The parents burst into tears. The father's body was trembling. The mother was so scared her whole body went limp.
"Stop!" Superman shouted. "Please, don't do that."
"Of course, as long as you kill him, I'll stop," Bruce Wayne said with a smile, pointing at the wailing Joker, his grinning mouth revealing drooling teeth.
Superman looked at the Joker, whose eyes held a desperate plea.
He wanted Superman to kill him.
Death would at least be a release. That lunatic hadn't physically tortured him; he had only continuously provoked him with his henchmen and Harley.
Over and over again. The Joker wasn't always a desperate man.
He lived in an ordinary family and had a humble job.
A clown who performed in a circus, entertaining people.
His mother was a woman driven mad by those dark years.
In those years, men sold women, elders sold children, wives sold husbands, sons sold fathers; everyone lived in apprehension, in despair.
His mother had been the mistress of a powerful figure in Gotham City. To save himself, he tricked his mother into signing a confession.
He pushed all the blame onto his mother, accusing her of deliberately seducing him. The poor woman was almost beaten to death for moral depravity.
Fortunately, she had a child, which earned her some sympathy and allowed her to survive. The Joker grew up in such an environment.
He was born with uncontrollable pathological laughter and had always faced discrimination.
His mad mother was also a heavy burden on him.
Yet, the Joker lived on resiliently, striving to make his life better.
Until society drove him mad.
He poured everything into trying to settle down in Gotham City, but the developer absconded with the funds, and the house he bought was never finished.
Not only did he lose everything, but he was also forced to bear high debts. The bank called to threaten him, to sue him; he should go to the developer for his house, but the money he owed had to be repaid.
His boss demanded an all-rounder position, seeking to increase efficiency and reduce costs, and decided to lay off staff. The Joker, who never knew how to flatter, was laid off. The other party offered him no compensation, outright telling the Joker to sue. The Joker was forced onto the streets, trying to make a living by performing, but Gotham City's law enforcement confiscated all his belongings. The reason given was that it affected Gotham City's image.
From letters left by his mother, he accidentally learned that he might be the son of that prominent figure in Gotham City. He went to acknowledge his father with a final hope, but the man ruthlessly stated that he was merely an adopted child and his mother was a delusional woman.
However, he found love letters from that prominent figure to his mother among her belongings, indicating that the man had actively seduced his young, naive mother.
When he saw thugs bullying a girl, he acted heroically but was sent to the police station and jailed.
After being released from prison, the Joker completely broke down while riding the subway. Three young men, enraged by his uncontrollable laughter, beat him while shouting, "My dad is the police chief of Gotham City, how dare you laugh at me, you bastard!"
The Joker, completely erupted, directly shot the three men and embarked on a path of no return.
From then on, Gotham City lost a kind, cowardly good man and gained a Dark King of Gotham who longed to prove that everyone was a daemon.
But the Joker was ultimately just disappointed in humanity, yearning to drive social change through violent means, to tell everyone that there was no such thing as hope in this world, and that all superheroes were nothing but liars.
He still possessed humanity, with his own logic and bottom line. The other party's cruelty had exceeded his imagination of human beings. The parents also looked at Superman with pleading eyes.
"Save her, please," the mother said, trembling. "We spent all our money to heal her eyes. She's ten years old, but she's only seen this world for three days. It's also only been three days since she first called out 'Mommy'."
The father knelt down.
He looked handsome, but his white hair was strikingly abundant.
His daughter, born deaf, mute, and blind, had exhausted him. To treat his daughter, he had spent his life savings and accumulated heavy debts. Three days. The days she could see light, and call out 'Dad' and 'Mom,' were only three days. Ten years. They had persevered for ten years, struggled for ten years, all to give their daughter a healthy life. To let her fully see the mountains and rivers of this world, the scenery of this world, everything in this world.
Bruce Wayne laughed, extending his hand towards the little girl. This time, he applied slight pressure, and his sharp nails scratched across the girl's face, leaving a horrifying wound.
Crimson blood gushed out.
Making her cry.
Shouting, "Daddy, Mommy, it hurts."
Superman looked at the family's despairing faces and said, trembling,
"I agree."
He picked up the iconic Batarang. The Joker closed his eyes.
A sinister smile appeared on Bruce Wayne's face.
"You have to let them go," Superman said, looking at the pale, ghoul-like figure.
Bruce Wayne nodded.
"I will. I never break my promises."
Amidst cries of pain, Superman took the Batarang and fiercely slashed across the Joker's throat.
Crimson blood gushed out.
Bruce Wayne let out a maniacal laugh. The next second, Harley, who was pinned to the wall, was enveloped by a black mist, violently ripped down, and torn into pieces like a rag doll. The Joker, still clinging to his last breath, watched Harley's scattered remains, his eyes wide, before collapsing.
"Why?" Superman cried out in despair, looking at the madman. "I did exactly as you asked."
"I said I'd let them go, not how I'd let them go!" Bruce Wayne said cruelly. "Didn't I release her from the wall?"
"Bastard." The kind-hearted Superman had never felt such intense killing intent. He glared at the other party, his eyes burning with fury.
Superman's hatred only excited Bruce Wayne more.
He grabbed the poor woman, and amidst the screams of her husband and daughter, tore her into pieces bit by bit.
Crimson blood splattered in the dim light, landing on Superman's resolute face.
His lips trembled. Tears flowed uncontrollably from the corners of his eyes.
As Bruce Wayne attempted to kill the man, a rumbling sound echoed.
"That beast is in there, block him. Old Constantine, you go over there, guard the other exit. You, and you too, go over there. We must catch him this time."
Voices came from outside.
A hint of fear appeared on Bruce Wayne's twisted face; he recognized the voices of those people from the familiar words. Those despicable bastards had arrived.
Bruce Wayne dared not waste time, but he still swung his claw, intending to shred the little girl to pieces, to make the poor man experience the despair of losing his wife and daughter.
But the man suddenly lunged forward, shielding his daughter from the attack.
With one claw, Bruce Wayne slashed open the man's spinal column, leaving five shocking wounds on the poor man's back, through which his intestines and heart were clearly visible.
Bruce Wayne let out a cruel laugh, casting a malicious gaze at the little girl, whose eyes were blank and who was in too much pain to utter a sound, before transforming into a black mist and fleeing. The little girl knelt amidst the scattered corpses of her parents, their crimson blood staining her beautiful princess dress. The immense pain caused her mind to shut down.
Moments later, she let out a desperate scream of agony.
Superman endured the pain, forcibly pulled out the Kryptonite nail embedded in his body, struggled to crawl over, and held the little girl in his arms, shielding her from the despairing scene.
Looking at the chaotic slaughterhouse, the brutally murdered Joker, Harley, and the abused poor people, as well as the couple who had done nothing wrong and had lived with all their might.
For the first time, Superman let out a painful, desperate scream of his own incompetence.
He was called "Their child" by the people. They believed this man in red armor would surely lead them to build a beautiful utopia. To establish a new world where everyone was equal and technology was advanced.
Son of the People.
What a beautiful title.
And now, he watched the massacre with his own eyes, powerless to stop it.
Watching a child's parents torn to pieces, utterly helpless.
Fierce sounds of battle came from outside, along with angry shouts and Bruce Wayne's exasperated curses.
A moment later, several people rushed in, both men and women.
"That bastard killed again."
"This is still good. Last time, that guy literally roasted those people alive and forced others to eat them."
"He's getting crazier and crazier, but he's too cunning, unfortunately."
"Stop talking about that. Get them out first. Someone needs to handle the bodies and survivors here." Constantine stopped the rest of the squad from talking and urged them to get to work.
Superman, the little girl, and a few lucky surviving gang members were led out.
Superman, who used to always smile, stand tall, and be excitedly called the Son of the People, seemed to have suddenly bypassed his youth and entered middle age, aging significantly.
His handsome, dashing face no longer held any smiles; it was weathered and he became taciturn. The little girl was also stunned, her eyes having lost their former brilliance.
"What's your name?" Old Constantine asked with concern. The little girl looked up, her tear-reddened eyes staring blankly at Old Constantine.
She had just begun to see what the world was truly like.
She had just learned how to say the words 'Daddy' and 'Mommy'.
Old Constantine repeated himself several times.
Only then did she stammer out her name.
"Jennifer."
Superman picked up the little girl.
"I'm taking her to the hospital for a check-up and to get her face bandaged."
With that, he flew directly into the sky.
Constantine watched him leave, with no intention of stopping him. The kind-hearted Superman was already dead. That madman had inflicted an indelible psychological trauma on him, making him watch those people die helplessly.
"Continue searching for that guy. This time, we must try to kill him." Constantine withdrew his gaze and looked at the squad members. "Also, the infiltration work into Parallel Universe 03512 has changed slightly. The Justice League has been eliminated, and the remaining Superman probably won't be an obstacle anymore. We need to speed up."
The other Constantines nodded in understanding. They turned and left, either to hunt the mad Bruce Wayne or to continue pushing their previous infiltration plan. The consciousness came too swiftly and intensely.
He abruptly opened his eyes, and stinging light flooded his vision.
When he breathed, he could physically feel the scent of rust.
He coughed, curling up like a baby, desperately trying to gasp for every bit of air like a drowning person.
After a while, everything in his eyes became clear.
His senses—sight, hearing, smell, and touch—slowly returned to his control.
A cold sensation came from beneath him. He took a while to recover before standing up, looking around blankly. This was a desolate plain. The grey sky rolled with various eerie, ominous lights.
Horrifying scenes appeared in the sky. The sky had turned into a terrifying ocean.
Occasionally, some terrifying, unimaginably colossal beings would reveal their limbs.
Eyeballs as vast as the moon, tentacles more magnificent than mountains. They floated and sank in the grey, ominous ocean in the sky.
Grey clouds and blood-red mist would occasionally form a terrifying, malevolent face.
A gust of wind swept across the wasteland.
In the wind, there was a gentle voice.
"Return."
"Return."
The voice echoed continuously.
Repeating.
"Who am I?"
"Where am I?"
"What am I supposed to do?"
The man looked at his strong hands, a silent confusion rising in his heart.
Why was he here?
There was no memory of his own; his mind was completely blank.
Without direction or clues, he was simply thrown here.
"I should be a warrior?" The man looked at his strong hands. These hands were full of power.
His strong body was also filled with power.
As if he possessed infinite strength.
Yet, he still knew nothing about his identity. The only thing he was sure of was that he had no idea. There was nothing on him that could indicate his identity.
No armor or weapons to protect himself.
No food, water, or any supplies to help him survive. The whispers still echoed in the air.
"Return."
"Return."
The man gained some enlightenment from the voice in the air.
He found a direction to move in. The man didn't know how long he had walked, nor did he see anything useful.
Along the way, there were only those strange skeletons.
Other than that, there was only an endless expanse of grassland. The wasteland was boundless, with no end in sight.
Desolate, lonely.
Until an unknown amount of time passed, he entered a desolate ruin.
Walking among piles of stone statues and bones.
Here, he saw a bizarre, utterly detestable eight-pointed star pattern.
Just as he was wondering about the undisguised hatred that welled up within him,
He instinctively spat it out.
As if the word was poison.
"Chaos."
Some memories appeared in his mind.
A gaping maw full of fangs, traitors with blood-red eyes, burning skies and earth, endless piles of dead bodies.
Heretics completely unaware that they had fallen prey to the bizarre entities of the Warp. The man was filled with immense hatred.
Somehow, a sword appeared in his hand. The hilt of the sword was shaped like a golden skull, with a red gem embedded in the guard.
As he took the sword, a name also appeared in his mind.
Gavriel Loken. The man was absolutely certain that this was his name.
Clutching the longsword, countless combat techniques emerged in his mind.
He became even stronger.
Gavriel Loken swung his sword, shattering the massive stones carved with the eight-pointed star.
"Filth," he roared at the ruins.
Perhaps his actions offended something.
Some terrifying monsters lurked in the ruins; occasionally, their fleeting forms and crimson eyes could be seen. The man was fearless.
He held his sword, wary of the monsters in the ruins.
"I should be wearing armor, shouldn't I?"
Gavriel Loken thought to himself.
He felt that he had armor.
A set of armor with a golden double-headed eagle on the chest silently appeared on his body.
A monstrous creature charged forward.
It had three human heads and the body of a wolf, its sharp claws seeming to be cast from molten iron, exuding a chilling and terrifying aura.
Gavriel Loken, relying on instinct, swung his blade, striking swiftly. The monster's heads were instantly severed, leaving a blurry trail of foul matter in the air. The daemon's corpse turned into black ashes in the air, scattering with the wind.
Other daemons met the same fate. They were no match for Gavriel Loken.
However, those monsters seemed endless.
Kill one, and there was a second, a third, a fourth. The fierce rage brought by battle burned in Gavriel Loken's chest. Those memories also constantly appeared in his mind.
"Welcome to the Luna Wolves, Loken."
"For the Emperor, for the Wolf God."
"You have a story, and I want to help you tell it to the world."
"Loken, we cannot betray what we once fought for."
"Abaddon, why are you doing this?"
"You are a Luna Wolf, wake up, Loken."
"The galaxy is already burning. What more can we lose? Loken, the peace the Emperor once forged is gone."
"We are friends, Loken."
Memories kept flooding in. The great dream was shattered.
Humanity had been cast into the abyss by Horus.
Despair enveloped the entire world. Tears streamed down Gavriel Loken's face.
Why was he still here?
Was the Horus Heresy still ongoing?
Gavriel Loken desperately hacked at the daemons, trying to retrieve more memories.
Even though those memories were filled with bitter sweetness and sorrowful pain, Gavriel Loken still yearned to comprehend the truth of it all.
But the daemons were endless, increasing with each kill.
Yet, the recovery of memories slowed down, stopping at the moment Horus invaded Terra.
He realized that even fighting to the death, he wouldn't gain the remaining memories. The fact that he could be here.
It was certainly not for him to die here.
He had a greater mission to fulfill. The prerequisite was that he had to survive.
Gavriel Loken made a wise choice.
After killing one daemon, with the help of his armor's servo-systems, he turned and ran towards the wasteland.
He had to find all his memories. The memories belonging to Gavriel Loken.