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

Page 388

Ian looked down at the creator of the Cosmic Dance, the master of destruction and rebirth. He was truly considering the other's feelings. The other only gave up divine power, but Jonathan had his faith taken away!

"Who is MacArthur? I don't know him, he's talking complete nonsense!" Shiva's face turned blue, his teeth grinding together, and he finally managed to squeeze out the words through gritted teeth.

"It's not that your brother can transform by borrowing power... but after he transforms, he's indiscriminate in his desires! Whatever outrageous wishes people make, he'll say, 'Shiva will answer you!'"

"Do you think I don't know whether I want to respond or not?!" Shiva became more and more agitated, his voice almost choked with tears: "He answered the prayer on my behalf, and my divine power just kept flowing out..."

He burst into tears again, his tears mingling with ashes, leaving ridiculous muddy marks on his face.

This is truly a case of being wronged.

Jonathan's free will has taken on a universal quality reminiscent of America's beacon of light. The victim has absolutely no say in the matter, yet he can still act as Shiva's substitute in responding to prayers. Of course, Jonathan himself is certainly unaware of this; it can only be said that his free will is indeed as free as it gets.

"well……"

Ian took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as if he were comforting a heartbroken friend in a coffee shop, "I'll think of something for you later, you...you let go of my leg first, okay?"

This is Ian's gentleness.

Of course, it's also related to his deep understanding of the nature of people who cling to others' legs at the slightest provocation—you can't provoke such people, otherwise who knows what body part they'll cling to next.

As an expert who frequently curries favor with others, Ian is well-qualified to speak on this matter.

"Really?" Shiva looked up, his eyes blurry with tears. His iconic ashes-covered body now seemed to be covered in mud, and his three eyes were filled with tears of grievance.

"Really, I promise."

Ian made a firm promise, then did something that completely baffled Shiva—he extended his little finger and hooked it with Shiva's little finger.

"??????????" Shiva stared blankly at the two's pinky clasped fingers, not yet realizing whether this kind of contract between human children was effective for gods.

"So... what do I need to give in return?" Shiva finally calmed down, his divine reason returned, and he tentatively asked Ian with a hint of trepidation and wariness.

Ian looked Shiva up and down.

From the third eye on Shiva's forehead, to the venomous snake wrapped around his arm, and then to the tiger skin skirt around his waist.

"I heard you're a good dancer?"

The boy suddenly broke into a bright smile.

"Dance?"

Shiva nodded blankly.

He then instinctively straightened his chest, and all three of his eyes lit up.

"The dance of the universe originated from me. The dance of destruction, the dance of rebirth, the dance of balance... I am the dance itself." It's clear that Shiva truly loves to dance.

He also loves to boast.

"awesome!"

Ian beamed with joy.

“I have a group of live streamers who need a dance teacher. I believe you can definitely train them well!” He didn’t care whether the other party was exaggerating their abilities or not.

Ian was primarily attracted to the other person's dancing skills.

Ian was unaware of Michael's self-awakening, so he wanted to mold Michael into a good older brother who had been training for two and a half years.

Shiva breathed a sigh of relief. Dancing? That was easy for him, even a display of glory.

He wiped his face, ashes and tears mingling together: "This kind of thing... of course, no problem. Ian Kent, you really are the helpful and kind person the rumors say you are."

"Thank you for your help." Fearing that Ian might change his mind, he quickly stood up and bowed. Then he took the address Ian handed him and looked back at Ian several times, giving him instructions with his eyes.

"You have to help me..."

Shiva's eyebrows seem to dance, expressing his inner prayers. He truly deserves the title of Asia's King of Dance, and Ian is increasingly convinced that he can teach those angels well.

"Don't worry, I keep my word! If you don't leave right now, I'll call the immigration office to arrest you. You definitely don't have the noble American citizenship! I mean, nationality!"

Ian waved goodbye.

When Shiva's figure completely disappeared.

A gasp came from the corner.

"Oh, the Emperor of All Laws, Ian, actually has a brother favored by God! Indeed! Following you! The future is limitless!" The Chihuahua-like "King of Lies" trembled all over.

It seemed to see a bright future for itself.

“Poor fellow… He probably doesn’t even know who he’s going to teach to dance. Michael doesn’t just like to smash people’s eyes; he might even gouge out Shiva’s third eye.”

Ian hung Baal's head beside the fireplace, savoring his feelings of pity and pride in being different from other demons.

Just then, Ian turned around, his gaze sweeping over the King of Lies in the corner and Baal on the fireplace.

“Now, we should think about how to help Shiva.” Ian didn’t want to betray his family’s interests, so he decided to use his external demonic wisdom.

Beria immediately raised his tail.

"Woof! I can weave a colossal lie for you to fool him for a lifetime!" The King of Lies puffed out his little chest, his words brimming with confidence in his abilities.

As for Baal, it hesitated for a moment.

“God Ian, we can find Shiva’s true form and make a living statue for your brother—that way he will never have a moving mouth to worry about losing divine power again!” It must be said that perhaps the demon Baal’s actual age is not that old, but he is definitely a person with a very bright future in the path of demons.

Two demons, a newcomer and an old man, offered drastically different "help" solutions.

High judgment.

“Sigh, this isn’t the kind of help I wanted to offer.” Ian simply sighed softly, shook his head, and placed one hand on the bone piano with a hint of melancholy.

The elderly believer, Baal, immediately and skillfully responded.

“God Ian, this sin is on my head.”

Baal's head spoke with a tone of devotion, caution, and unwavering resolve that made it difficult to refuse.

Ian didn't say anything, but silently took out a few small snacks made from demon corpses that he had obtained in Hell and stuffed them into Baal's already burning mouth like snacks.

“Shiva has a good personality, and after all, he is the god my elder brother worships, so… we should be kind to him. I think that as long as he feels my kindness, he will definitely choose to become Jonathan’s source of power one day.” Lord Ian reprimanded the demon’s wickedness while showing his benevolence.

He genuinely felt that Baal was too ruthless and did not align with his values ​​as a teenager, and that Shiva himself could have developed into a valuable broadcaster.

How can such a high-quality Paru be turned into a statue so easily? Ian is a compassionate person with a warm heart, so he's not actually that cold-blooded.

The reward I just gave to Baal was merely to encourage him to try and figure out what I was thinking.

"Make that guy feel God Ian's kindness? Okay, I understand!" The demon Baal didn't know what he understood. He had indeed mastered the art of understanding "Ian's heart" to an unparalleled level. In fact, even Ian was now a little unaware of what thoughts the other party had figured out that he himself didn't know.

"..."

Hannibal, who had been watching silently, had his ghost hovering on the ceiling. It opened its mouth, but before it could utter a word, Ian pulled it down. After seeing Shiva off, Ian turned around and clung to Hannibal's ghost again, continuing to enthusiastically promote his "assembled corpse" service.

"Doctor! Look at these sutures, how neat they are!"

He turned the pieced-together corpse around like he was showing off a limited-edition figurine.

"Honestly, if there's anything you're not satisfied with, I know people in several morgues in Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City. Whatever style of body you want, I can get it for you!"

Ian’s tone was full of pride, reflecting his extensive online connections.

however.

"Actually, I have OCD." Hannibal's ghost had not easily broken free from Ian's tangible little hand, his face pale, and he drifted away a tiny distance in mid-air.

They practically crawled into the fireplace.

"A germaphobe?"

Ian suddenly realized.

He remembered that Hannibal did indeed have obsessive-compulsive disorder related to cleanliness.

"This is no big problem. I can soak it in disinfectant, or even let the disinfectant flow through your new body's veins, and it won't be a big deal!"

Ian clearly misunderstood the other person's obsession with cleanliness.

Hannibal's expression was as if he had seen someone making tea with formaldehyde.

"Oh, that's not the reason."

He sighed heavily, not wanting to dampen Ian's enthusiasm too much.

"what?"

Ian clapped his hands again.

"You like freshly made corpses, right?" He pulled out his phone, once again showing off his connections. "I know several Grim Reapers. I'll go ask around now which hospital has freshly made, still-warm corpses!"

He had just spoken.

"Ian!"

Hannibal was initially surprised by how many strange beings Ian knew.

He then spoke in a heavy tone.

“Perhaps the dead shouldn’t have returned to the human world.” A rare weariness appeared on his ghostly face as he began to reflect, not just because he felt that the body Ian had chosen didn’t suit his taste.

“Hmm? Nonsense. Jesus didn’t think so.” Ian spoke righteously, citing scriptures, which naturally left Hannibal speechless and unable to refute.

Just as the atmosphere became awkward.

Ian's phone suddenly started ringing with a cheerful Christmas carol.

"Dear Grandpa!"

Ian switched to obedient mode in an instant.

"Are you here to ask me what Christmas present I want?" he asked, his tone slightly puzzled. Sam Lane didn't usually contact his family much except during holidays.

The other party did indeed have something to say when they called. On the other end of the line, Sam Lane's voice was so serious it could freeze lava: "Ian, has your father been neglecting you lately?"

"I'm here to ask you why you're acquiring enough chemical raw materials to submerge a small country." This is indeed an exaggeration, after all, the chemical raw materials Ian acquired only accounted for one-third of those in North Korea.

"Perhaps it's because I love to drink, and I like to drink a lot. My Kryptonian genes make me stronger by drinking water," Ian answered honestly, at least it was a belief he firmly held.

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense!"

The old general's roar made the phone vibrate, "The 'health product patent' you applied for is clearly a formula for some kind of serum that can create super soldiers!"

"The raw materials you've purchased are enough to arm a real army!" Grandpa's tone was serious, his judgment decisive. He held considerable power and was clearly paying close attention to the Kent family's movements.

"I just wanted to reward myself, and then reward those who are ambitious as well," Ian blinked, feeling a little guilty that his little secret had been exposed.