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

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"A hidden danger? You mean Bruce has grown an organ on his butt that looks like a chair?" The Flash ran around Batman several times but couldn't find a place that could separate Batman from the throne.

“It’s a toilet, made of pure gold.” Ian was stuffing dried mushrooms he’d pulled out of the dimension into his mouth to calm his regretful and somewhat heavy heart.

What would happen if we pried it off?

Barry couldn't help but gesture with his hand.

"I will be corrupted into an evil god in no time." Bruce's weak voice was tinged with regret. He adjusted his posture and indeed found that his buttocks seemed to be welded to the throne.

"So, you won't be able to walk anymore?" The Flash asked, somewhat surprised. He couldn't imagine how Bruce would be able to transform into Batman and maintain order in Gotham under these circumstances.

"Just until I find a solution."

Bruce shook his slightly dizzy head.

“At least add a mobility device, and Batman becomes a wheelchair-bound Batman. That might scare the other Gotham monsters even more.” Ian used his brilliant ingenuity to try and appease Batman.

“I think Dr. Wells will definitely be able to find common ground with Bruce.” The Flash’s lips began to twitch uncontrollably, and he suddenly turned his back, his shoulders shaking suspiciously.

"You think it's funny?"

Bruce's death stare was fixed on everyone.

“Look on the bright side.” Barry tried to tighten his facial muscles, quickly trying to salvage his composure. “At least you can apply for disability benefits.”

However, this somewhat sarcastic "humorous" remedy doesn't seem to be a product of the Speed ​​Force flowing through his brain; Bruce's death stare is focused on the Flash alone.

"Who do you think is distributing disability benefits in Gotham?" Batman's voice was not only deep but also very annoyed, and the entire Batcave instantly fell silent, so quiet that the sound of machinery could be heard.

“Actually, if you can’t go out and do things, the banned Batman might be able to take your place in fighting evil in Gotham.” Ian’s idea, which he considered brilliant, made Bruce and Superman look at him several times.

"Who is the person who helped us?" Bruce didn't dare to answer, so he changed the subject. Even now, he still sees a lot of discussions about Batman in Metropolis.

The sheer volume of posts he couldn't keep up with deleting made him frustrated.

“Nyos, that’s what humans called Him during the Golden Age. He is the lord of humanity in another world, the Great Emperor.” Ian’s voice carried a rare hint of respect.

Upon hearing this, Bruce stroked the engravings on the edge of the golden toilet, remained silent for a moment, and then spoke in a low voice, "I can sense that he is indeed a respectable leader."

His voice was so soft it sounded like he was reciting a eulogy.

Superman's blue eyes also darkened.

"It seems you've had a rather unusual adventure." The Flash, keenly sensing the shift in atmosphere, tactically cleared his throat. "So... this golden, uh, throne, does it have any special functions?"

"The current findings are that it can automatically maintain a constant temperature," Bruce said expressionlessly, "and it can help me deflect anything that tries to attack my buttocks."

"At least I don't have to worry about being betrayed anymore." He wasn't sure if this counted as finding joy in hardship. Although he hadn't tested it yet, he could tell that the throne's material was definitely extraordinary. It also contained a very strong power—the same energy nature as his altered body.

"Ugh~"

Bruce suddenly bent over.

The golden throne emitted a blinding golden light. He gagged violently, and clumps of black crystals gushed from his mouth, hitting the floor of the bat cave with a crisp sound.

"Ahem. This is..."

Superman knelt on one knee, his fingertips lightly touching the still-wriggling black fragments. The fragments rapidly weathered under his touch, revealing the flickering, fading starlight within.

"It seems that the deity has completed its mission."

The cave fell silent.

Only the faint sound of black crystals breaking apart could be heard.

"maybe!"

Suddenly, Ian lunged forward, his hands gripping a wisp of drifting dust tightly. The instant his palms touched the black dust, the system's voice rang out.

[New data with additional dimensions is being analyzed]

[WARNING: Data corruption rate 99.7%]

[Developer mode enabled, bug fixes in progress.]

Ian was relieved. After all that, he couldn't have gone without gaining something; he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep for ten nights. Fortunately, the system didn't disappoint him.

The young evil god's voice distorted with excitement.

The corners of his mouth rose uncontrollably.

"Lord Ian will make a move!"

Black matter and starlight were gathering towards him.

"Ok?"

Bruce gave Ian, who was overjoyed, a meaningful look.

"It seems you've had a very fruitful trip."

He sat on the toilet, his eyes flickering slightly.

"Not bad, not bad." Ian couldn't suppress the corners of his mouth. He didn't forget that at times like this, he should put his hands in his pockets and try to keep his tone "indifferent".

"..."

Batman didn't rate Ian's poor acting; his gaze shifted to Superman. In the real world, Clark was still wearing that unfinished Iron Man suit.

The "S" logo on the chest was partially obscured by the mechanical structure.

"Perhaps you should take off my armor."

Batman spoke softly.

"It is not yet finished being cast."

As Superman spoke, he began to remove the embryo of the Hell Armor. Bruce stared silently at the intricate patterns on it, his expression strange as he hesitated several times before finally speaking.

however.

He ultimately said nothing more.

"Finish it as soon as possible...I need it...Let Ian draw more of his monstrosities on it." Bruce just doesn't learn his lesson; he actually wants to fight pollution with pollution.

"okay!"

Ian responded on behalf of his father.

Superman and The Flash looked at each other in bewilderment.

“I need some rest.” Batman looked at the empty base and the medicines lying on the ground, and rubbed his temples wearily.

This is clearly an invitation to leave.

"Okay, if you feel uncomfortable anywhere, remember to contact us anytime... Remember not to get up from your chair, I don't want to see you announcing on TV that you are the king of the world."

Superman gave me some earnest advice, and then, amidst the Flash's gossipy questions, he took Ian and left the Batcave, leaving Batman alone in the empty room.

"I need to be able to get up too! That Emperor guy welded my ass to the spot!" Batman said, slapping the armrest of the throne in annoyance after everyone had left.

The feeling of being involuntarily disabled is not pleasant.

“That person also modified my body.” Bruce Wayne sat on the golden throne, his fingertips lightly tapping the armrest, each touch sending up a visible ripple of psionic energy.

I thought about it.

Having regained some of his sanity, Batman used his voice to awaken a bunch of underground robots and began directing them to help him analyze the throne's material.

of course.

One's own body must also undergo a comprehensive study.

Bruce slowly raised his palm, gazing at the flowing golden lines beneath his skin. These lines were not static—they meandered and moved like living things, weaving ancient runes within his veins. When he concentrated, he could even see the energy floating in the air, swirling like a colorful mist between the instruments.

“Psionicist.” The word was squeezed out between his teeth with a bitter sense of helplessness. He suddenly clenched his fist, the air surged, and in an instant, sparks flew from all the electronic equipment in the Batcave. The holographic projections twisted into hideous faces, while the Batmobile in the corner was lifted three inches off the ground by his psionic burst.

In the Warhammer universe, psykers are individuals who draw energy from the warp and possess supernatural abilities. They are considered "walking calamities," and their existence is fraught with contradictions and dangers.

Psionicists possess extraordinary senses that allow them to see through non-material spaces. Psionic power is an extremely versatile force. Psionicists, who specialize in manipulating bio-energy and processes, can alter their own structure or heal allies at the cellular level, and can also mutate the flesh of enemies. Psionicists can even lift massive objects out of thin air to attack or crush the internal organs of enemies.

It has many uses.

The ability to grant users precognitive abilities can be seen as a special kind of magic. Since the DC universe doesn't have a warp, Bruce's psionic power comes from the throne beneath him.

This was neither an illusion nor a magic trick. Every time Bruce closed his eyes, he could feel that power flowing through his body, like a flame in the darkness, burning in his nerves, blood, and even bones.

"This is a potential problem."

Bruce was not happy about gaining superhuman powers.

Instead, I felt heavy-hearted.

Instead of resting, he immediately began his research. To figure out what he had become, he started using the advanced equipment that Ian and the Flash hadn't yet "ruined"—including a nano-scanner, a quantum brainwave analyzer, and a flesh-and-blood analysis system specifically designed to detect bodily mutations.

Be ruthless.

Batman is capable of cutting off his own flesh and blood for research.

"Clap clap clap~ Clap clap clap~ Clap clap clap~"

Deep inside the bat cave.

Keyboard typing.

The instrument hummed.

Bruce Wayne sat at the control panel, beneath which rested the golden throne he had brought back from outer space, which emitted a faint yet eerie energy fluctuation between the instruments.

Ancient secrets are being unraveled, one by one. The throne is not made of metal, or at least not entirely of it, and carries a certain heaviness that does not belong to this world.

Just as the analysis and research were ongoing.

Gotham's alarm system suddenly went off! The siren shattered the silence of the Batcave, red lights flashed, and surveillance footage automatically popped up. Bruce quickly pulled up the feed.

Then came a wave of furrowed brows.

I saw.

In the image, a black angel with cloudy eyes, as if brainwashed, is wearing clown makeup and flapping its wings, carrying a clown in pajamas.

They floated in the sky above downtown Gotham City.

"Good morning, Gotham!" The Joker shouted, spreading his arms wide across the city. "The weather's perfect for a real downpour!"

talking.

He started taking off his pants.