boyutpedia Page 371
Page 371
"Where's my Hellcat? Has it been found yet?" Ian felt he was missing a straight man at this moment, and the Hellcat was even better at flattering him than Baal, the demon head.
It's a small car after all, so it's normal for it to lift people up.
Hear the words.
Thomas Wayne's lips twitched slightly, unsure how to express his emotions. He firmly believed that no demon could be as sinister as the demons of the Ian lineage.
The head of the lower-ranking demon is like this, and so is the Hellcat.
"It's out hunting demons like crazy, as if it thinks that as long as it becomes strong enough, it can come and save you. The radio keeps playing some kind of recording about 'Ten Years of Demon West, Ten Years of Demon East'."
"Hmm, it seems like it's some encouragement you gave it?" Thomas Wayne actually wanted to use the word "bewitch," but he ultimately chose a more subtle approach.
"That's loyalty!"
Ian's eyes lit up instantly, like two pumpkin lanterns that had been suddenly lit—Thomas Wayne watched Ian with an expressionless face, deeply moved.
"Indeed loyal."
The Lord of Hell from House Wayne added some details to the plot with a touch of melancholy.
"However, I managed to catch it myself." He seemed to be recalling the strangeness of that demonic vehicle, as if some attribute of it had a natural restraining effect on demons.
That was definitely not a normal demon car. Of course, if you consider that its owner is this strange little devil in front of you, then perhaps the so-called abnormality can be considered reasonable.
"Caught back?"
Ian's movements came to an abrupt halt.
"Where did you park it? It doesn't like to park in paid parking spaces; it likes to fight with other cars for parking spots." He had long been familiar with some of the devilish characteristics of this car.
“I think I already know that; it devoured all the other demon cars…” Thomas Wayne pulled a pocket watch from his suit pocket and looked at it.
"Don't worry, I've been feeding it with live hellhounds, and it hasn't tried to escape the garage again for the time being. You can retrieve your car before you leave."
Thomas Wayne clearly knew how effective the feeding method was.
"marvelous!"
Ian clapped his hands, once again affirming the Hellcat's loyalty, "When I negotiate with my new aunt again, I'm going to ask her for some of her period fluids to give it!"
As soon as these words came out.
The pocket watch slipped straight from Thomas Wayne's hand.
It dangled from the silver chain and swayed continuously.
His pupils dilated to almost human size.
"Your new aunt?" It's no wonder Thomas Wayne reacted so strongly. After all, he knew a bit about Superman's family, so the term "new aunt" made it hard for him not to think of the photo Ian had shown him before—a picture of Martha and old Jonathan. The Martha in the picture wasn't Jonathan's official partner, Martha.
“It doesn’t really matter.” Ian was unaware of Thomas Wayne’s deep sense of crisis regarding his marriage; he remembered to keep dark matters a secret.
The decay of the demonic furniture in those rooms was proof that Darkness didn't want anyone to know about her, and Ian couldn't let that harm his brother Thomas.
He was very understanding and considerate of others. However, precisely because of this, seeing Ian acting somewhat suspiciously only fueled Thomas Wayne's wild imagination.
"I want to go to heaven! Really! I have to go to heaven right now!" Thomas Wayne cried out in a panic. He took off his glasses and wiped them vigorously, as if that would erase the terrible images that were flashing through his mind.
"I'll write to Bruce right now and tell him to treat his new uncle well." It's clear he's already impatient. Indeed, children are always an unexpected surprise for their parents.
“But I haven’t even started the experiment yet. I need to test it on some little devils first.” Master Ian was very meticulous about his business and didn’t want any accidents to happen to his guests. Because of this meticulousness, a bolt of lightning flashed past the window at just the right moment, illuminating the fascinating changes in Thomas Wayne’s expression.
He took a deep breath, then another, and then yet another—this continuous action was especially rare in the sulfurous air of this hellish place.
The sulfur had practically marinated Thomas Wayne, but thankfully he finally calmed his turbulent, overthinking mind and immediately snapped his fingers into the air.
A dark shadow appeared in the center of the room, twisting and writhing as it gradually took shape. A dozen or so imps, bound by chains, rolled to the ground like a screaming ball of yarn. Their tiny, beady eyes were filled with terror, and upon seeing Thomas Wayne, they collectively lost control of their bladders, emitting a mixture of rotten fish and rotten eggs.
"Here are the experimental materials you wanted." Thomas Wayne disdainfully poked at the pile of demons with his toe. "Now you should be able to take them back to Earth and begin your research, right?"
His voice carried a hint of urging, but he was also clearly concerned with his life and had no intention of taking any risks—after all, he was the first Lord Master of Gotham.
The little devil's life might not really be a life in his eyes. Ian squatted down and tapped the little devil's head one by one like picking watermelons. He found that there were indeed a few good heads that were suitable to be trash cans.
"Don't rush, I still have to wait for my trash can king, and Belial—" Ian promoted the demon Baal, and Baal was no longer just a simple trash can.
It became the king of the trash cans.
“No need to wait for him! They’ll be waiting for you at the exit of Hell.” Thomas Wayne suddenly raised his voice, then forced himself to regain his composure. “I mean, how can something as important as the Indulgence Experiment be delayed by other matters? This is a real deal; the entire Hell will bow down to you because of it.”
This isn't flattery; it's stating the facts. Not a single demon doesn't want to immigrate to Heaven. For years, even the kings of Hell have been plotting to conquer Heaven.
"Have you found my therapist yet?"
Ian picked up a small creature with six ears from the pile of demons. The creature was using two of its ears to plug its eyes. It looked a bit like a character from an alien monster cartoon he used to watch.
"Forehead……"
Thomas Wayne hesitated after hearing this, as if he was worried or afraid of something, and he looked somewhat indecisive.
"Could it be that my therapist has been eaten? Hmm, some demons probably really believe that eating a therapist can cure their mental illness."
“This is called ‘you are what you eat’…” Ian’s diet doesn’t include any similar foods, so even though he understands the theory, he still won’t put it into practice.
A young man knows what to do and what not to do.
This is what is meant by the uprightness and integrity of the King of Hell.
Just as he was about to say something...
"Hannibal Lecter!"
Thomas Wayne suddenly interrupted him, speaking at an unusually fast pace.
“Yes, the psychiatrist you wanted.” His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of his pocket watch. “I’ve located him. Well, he’s the first guy I’ve located.”
The old king of Gotham still seemed somewhat hesitant.
"and then?"
Ian released the Six-Eared Demon.
Brush off any dust that isn't actually there.
Thomas Wayne's expression faltered again. He looked out the window, then at the ground, and finally at the trembling little devils—he just wouldn't look Ian in the eye.
"His...uh...case is a bit special."
The King of Hell finally managed to utter a vague statement.
"More special than my kitten and my trash can?" Ian raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. He wasn't good at giving a faint smile, but he was very good at raising his eyebrows.
Ian doesn't like to brag about even his eyebrow dancing.
“He’s been staying in those confessionals, but the ones he’s in are a bit unusual, and my men and I can’t get him out,” Thomas Wayne sighed.
He never expected that finding a human soul would lead to that kind of situation.
"Can't you bring it out?"
Ian sensed Thomas Wayne's predicament and became even more curious. Did these legitimate infiltrators from the outer universe receive different treatment after death than other native souls?
Does the DC Universe also offer preferential treatment to "international students"?
"this."
Thomas Wayne suddenly turned and walked toward the door, as if he was hesitant to bring up certain things.
"You'd better see for yourself."
Thomas Wayne's Adam's apple bobbed, as if he had swallowed a piece of burning coal. His apprehension was palpable, and his black glove rubbed incessantly against the edge of his pocket watch.
This is a sign of nervousness.
Ian became increasingly curious.
Before Ian could ask anything further, Thomas Wayne opened an unremarkable door, revealing a passageway that shouldn't have been behind it.
This is clearly some kind of ability of Thomas Wayne.
Upon entering, the two began their ascent from the lowest level of hell.
hell.
This is not the fiery and sulfurous land of mortal imagination, but a mad aggregate pieced together from countless dimensions. Like a child roughly tearing up picture books of different styles and then randomly piecing the fragments together to form a new collage. Nearby, the spires of an 18th-century Baroque church pierce into a futuristic metal city.
A floating golden stone slab connects to an upside-down palace, whose entrance leads to a desolate snowfield. The entire hell is like a three-dimensional maze drawn by a madman.
The sloping facades of the ancient Egyptian pyramids extend into Gothic flying buttresses, connecting to areas reminiscent of Mayan civilization. All the buildings in these areas seem to slowly creep along, like clay being kneaded by an invisible hand. Logic is utterly abandoned here; only power and will can sustain existence.
The boundaries of hell are being revealed.
Ian wasn't surprised by this. He already knew that Hell wasn't a single space, but rather like a giant onion with layers upon layers.
Each layer contains a different dimension, different rules, and different pain and order. They traversed burning scorched earth, floating seas of vengeful spirits, and distorted mirror cities, finally arriving at the Upper Hell—a region closer to the "core of domination" than anywhere else.
This was also the area where Ian had been before he fell.
Near Lucifer's throne.
The throne hovered in mid-air, surrounded by countless burning halos, as if the will of all hell was concentrated on it. However, Thomas did not lead Ian closer to the throne, but instead pointed to a densely packed, neatly arranged array of box-like rooms. These were the confessionals, trapping all human souls.
The rooms resembled enormous coffins, entirely black, their surfaces engraved with ancient runes and seals. Each one was like an independent cage, or perhaps an entrance to another world. Looking through the windows, one could see inside the inverted library, where books were chained to scholars who were reading.
In a desolate desert.
The businessman knelt before the self-replicating contract.
This is what an observer sees, and the images presented represent the greatest obsessions in the hearts of trapped souls, which bind them and prevent them from leaving.
“Your doctor is in Box 0.” Thomas Wayne’s suit, which he had changed into when he arrived, suddenly broke out in a cold sweat; the fabric of the suit was etched with a screaming face.
obviously.
This hellish suit is in a state of panic.
“No one in room 0 knows who it is, but even Lucifer has never dared to approach…” Before he could finish speaking, Ian’s fingers were already on the doorknob of room 0.
“Click.”
It was a simple, unadorned brass handle, as ordinary as any accessory in a human apartment, yet at that moment it made Thomas Wayne swallow hard with extreme tension.
The door opened.
There was no hellish scene as expected, no gushing torrent of vengeful spirits. Only a ray of light—so soft, so warm, like sunlight filtering through sheer curtains on a winter morning, gently spilling across the threshold. Dr. Hannibal Lecter sat on the sofa inside, wearing his signature tailored suit.
His gaze was calm as still water.