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

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"No way! He died on Earth and then reappeared in Heaven? How can this have a sequel?!" Sam slumped to the ground, his face blank. In the distance, from the black mist of the Holy City, came Ian's hearty laughter.

"There is no turning back. There are no limits to being a stocking angel. To protect what must be protected, regardless of light or darkness—this is my way of heaven, no, my way of messenger, the way of the angel!"

"Delete it and start over."

……

Although there were some hiccups in between.

but.

After the sudden change, Ian did not hesitate and rushed straight into the Holy City.

The holy city of heaven should be a radiant and glorious place, but at this moment, it is being corrupted by some indescribable pollution. Fortunately, the boundaries are bound by an invisible force, which prevents the corruption from spreading outward.

of course.

This, however, turned the interior into a completely twisted purgatory.

The moment I stepped in.

Ian's vision suddenly distorted.

The air grew thick and viscous, as if soaked in some rotten liquid, each breath carrying a foul, sweet, and decaying stench. The sky was no longer a pure azure, but a sickly purplish-black, the clouds writhing like festering wounds, occasionally cracking open to reveal countless indescribable faces behind them.

They were all coldly watching down below.

The ground was no longer the original white marble, but covered with a layer of wriggling black fungal carpet, the surface of which was covered with dense tentacles and eyeballs.

Each eyeball gleams with a light beyond human comprehension, and stepping on it produces a sticky, teeth-grinding sound, as if crushing countless insect eggs.

On both sides of the street, the once solemn angel statues are now twisted and deformed, their wings broken, their faces melted, and tumor-like growths growing on their stone bodies.

Some even opened eyes that didn't belong to the sculptures.

A mad will flashed in his pupils.

Those towers that once symbolized purity and order have now been replaced by distorted structures, their walls covered in sticky runes that emit a low hum, like the whispers of countless ancient beings.

"There is also a lot of pollution that we can't see."

Even more terrifying were those unseen beings. Ian could sense that at the edge of his vision, in the shadows beyond the reach of light, countless distorted things were approaching him.

They do not have a fixed shape.

Ian couldn't even detect the specific trajectory.

It can only be perceived vaguely.

That is the most terrifying enemy in the Cthulhu Mythos—the Unspeakable One.

These entities themselves constitute a corrupted reality. Merely approaching them causes unnatural ripples to appear on the surface of Ian's mimicry armor, as if the armor is being slowly dissolved by some force.

"Ugh~"

Ian couldn't help but gag a few times.

He had only tasted the Cthulhu Mist once, and never wanted to taste it again. Every time he recalled it, he was convinced that it would be the most terrible nightmare of his gourmet career.

"I'm also disgusted by Cthulhu."

Ian could feel eyes on him from all directions.

he knows.

I am being watched.

They do not appear directly.

Instead, they penetrate the human heart through perception, memory, and fear. They exist in the cracks of reality, invisible to the naked eye, yet they can plunge a person into eternal madness in just a few seconds.

No hesitation.

Ian immediately swung the holy sword in his hand.

Their movements were as light as the wind.

The holy sword, however, unleashed a world-destroying power. It surged and became a colossal, blazing white wave that swept outwards from Ian in all directions.

Holy flames swept across the entire holy city like a flood.

Wherever you go.

The air crackled with a sharp, explosive sound, as if space itself were ablaze. Those invisible, distorted entities didn't even have time to scream before they were reduced to ashes in the holy flames.

They struggled, writhed, and tried to escape, but to no avail. The holy flames engulfed them like a tsunami, purifying along with the part of reality they inhabited.

The ground returned to its original whiteness, and the writhing eyeballs and tentacles vanished in the flames. The black mist in the sky was dispelled, revealing a corner of the true heavenly dome.

After the sword was swung out.

What followed was a period of great upheaval.

The entire fallen holy city trembled at that moment.

That's not just purification.

It felt more like a trial.

All sounds are silent.

“There are still some remnants.”

Ian stood at the center of the storm, his cloak fluttering in the wind, holy flames surging around him. A second wave of holy flames swept out, completely incinerating the last remaining filth.

The holy flames relentlessly burned away every inch of filth.

The entire corrupted holy city trembled beneath his feet, as if it had submitted to this self-proclaimed angel king. The buildings gradually lost their distortion, revealing the outlines of angelic sculptures once more.

The rotten, fishy smell in the air was replaced by a scorching heat.

It was as if the whole world had been reset to its original glory.

"The culprit is probably inside."

Ian stood still.

Holding a holy sword.

Before him lay a path paved with holy flames.

He did not turn back or pause, but strode forward, through a path opened by holy flames, and into God's abode—the most sacred and inviolable place in heaven.

This is a magnificent yet eerie hall, with a towering dome that seems to connect to the source of heaven, and countless reliefs inlaid on the walls, depicting sacred scenes of angels descending and judging sin.

However, at this moment, these statues exude a nauseating stench.

They are not static decorations.

They are moving.

Along both sides of the corridor, countless twisted statues knelt, their heads bowed and hands clasped in front of their chests, as if in devout prayer, emitting low, murky, seductive, and frenzied songs.

The sound was like a call from the depths of hell, its tone fluctuating, sometimes plaintive and sometimes maniacal, each note eroding reason.

It's like an irresistible curse, gradually eroding one's mind.

"Pollution Hymn".

Ian murmured softly, his brow furrowed.

Without hesitation, he raised the burning sword of God in his hand and swung it fiercely!

A blazing wave of holy flames tore through the void and swept out!

Flames surged through the corridor like a tidal wave, engulfing the kneeling statues. They struggled, writhed, and screamed in the fire before finally turning to ashes and being completely purified.

then.

Beneath the statue.

One by one, the true angels who had been previously shrouded slowly revealed themselves.

Their pure white wings were bound by stone, their faces contorted in pain, and the moment they regained their freedom, they seemed to be pulled by some invisible force and began to slowly sink into the ground.

"and many more."

Ian tried to capture one of the most magnanimous angels but failed.

The angels' fall and destruction seemed irreversible.

“Ian Kent…” Just as his fingertips were about to touch the other, the angel sank completely into the floor, leaving only a faint sigh.

All the remaining angels, as if drawn by fate, plunged into darkness without hesitation, as if destined to fall to earth and become part of the fallen angels.

Ian knows.

There must be a reason behind this.

The reason is unspeakable.

"The audio clip from just now, when replaced with another audio, wasn't calling me Ian Kent. Instead, she called me the Great Angel King, saying they had let me down and that she would vote for me again in the next life." Perhaps Ian wasn't brave enough, as he actually muted his own voice.

He turned to his black box and gave it orders.

This was not just Ian's filming, but also Ian's test. If the black box can still function normally in such an environment, then its true origin may need to be investigated in depth.

The new Tony teacher is just artificial intelligence; it's impossible for them to create such a magical tool.

"Are there still corrupted angels inside?" Ian continued forward and discovered that although the holy flame had purified the corridor, the annoying singing still came from the depths of the hall.

He swung his sword again.

This time, he clearly saw the holy flame abruptly stop in front of the temple gate, as if it had hit an invisible wall, and the irritating song continued to echo.

"No, my trial card hasn't expired yet."

Ian squinted.

He strode into the hall, unhindered by any unseen force. In stark contrast to the polluted outside world, the hall was imbued with holiness.

Golden light streamed down from the dome, illuminating the gleaming marble floor. Lifelike statues of angels stood on either side, their faces serene, singing hymns—but for some reason, the music, which should have been calming, now made Ian feel inexplicably agitated.

It tastes the same as hearing polluted hymns.

"What's going on?" Ian shook the holy sword violently in mid-air. The flames on it were still burning, but it could no longer extend or cut out tangible sword energy as before.

“Something… is affecting it.” Ian made a helpless judgment, his gaze sweeping across the entire hall before finally settling on a throne at the front.