nonsense. He taught you to be a nuisance everywhere."
Shen Che pointed upward.
"Take a look at Metropolis. You saved people, and they want you to pay for the damages."
"Do you think wearing a ragged tight suit makes you a savior?"
Shen Che's eyes were full of pity and taunts.
"Your kindness is worthless in this World. It's as cheap as toilet paper in a trash can."
He bent down.
Bringing his face close to Clark.
"And. Your power."
Shen Che lowered his voice.
Like a dull knife sawing wood.
"Is even pathetically weak."
Clark lay in the deep pit.
Rainwater mixed with mud dripped down the rock wall onto his face.
He coughed violently.
Bloody water streamed down the corners of his mouth.
He looked up at the man above who was despairingly powerful.
That indifferent face.
That foot stepping firmly on his chest.
His brain fell into extreme self-doubt.
Were his father's words wrong?
Is kindness really this cheap?
Why, as a Kryptonian, did his own power not even qualify to resist in front of him?
If power is the only rule.
Then what was this trip out of the farm?
A Joker's farce?
A sense of powerlessness surged up like a tide.
Completely devouring this child of destiny.
Chapter 54: Clark doubts his life, why is he so strong?
Cold muddy water dripped down the rock wall.
It smashed onto Clark's dust-covered face. He didn't blink.
His mouth was full of the taste of rust. That was his own blood.
His pride-and-joy strength. The confidence he had suppressed on the farm for twenty years.
Was shattered into pieces within the shockwave of Shen Che's uppercut.
He lay at the bottom of the rubble pit. His chest was pressed by that brightly polished black leather shoe.
Breathing became extremely difficult. With every rise and fall, his broken ribs tugged at his nerves.
The light was gone from Clark's blue eyes.
His mind was a complete mess of mush.
He didn't understand.
The holographic projection on that spaceship in the Underground Room made it very clear.
They were of the same race. Kryptonians bathing in the yellow Sun and absorbing radiation.
Why.
Why was the gap this huge?
Those two streams of Heat Vision just now. He slammed them onto Shen Che's chest without reservation.
Let alone burning through the skin, he couldn't even leave a mark under the other's clothes.
This was like an ant using all its strength to bite the thick leg of an elephant.
As a result, it only broke its own teeth.
It couldn't even break the elephant's defense.
Shen Che looked down at the true Superman under his feet, who looked like a dead dog.
He disgustedly glanced at the blood foam stained on the surface of his leather shoes.
With a flick of his toe.
It was like kicking a bag of stinky garbage.
"Get lost."
Shen Che withdrew his foot. His voice was freezing cold.
"Go back to your Kansas Farm. Raise pigs properly."
"Don't dress like a moron in the big city and annoy everyone everywhere."
He didn't kill Clark.
Killing a farm boy whose Dao heart was shattered and didn't even have the power to fight back.
Was too beneath him.
Keeping him. Let him see how this World operates under the rules of capital.
This was crueler than killing him.
Shen Che turned around. His legs slightly bent.
"Bang."
The granite under his feet shattered again.
He turned into a Shadow and rushed straight into the sky along the smashed-through floor passage.
A few seconds later, only the ticking sound of dripping muddy water remained in the cave.
Clark lay for a long time.
Until the numbness in his limbs gradually faded. The Kryptonian's powerful self-healing ability began to repair his displaced internal organs.
He propped himself up against the rubble and sat up with difficulty.
That red and blue tights hand-sewn by Martha had several large tears.
The rough fabric hung on his body like a broken rag.
He staggered to his feet. His knees went soft, almost kneeling back into the muddy water.
He raised his head. Looking at the black hole above his head that led directly to the top of more than a hundred floors.
The wind from outside poured in along the passage, wailing like a Beast.
Clark did not fly up the original path.
He was like a soulless walking corpse.
Finding an abandoned sewer drainage pipe at the bottom of the pit.
Dragging his heavy steps, walking unevenly outward.
He even forgot that he could fly.
A dozen minutes later.
He crawled out from an abandoned sewage outlet in Manhattan.
The night sky was gloomy with no stars.
The cold wind blew on his soaked tights, painfully cold.
Clark stood beside the stinky ditch.
Looking at the neon-flashing Vought Tower in the distance.
The backbone of his spiritual belief was completely broken tonight.
His father's teachings and his mother's expectations had all become a joke.
He turned around, stumbling as he flew into the night sky.
The direction was the Midwest, Kansas.
Gotham City.
The rain was still falling, smashing onto the rooftop gargoyles of Wayne Manor and shattering into white foam.
In the underground Batcave, the air was humid, mixed with the smell of engine oil.
Electric welding sparks sizzled under the shadowless lamp.
The dazzling blue-and-white light illuminated Bruce Wayne's pale face.
He lay prone on the special operating table.
His back was bloody and mutilated. The comminuted fractures of the third and fourth lumbar vertebrae caused his lower body to completely lose sensation.
But he didn't get general anesthesia, only local anesthesia.
Bean-sized sweat beads rolled down his forehead, smashing onto the leather surgical pad.
The old butler Alfred wore sterile gloves, holding a precision welding torch in both hands.
His eye sockets were red, but his hands were surprisingly steady.
"Young Master. This set of exoskeleton hasn't undergone complete load-bearing testing yet."
Alfred's voice was hoarse, carrying a crying tone.
"Directly chiming into the spinal nerves... the risk is too great."
"Continue." Bruce gritted his teeth, squeezing out two words from between his teeth.
His hands tightly gripped the metal railing at the edge of the operating table.
His knuckles turned cyan-white due to excessive force.
A piercing, heart-wrenching pain rushed straight to his brain along the spinal cord.
The spinal exoskeleton crafted from titanium alloy.
Was embedding inch by inch into the gaps of his damaged bones.
The metal probe pierced the dura mater, connecting to the broken nerve plexus.
This pain was like hundreds of steel files stirring crazily inside his bones.
Bruce let out a muffled grunt from his throat. The tip of his tongue was bitten open, and his mouth was full of the taste of rust.
"Almost done... Young Master, the last connecting wire."
Sweat from Alfred's forehead dripped onto his goggles.
He pressed the electric drill switch, and the tiny drill bit drilled holes in the bone.
"Zizizi."
The sound made one's scalp tingle.
Half an hour later.
The welding torch went out. Half of the shadowless lamps were turned off.
Bruce lay on the operating table like a dead fish just fished out of the water.
Soaked all over.
The exoskeleton on his back, exuding a cold, hard metallic luster, was like a silver centipede biting tightly onto his spine.
He tried to move the toes of his right foot.
The mechanical transmission sound echoed in the empty Batcave.
Faint, but clear.
The toes moved.
Bruce took a deep breath of the air smelling of engine oil.
He propped his hands on the operating table, his arm muscles bulging.
Accompanied by the low-frequency humming sound emitted by the exoskeleton motor.
He forcibly propped up his upper body.
His legs hung down from the edge of the operating table, his heels touching the cold steel grating floor.
"Click. Click."
The exoskeleton's hydraulic booster system activated.
Bruce stood up again.
He didn't go for the crutch nearby, pushing away Alfred's hand that wanted to support him.
Although his steps were still somewhat stiff, bending his knees carried a mechanical sense of pause.
But he truly stood straight.
That Batman, who was stepped into a cripple by Shen Cheat Vought Tower, stood up again relying on technology and a life-risking paranoia.
He wasn't wearing a shirt. His well-built back was covered with old scars and newly implanted metal bones.
Bruce turned around.
Those bloodshot eyes did not look at his own legs.
Nor did they look at Alfred.
Instead, they stared dead at the exact center of the console.
There placed a square lead password box.
This was something he managed to get these past few days by hacking into the bottom-layer servers of LexCorpand using countless black market channels.
Shen Che was not without weaknesses.
Weapons on Earth being useless didn't mean things in the Universe were useless.
He dragged his heavy steps.
The metal exoskeleton rubbed against the steel grating, making a dull clicking sound.
Step by step, he walked to the front of the console.
Stretching out his right hand, his thumb pressed on the password box's fingerprint recognition area.
"Beep."
The green light lit up.
The air pressure lock's deflation sound hissed away.
The thick lid of the lead password box, pushed by the hydraulic rod, slowly popped open.
A dim green light.
Poured out from the depths of the box.
This light was not dazzling, but it carried a heart-palpitating chill.
Instantly illuminating Bruce's scarred face.
Illuminating the crazy obsession deep within his eyes.
Inside the box, it was cushioned with thick radiation-proof sponge.
A fist-sized green meteorite.
Quietly lay there.
Emanating bizarre radiation ripples carrying the breath of Death.
Chapter 55: Batman found the green stone, and he thought that was my weakness
A ghostly green light seeped out from the password-locked case.
The light was not bright, but it appeared particularly glaring in the dim Batcave.
This streak of green light shone on Bruce Wayne's face, which was covered in old scars.
It reflected his bloodshot eyes, making him look like a vengeful demon returned from hell.
Bruce was not wearing radiation-proof gloves.
He reached out directly and grasped the fist-sized green meteorite.
Icy cold.
Devoid of temperature.
But there was an indescribable sense of deadly silence that crept through his fingertips and into the marrow of his bones.
On the workbench nearby.
Several centrifuges were running wildly, emitting a high-frequency hum.
What was contained inside was Clark's blood.
A few hours ago, Bruce had used the miniature reconnaissance spiders left in the basement of Vought Tower.
In that smashed-through subterranean cavern, he collected blood samples that splattered when the real Supermanwas beaten until he vomited blood.
The golden-red blood cells emitted vigorous solar radiation energy under the microscope.
Bruce placed the green meteorite in his hand into a fully sealed leaded-glass test chamber.
"Alfred. Push the blood sample into the second test chamber."
Bruce's voice was hoarse.
The mechanical exoskeleton supported him as he straightened his body.
Alfred, wearing a thick protective suit, pressed the green button on the console.
The robotic arm gripped a drop of golden-red blood, slowly pushing it closer to that green stone.
The distance closed.
Ten centimeters.
Five centimeters.
On the Batcomputer's giant screen, data scrolled past like a waterfall.
The originally active Kryptonian cells, the moment they contacted the green radiation,
Like a flame drained of oxygen.
The golden-red glow rapidly dimmed, and the cell walls began to wither.
In less than three seconds.
The blood cells under the microscope completely necrosed, turning into a puddle of grey-black waste.
"Beep—"
The computer emitted a harsh, prolonged wail.
The final analysis report popped up right in the center of the screen.
[Radiation Type: Unknown decay isotope.]
[Biological Response: Completely cuts off the solar energy absorption pathway of Kryptonian cells. Cellular-level necrosis.]
Bruce stared intently at the line of red text on the screen.
His chest heaved violently.
He gasped heavily, his lung lobes scraping out a hissing static noise within his chest cavity.
Found it.
He had finally found the chains to strangle a god.
Amidst extreme paranoia and absolute fear of Shen Che's violence,
He committed a fatal empiricist error.
He took it for granted that,
Since that farm boy flying around Metropolis and also hailing from Kryptonian was afraid of this stone,
Then Shen Che, who also shared the Kryptonian bloodline,
That tyrant sitting atop Vought Tower who could incinerate a street with a flick of his hand,
Must also possess the exact same biological weakness.
"Shatter it."
Bruce turned his head, a crazy light flashing in his eyes.
"Strip off the outer layer. Grind it into powder."
Dragging his heavy mechanical exoskeleton, he walked up to the weapon modification workbench.
His steps were somewhat unsteady, his metal joints frictioning out clicking sounds.
Alfred brought over a specially-made diamond cutter.
Green stone chips splattered across the console.
Bruce did it himself.
He carefully collected those fine pieces of Kryptonitepowder,
And packed them into several specially-made silver-gray cylindrical warheads.
Pressurized.
Sealed.
High-concentration radiation smoke bombs.
As long as they exploded, these green powders would instantly suspend in the air.
As long as Shen Che inhaled a breath, or even if it just touched a tiny bit of his skin,
His cells would rapidly necrose, just like that drop of blood.
On the workbench, the largest and most complete Kryptonite crystal remained,
Resembling a polished emerald.
Bruce picked up a high-frequency particle cutting blade.
Sparks flew everywhere.
The harsh cutting sound echoed through the Batcave.
He didn't need the blade to look pretty.
He only needed it to be sharp,
Enough to pierce skin that had lost its superpower defense.
A full four hours.
Bruce's hands were rubbed raw with blood blisters, the blood staining the edges of the green stone red.
He didn't stop.
Finally,
A Kryptonite spear about thirty centimeters long, with a tip sharp enough to cut through light,
Was completed under the shadowless lamp.
Bruce grasped the spear handle.
The ghostly green light was reflected in his pupils.
He was certain.
This was the ultimate weapon capable of nailing that arrogant tyrant firmly from his altar down into hell.
He turned around and walked toward the equipment area deep inside the Batcave.
Parked there was a set of heavy anti-Superman armor retrofitted with a thick radiation-proof lead layer,
Twice as thick and heavy as his usual batsuit.
Bruce stepped into the armor.
The mechanical buckles automatically locked shut.
The heavy armor pressed down on the exoskeleton, emitting an overburdened creaking sound.
He clipped three Kryptonite smoke bombs onto the right side of his tactical belt,
His left hand grasped that Kryptonite spear,
Hanging it in the special slot on his back.
The helmet lowered.
The white eyepieces lit up with a cold light.
Bruce dragged his heavy footsteps.
His metal combat boots stepped on the steel grating, every step causing the floor to vibrate.
He walked toward the end of the runway,
There,
A heavy Batwing, just recently repaired and retrofitted with heavy firepower,
The engines had already started,
The tail spat out ghostly blue high-temperature exhaust flames, ready to go.
Bruce stepped up the boarding ladder and sat into the cockpit.
The canopy closed shut.
The fighter jet taxied and took off amidst the roar of the underground river,
Breaking through the cover of the waterfall,
Like a heavily armored black iron behemoth, tearing through Gotham's rainy night.
Destination: Metropolis directly.
Chapter 56: Kryptonite Weapon Crafted, BatmanConfidently Returns to Metropolis
The black heavy Batwing tore through the rain curtain.
Its wings sliced through the thick low-altitude clouds, kicking up two white vapor trails.
Metropolis was not raining.
The night sky was very clear, the neon lights of downtown dyeing the sky purplish.
The fighter hovered above the downtown square.
The square, capable of holding tens of thousands of people, was as bright as day at this moment.
Vought Company was hosting a large public relations gala here,
To celebrate Shen Che taking over Vought, and also to promote that blood-stained "Supreme VIP Insurance".
The champagne tower was stacked three meters high.
Politicians in evening gowns, Hollywood stars, and those ultra-rich who paid sky-high premiums
Held tall-stemmed glasses, crowding together.
The air floated with expensive perfume and the charred aroma of roasted meat.
Shen Che stood on the high platform in the center of the square,
He wasn't wearing a uniform, still in that custom-made black suit without a tie.
With one hand in his pocket,
He held a glass of champagne in his hand, golden bubbles bubbling up from the bottom of the glass.
Countless camera flashes clicked away below the stage, blending white light into a single sheet.
He looked like a true monarch, looking down at these dignitaries who surrendered under money and fear.
"Boom!"
The roar of the fighter jet's engine instantly drowned out the classical symphony in the square.
A violent wind descended from the sky,
Blowing over the champagne tower, shattering wine glasses all over the floor, pale yellow liquor flowing everywhere.
Women screamed, covering their skirts flipped up by the wind.
Politicians were scared out of their wits, scurrying away with their heads in their hands, crowding behind the riot shields of the security personnel.
The heavy Batwing did not land,
It hovered in mid-air a dozen meters off the ground,
The belly hatch opened,
A heavy black figure directly jumped down.
"Bang—"
The two-ton anti-Superman lead armor heavily smashed into the marble floor tiles in the center of the square.
The floor tiles instantly shattered like a spiderweb, collapsing into a large pit.
Stone fragments flew apart, smashing onto the surrounding dining tables and smashing a few delicate plates of French escargot to pieces.
Bruce Wayne.
He didn't use any cushioning, letting the exoskeleton and heavy armor absorb the terrifying impact force upon landing.
He stood up,
The white eyepieces on his helmet locked onto Shen Cheon the high platform.
"Shen Che!"
Bruce's voice came out through the armor's loudspeaker,
Low, hoarse, carrying cracked electronic static, echoing across the empty square.
"Your tyranny ends here!"
He raised his armored right arm,
Hydraulic joints emitted a heavy friction sound.
"Get back to your alien world! Earth does not welcome a monster like you!"
Bruce clenched his teeth inside the helmet, the old injuries on his ribs aching fiercely from the shock.
But his confidence was bursting at the seams right now.
Those Kryptonite smoke bombs hanging on his belt, and the Kryptonite spear slung across his back,
Were the source of his confidence.
He was going to violently drag that aloof tyrant down from his altar and trample him into the mud.
On the high platform,
Shen Che didn't dodge,
He didn't even let Black Noir, who was blocking in front, make a move.
He tilted his head slightly,
Looking at that bulky black-iron can in the center of the square,
Looking at that bloated armor made bulky due to the added lead layer,
And beneath that armor, the Gotham vigilante whose spine had been broken and who could only stand without collapsing by relying on an iron frame.
Shen Che raised the champagne glass in his hand,
Took a sip,
His Adam's apple bobbed,
Then, he curled the corners of his mouth,
Letting out an undisguised, mocking chuckle.
"Your spine is broken, yet you still ran out to play circus?"
Shen Che's voice was not loud, but it clearly transmitted into Bruce's ears.
"Do you think that changing into a thicker tortoise shell can cover up the fact that you're a cripple?"
Bruce's breathing grew heavy.
The eyes beneath the eyepieces were bloodshot.
He didn't waste words. Dealing with a monster like this, verbal sparring was meaningless.
In his tactical model, he only needed a single strike to hit the mark.
Bruce abruptly raised his left arm.
A specially made heavy grenade launcher popped out from the outer side of the armored forearm.
"Click."
Lock on target.
The crosshairs tightly framed the front of Shen Che's leather shoes.
His index finger heavily pulled the trigger.
"Bang!"
A muffled explosion sounded. Gunpowder gas spewed from the side of the launch tube.
A silver-gray specially-made grenade burst out of the chamber.
The tail of the grenade dragged a green fluorescent wake, tearing through Metropolis's night sky,
Extremely fast,
Flawlessly crossing a distance of dozens of meters,
Carrying that lethal radiation capable of causing Kryptonian cells to decay,
Slamming down right in front of Shen Che's meticulously polished, high-end leather shoes.