American comics: Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!.

Chapter 1002 The Death of Rorschach!

Blue light illuminated the roof of Gotham City Police Department, and Dr. Manhattan hovered in mid-air, scanning Peter and his group.

The rainwater evaporated into a misty haze around him.

His gaze swept over each face.

The Joker's face was frozen with a mixture of confusion and excitement. Batman, supported by Raven, was panting. Azu stared at him in shock. Little Mordred, held by Peter, stared at him intently. Shadows churned beneath Raven's hood.

Finally, Dr. Manhattan's gaze settled on the Pharaoh.

After surveying the crowd, Dr. Manhattan casually raised his hand, which was made entirely of energy, and waved it lightly in the air.

A silent barrier descended instantly.

Batman, Joker, Aurora, Raven, and Mordred, who is holding Murphy tightly in Peter's arms, are as if they have been put into another dimension of film.

Their figures blurred in the blue light, and all their movements and sounds were instantly stripped away.

They were still on the rooftop, but it was as if they existed in parallel bubbles. They could see the scene at the center of the blue light, but they could no longer touch it at all. Even their voices could not penetrate that invisible barrier.

Inside the barrier, only Dr. Manhattan, Ozymandias, Rorschach clinging tightly to the green light, the Comedian bound to the ground groaning in pain, Saturn Girl supporting Johnny, the pale-faced mime couple, and Peter remained.

"You want to talk."

Dr. Manhattan's voice rang out, directly imprinting itself deep into the consciousness of everyone within the barrier.

"Then let's talk."

He said this to the Pharaoh, and it carried an air of all-knowing insight.

The moment Dr. Manhattan's last syllable faded away, the surrounding scenery instantly changed.

The concrete roof of the Gotham Police Department blurred and disappeared in a frenzied spinning.

Instead, there is a dizzying feeling of weightlessness and rapidly changing light and shadow.

The next second, I felt a sense of solid ground beneath my feet.

The group found themselves above an endless primeval forest.

Beneath my feet stretches a canopy of trees that resembles a green ocean, rippling like waves in the breeze.

The air was fresh, carrying the fragrance of earth and grass, and the sunlight shone warmly through the thin clouds high in the sky.

This is a tranquil place far from the hustle and bustle, a stark contrast to the filth and chaos of Gotham.

The group seemed to be standing on a transparent glass platform, suspended atop the forest.

Peter frowned slightly as he watched Dr. Manhattan bring the group here.

What is this guy trying to do?
Although he had defeated the Anti-Monitor and Darkseid and Greer before, Peter lacked confidence when facing this most mysterious guy in the DC Universe.

After all, Darkseid and the Anti-Monitor were weakened by dimensional limitations after arriving on Earth.

But this blue guy is immune to this kind of weakening.

Peter was pondering Dr. Manhattan's purpose, while Pharaoh surveyed the miraculous scene, his breathing slightly rapid with excitement.

He stepped forward, gazing up at the blue deity suspended above the forest: "Jon, you see, I have found you. Our universe... it is heading towards destruction, time is collapsing, everything is heading towards destruction. It needs you. Only you can reverse the increase in entropy and save it from destruction!"

The Pharaoh spoke in a pleading tone.

Dr. Manhattan looked down at him, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

"I'm very disappointed in you."

The doctor's cold words struck the Pharaoh's mind directly: "Past, present, future, Vittorius, you will always... only see the 'solution' you want to see."

His gaze seemed to pierce through the river of time. "To forge peace with three million lives is disappointment. At this moment, to try to use the survival of a universe to kidnap my will is an even greater disappointment. Your universe has its own trajectory of ending, and I... will not interfere."

Upon hearing Manhattan's words, the Pharaoh's face drained of all color, as if all his strength had been drained away.

He staggered back a step, his lips moving but no sound came out.

He didn't expect Dr. Manhattan to reject him right away.

"Moreover, Vittorius, you are involved in an incident that you must resolve first."

After that, Dr. Manhattan stopped looking at Old Wang and turned his indifferent gaze to the Comedian, who was tied to the ground with his arms covered in blood and gore, and the pale-faced pantomime couple, Erica and Marcos, who were huddled together beside him.

"Erica Manson, Marcos Metz."

Manhattan's gaze seemed to pierce their souls. "You've all misunderstood that rainy night at the bank. I stopped dissecting you not because I detected life signals from the embryo in your womb."

He paused for a moment and said to the two of them:
“At that time, I saw the possibility of that person who did not yet exist, I saw the future of your children, so I let you go.”

Erica covered her mouth abruptly upon hearing Dr. Manhattan's words, her eyes wide with shock.

Marcos's empty eyes flickered violently.

They always thought that the child in her womb had touched the last vestiges of humanity in Manhattan and saved their lives, never imagining that it was because he saw the future of his own child.

“And now,” Manhattan’s gaze seemed to pierce through Erica’s body, landing deep in her flat stomach, “a new possibility… is brewing, you are pregnant again.”

Erica was struck dumb, her body swayed, and Marcos held her firmly.

A new life?

I'm pregnant again?!
In this more dangerous world, I'm pregnant again?

After speaking with the mime couple, Manhattan's gaze finally shifted to the only man in the room who remained calm throughout, with eyes as deep as an abyss.

"Peter Patrick".

"It's me, Doctor. You've been hiding in this universe for so long, and you've finally shown yourself. Otherwise, I thought you would have been a voyeur observing us forever."

Peter coughed and immediately began to speak sarcastically.

Manhattan paused after being teased by Peter, then said in a complicated voice, "The prelude to the end of this world... its core source of disturbance is the group of... children you've gathered around you."

His gaze seemed to penetrate Peter's body, seeing the various shapes and powerful figures in the manor.

"You think you're guiding them, shaping their future? You think you're a... father?"

"Do not."

Manhattan's voice was firm and resolute: "You're just the eye of the storm. You haven't really changed anything. The trouble they've caused far outweighs any guidance you can offer."

"is it?"

Peter dismissed Dr. Manhattan's words.

This old charlatan always liked to say things that seemed plausible but were actually true, as if he could glimpse the whole of fate.

Peter shook his head and said to him, “You’re wrong, Doctor. My children’s future is not shaped by me, but by themselves. What they become is not up to me, nor to you, but to themselves.”

“In the future, you will see the consequences they have caused, Peter Patrick.”

After saying this, Dr. Manhattan stopped looking at Peter, as if the conclusion was no longer worth discussing.

Finally, his blue eyes pierced Reggie Long, the second Rorschach, who was tightly clutching the green lantern and breathing rapidly beneath the ink-stained mask.

"Regie Long".

Manhattan's voice was devoid of any emotion: "The 'truth' you seek is always wrapped in a cocoon of self-deception. You put down your gun in Antarctica because Witt made you 'see' regret, because he had a terminal illness."

He paused slightly, letting the cold words pierce Reggie's heart like ice picks.

“But that’s a lie. Witte Vitius never had cancer. His physical condition was even better than yours.”

Reggie was stunned after hearing what Dr. Manhattan said.

"Do not!!!!"

A moment later, Reggie let out a beast-like roar, and the ink on his mask instantly boiled up like burning black flames.

He whirled towards the Pharaoh, his body trembling violently with extreme anger and a sense of betrayal. "You...you tell me you have cancer, right?! You're dying, so you want to make amends, to save your universe, tell me—!"

The Pharaoh slowly turned around, and the usual weary mask of compassion on his face completely disappeared.

He calmly met Reggie's crazed gaze, his pupils filled with an unfathomable coldness.

"No, he's right."

The Pharaoh’s voice was clear and steady, without any fluctuation: “I do not have cancer, I never have.”

These few simple words were like the last straw that broke the camel's back.

Reggie Long felt his world crumble and shatter in an instant.

All the reasons that supported him in letting go of his hatred and walking with this butcher to this point—his so-called repentance and his dying redemption—have become an elaborately woven, colossal joke.

He always thought he was monitoring a dying sinner, but it turned out that he was the one being manipulated like a puppet.

Beneath the ink-stained mask, the sound of Rorschach's teeth grinding together could be heard, accompanied by suppressed whimpers like those of a wounded young animal.

“I can tell you a secret, a truth you don’t know, Reggie, about Baron Bayer, that ‘Mothman’.”

The Pharaoh's voice rang out once more.

"The 'father's keepsake' that the Mothman gave you, that carefully cut-out diary of your father, is actually the truth: he tore out most of your father Malcolm Lang's records about the first Rorschach research."

"Do you know why? It's simple, because the first Rorschach completely destroyed your father's mental world."

"A world-renowned psychiatrist? No, long before your mother died, he had become an empty shell, hollowed out by fear and paranoia. His indifference towards your mother, your mother's contempt for him... they died in mutual hatred. What Barron gave you was nothing more than a beautified ghost, a placebo that allowed you to continue living."

Upon hearing the Pharaoh's emotionless words, Reggie's body stiffened abruptly, and all his roars and sobs ceased abruptly.

He stood frozen in the sunlight above the forest, like a clay sculpture whose soul had been instantly drained.

The boiling ink on the mask solidified and shattered completely at that moment, turning into a lifeless gray-white snowflake.

The image of his father's gentle demeanor, the Mothman's kind eyes... all the warm memories in his mind were shattered by the Pharaoh's cold words, revealing the rotten, nauseating truth beneath.

He thought he had inherited Rorschach's will to fight against the filth of the world, but he realized that his entire life, from his parents to his mentor, had been lived in a carefully maintained lie.

Everything he fought for, the very foundation of his existence, has completely collapsed.

"Damn it! Enough!!"

The comedian, bound to the ground, struggled to lift his head. His face, pale from blood loss, was filled with rage and impatience. He roared at Dr. Manhattan, "Big Blue, haven't you fucking had enough of the show?! Untie me! If you don't heal my wounds, I'm really going to see God! Or just give me a quick death!"

The comedian's roar sounded particularly jarring in the deathly silent space of consciousness, but no one responded.

Manhattan's gaze swept over him indifferently, as if sweeping away a speck of dust.

After that, Dr. Manhattan fell silent.

He raised his hand and gently waved it again towards the strange space above the forest.

A familiar feeling of dizziness came over me.

The green of the forest, the sanctity of the snow-capped mountains, and the warm sunlight disappeared rapidly like the receding tide.

The cold rain, the pungent smell of rust and blood, and the distant wailing of sirens instantly enveloped everyone once again on the roof of the Gotham Police Department.

Peter and his companions returned to their starting point.

Time seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye. The blue barrier that separated Batman, the Joker, and the others vanished silently.

Bruce was still being supported by Raven, his face even paler from blood loss.

The clown's face paint became even more mottled in the rain.

Azu hovered, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Peter appear.

Little Mordred rushed over and hugged Peter's neck tightly, her little face full of lingering fear.

Reggie Long stands in the rain.

He still clung tightly to the green lantern, but his body was like an empty shell from which his soul had been ripped out.

An ink-stained mask covered his face, deathly still, devoid of any movement, only a solidified gray-white.

The Pharaoh's chilling truth echoed repeatedly in his mind like the most vicious curse, destroying all his beliefs and support.

Suddenly, a roar filled with extreme pain erupted from beneath the frozen gray mask.

"Ah ah ah ah ah!!!"

The next second, Reggie, like a wild beast that had completely lost control, slammed the green lantern in his arms to the ground.

The lamp made a jarring thud on the concrete floor, rolled to one side, and its green light flickered faintly.

He himself transformed into a black whirlwind, carrying all his strength, and slammed into the Pharaoh who was closest to him.

"Oh!"

The Pharaoh was knocked back by this sudden impact, which contained all the power of despair.

Reggie's fists, with muffled cracking sounds as they shattered, rained down on the Pharaoh's face and body.

Every punch was imbued with the rage of being deceived, the despair of collapsing faith, and the hatred of one's own foolishness.

"Liar! Butcher! Devil!"

Reggie roared, and it was hard to tell whether the water flowing from under his mask was rain or tears.

The Pharaoh did not retaliate, but simply protected his vitals, silently enduring the storm of attacks.

His lip was cut and bleeding, and his uniform was covered in mud.

After throwing a few punches, Reggie suddenly turned around, his scarlet eyes locking onto the clown who was watching the "new show" with great interest!

"And you! You madman!"

Reggie roared and pounced.

clown:"?"

The clown's smile froze instantly; he let out a strange cry and tried to dodge.

But Reggie was too fast, and a heavy hook punch slammed into the Joker's chin.

"Crack!"

The sound of bones cracking that makes your teeth ache!

The clown was sent flying into the air, spinning and crashing heavily into the muddy water several meters away.

His face was covered in paint mixed with blood and mud.

The clown curled up, emitting painful groans and incomprehensible laughter.

Reggie stood there, his chest heaving violently like a broken bellows.

On the ink-stained mask, the gray and white color began to fluctuate and distort violently before finally fading away completely.

He roughly ripped the mask off and threw it hard into the dirty puddle at his feet.

Beneath the mask was a young face, streaked with tears and contorted with pain.

In Reggie Long's eyes, there was madness and despair after being completely hollowed out.

He stared intently at the mask on the ground, soaked in mud and water, a symbol of Rorschach's beliefs. Then he suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over the silent Ozymandias, the groaning Joker, the astonished mime couple, the expressionless Dr. Manhattan, and the complex-eyed Batman...

"it's over……"

Reggie's voice was hoarse and utterly exhausted, filled with despair, "It's all over..."

He glanced one last time at the mud-stained Rorschach mask on the ground, as if watching a satirical joke.

Then, Reggie suddenly turned around, staggered, and rushed towards the edge of the roof without looking back. He leaped into the air and disappeared into the endless rainy night of Gotham.

There was a deathly silence on the rooftop.

The only sound was the rain hitting the ground.

Rorschach's mask lay silently in the mud, its black and white ink patterns stained by sewage.

"Dad, what happened?"

It wasn't until Rorschach left that Raven came to her senses, glanced in shock at the Joker and the Pharaoh lying on the ground, and asked Peter.

She had just seen her father and the others enveloped in a blue barrier by Dr. Manhattan, disappear for a moment, and then reappear immediately.

Raven was somewhat puzzled, wondering what Dr. Manhattan had done to Peter.

“A tragic event occurred; a young boy’s dream collapsed; Rorschach died.”

Peter said to Raven with a complicated expression.

"died?"

"Yes, Rorschach is dead. It wasn't Reggie Long's body that died, but the soul that once thought it could inherit Rorschach's name and pursue absolute justice in the darkness."

"Let's go."

Peter glanced at the crowd and spoke to the group of kids and Bruce.

Dr. Manhattan has left, so there's no point in staying here.

Peter had a premonition that what was to come would be more complicated and unpredictable.

Mars.

The Martian winds, carrying rust-colored dust, ceaselessly sweep across the barren plains.

Dr. Manhattan stands at the highest point of this crimson world.

His naked body, radiating a faint blue light, was the only incongruous color in this desolate landscape.

He came here, to this universe, not for any grand plan or profound mission.

He was just an exile.

A quantum life form that feels endless loneliness in its own omniscience and omnipotence, and is exhausted in the heavy moral quagmire and human paradox of the Watcher universe.

He needed a place, a truly quiet place.

Mars, a cold, empty world where the concept of "life" is almost nonexistent, seems to be the answer.

After concluding his conversation with Ozymandias and Peter, Dr. Manhattan left Gotham and traveled to Mars.

At this moment, his eyes are looking towards the future.

Through the veil of time, he gazed into the future, a month from now.

He wasn't deliberately seeking conflict; time simply unfolded like a scroll in his eyes.

However, when his "vision" touched that specific time coordinate point, an extremely discordant energy fluctuation instantly seized all his perception.

He saw it.

He saw Superman.

The opponent's uniform was covered with cracks and scorch marks, and his bright red cloak was tattered and fluttering in the violent airflow.

What's most unsettling is his eyes.

Those eyes, at that moment, resembled two erupting volcanoes.

A blinding white light burst forth from it, so dazzling and so full of destructive intent that even Dr. Manhattan's quantum perception felt a stinging sensation.

Superman hovered in mid-air, his body slightly leaning forward, like a fully drawn bow.

His right fist was clenched, muscles bulging, veins popping out, and the terrifying power of a Kryptonian was compressed within it, causing visible distortions and ripples in the surrounding space due to this pure power.

His target, directly ahead, was Dr. Manhattan himself—or rather, Dr. Manhattan standing at this point in the future.

In the scene, Dr. Manhattan remains with his calm, unwavering blue body, hovering in the air, facing this devastating attack.

His face was expressionless, showing no surprise, no fear, and not even a hint of defensiveness.

He simply watched as the fist, brimming with boundless rage and accompanied by a piercing shriek that seemed to tear through the air, hurtled toward his face with terrifying kinetic energy exceeding the speed of light.

The fist rapidly enlarged in the field of vision, taking up the entire "screen".

The condensed anger, despair, and destructive will were so real and so concrete that they seemed to penetrate the barrier of time and directly bombard the core of Dr. Manhattan's consciousness.

Then came utter darkness.

It is not visual darkness, but absolute nothingness of perception.

Dr. Manhattan's consciousness jolted violently, experiencing a momentary disruption.

Shocked, he wanted to see other parts of the future, only to discover that he could no longer see them!
This... is impossible!

This is the first time since it became a quantum-state life form in 1959.

For the first time, the future closed its doors to him.

For the first time, he couldn't see what was about to happen.

For the first time, he stood before the "unknown".

The fierce Martian wind seemed to pierce through his invisible quantum barrier in an instant, bringing a feeling he had almost forgotten—coldness.

He slowly raised his hand, which was emitting a faint glow, and gazed at it.

This hand can create matter, break down atoms, and distort spacetime, but it cannot dispel the dark fog that shrouds "one month later".

"why?"

He whispered to himself.

Where does Superman's anger come from?

More importantly: what happened after that punch?
The thought, like a cold, venomous snake, coiled around his consciousness.

"Did Superman destroy me in the end... or did I destroy Superman?"

(End of this chapter)