What's wrong with Superman's brother wanting to be Homelander?

Chapter 66 Your fighting skills aren't enough to get rid of all trouble.

Chapter 66 Your fighting skills aren't enough to get rid of all trouble.

Smallville, a small town.

Kent Farm.

Clark felt that he hadn't rested well in the past two days.

I dream every night.

Then the next day you'll find yourself floating in mid-air.

Since the Wright brothers, humanity's dream has been to be able to fly like a bird.

But first of all, he didn't fly up; he just hovered in mid-air.

Secondly, this uncontrollable and unpredictable change filled Clark with fear.

He was completely confused about what had changed about him. He worried that his superhuman abilities might get out of control and accidentally hurt his parents or friends.

To be honest, if he could, he just wanted to be an ordinary young man in a small town.

Just like my classmates, I want to date, go to school, get married, and have children normally. My ideal partner would be Lana.

In every sunrise or sunset, you can quietly enjoy this peace and tranquility.

But recent changes have made him realize that he is different from others by nature and may never be able to have a normal life.

The more beautiful the intimacy with Lana in his dream, the more heartbroken he became upon waking up from the ethereal void.

He feared that this unrequited love would be destroyed at its root by his own uniqueness, and he also feared that they might be destined never to get close to each other.

He had spoken to Jonathan about it, but his father just frowned and didn't say anything.

"If Lucas were here, perhaps he could analyze something."

At this moment, Clark was especially hoping that Lucas could return soon.

Whether it was calmly smashing that hideous monster to death as a child, or appearing in that eerie, blood-red world to save himself—

All of this proves that her brother is also quite extraordinary.

Given the recent unusual changes in your body, the other person might be able to offer some good advice.

Clark actually discovered that Rachel was also somewhat unusual.

However, when it comes to his own privacy, he is not yet ready to share with the other party.

After all, the other party was only adopted by their parents.

He and Lucas are biological children.

.

The third day in Gotham.

The Kane Hotel.

Room 3202, 32nd floor.

Presidential Suite.

Through the gleaming, giant floor-to-ceiling windows, not far away, lies an enclosed shallow sea area, the air of the corridor carrying a faint smell of salty soda.

But compared to the pungent, industrial chemical smell that makes you want to frown, the air here is undoubtedly fresh.

They're practically pickled in so many toxins every day, no wonder Gotham produces so many talented people.

Lucas took a few deep breaths of fresh air, then turned and sat down.

The ebony table, cut from a single piece of wood, gleams with warm wood grain, and the shimmering light filtering through falls onto the tabletop.

Across the table sat Bruce Wayne and his butler Alfred, who had arrived early that morning.

"This is the share transfer agreement that my lawyer drafted early this morning. You can take a look, and if there are no problems, you can sign it."

Bruce took a neatly arranged contract out of his bag and handed it to the table, while glancing at Lucas, who was wearing a ghost mask and sitting lazily in a leather chair.

He examined the mask closely, clearly trying to discern something from it.

In order to track down the killer, thirteen-year-old Bruce Wayne diligently studied criminal psychology, human behavior, and the semiotics of costume.

People can disguise their words, control their expressions, and conceal their actions, but they cannot hide the details of the objects around them.

Clothing, accessories, and personal items, including masks, are not simply decorations, but rather an outward manifestation of a person's subconscious and true nature.

Ordinary people wear masks simply to conceal their appearance, intimidate others, or for fun and novelty. The style can be either ferocious and arrogant or bizarre and exaggerated, with emotions that are straightforward and simple.

But this mysterious person's ghost mask was completely different; its lines were flat and languid, and although it had a ferocious feel, it was different from the bizarre.

Another thing is the craftsmanship of the entire mask; the longer you look at it, the more you get the illusion that something is flowing on it. He had never seen such a technique before.

"Mr. Wayne, have you ever told me that staring at someone for a long time is impolite?"

Lucas tapped the table and spoke in a calm voice.

"Sorry!" Bruce said quickly, bowing his head.

Lucas glanced at the contract briefly, then casually picked up a pen and signed his name.

"It's a beautiful morning. I wish us a pleasant collaboration once again, Mr. Wayne."

Lucas opened a bottle of gin, poured it into a pre-prepared glass, and squeezed some lemon into it.

Bruceston paused for a few seconds, then raised his glass and downed it in one gulp: "Where's what I wanted?"

"What do you see when you look down from here?" Lucas suddenly pointed to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Bruce frowned, walked silently to the French windows, and looked down.

"I saw the suffering behind the prosperity. I also saw people struggling in that suffering." After a while, he said in a heavy tone, "The destitution and desires hidden beneath the glitz of the city, the countless people constantly compromising and struggling to make a living."

"Anything else?" Lucas asked.

"There are also people who rely on order to make a living, yet secretly trample on the rules."

Bruce clenched his fist.

"Clang!"

A sharp metallic clang interrupted Bruce's thoughts.

He looked at the tabletop with suspicion.

A dart shaped like an owl appeared on the smooth tabletop.

It appeared to still have bloodstains on it.

"What is this?" Bruce's expression immediately turned serious.

He suddenly remembered a folk song that his parents often mentioned when he was a child.

Beware the Court of Owls, who watch day and night, lurking in the shadows of stone walls, secretly ruling Gotham City.

This folk song can be heard everywhere, regardless of wealth, whether in old or new city areas or slums.

Having been passed down for hundreds of years, it has become a folk song that is always sung to scare naughty children.

He always thought it was a folk tale.

Alfred's expression also tightened, and he looked serious.

"Everything is as you expect," Lucas said calmly.

"You mean the owls—killed my parents?" Bruce looked at Lucas, uncertainly. "Or are you just trying to fob me off with this non-existent organization?"

“Mr. Wayne, I’m not as bored as you.” Lucas stood up, placed his hands on the table, and looked down at the teenage Batman. “If you don’t believe me, you can go and see for yourself at Pine Forest Farm outside Gotham.”

"I will definitely go."

Bruce silently memorized the name, picked up the owl dart, and then set off with Butler.

As the door opened, Lucas suddenly said with a half-smile, "As a bonus, I suggest you bring a few guns, the really powerful ones. After all, your current fighting skills aren't enough to get you out of all this trouble, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce's expression changed slightly.

Since his parents passed away, he has been determined to take revenge. Now, under Afu's training, he has mastered mixed martial arts skills.

But he carried out this in secret.

No one else knew except him and Afu.

The other party's extraordinary abilities clearly exceeded my expectations!

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