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

Chapter 1022 The Fathers of Sorrow Return to Their Positions! The Defeat of Manhattan!
Shortly after the White House was annihilated by the blue light emitted by Dr. Manhattan.

Washington.

Inside the Pharaoh's specially designed prison, Thunderbolt Johnny was curled up.

He was imprisoned here by the Pharaoh.

In the cold basement, his withered body was covered with a thin layer of white frost, and each faint breath left a wisp of white mist that quickly dissipated on his transparent mask.

Time is diluted here, and concepts become blurred.

ten years?

Fifty years?
Or a century?
He could no longer tell the difference.

Only deep within his consciousness, a stubborn spark burned tenaciously in the boundless cold and loneliness, supporting a belief ridiculed by everyone—he was Johnny Thunderbolt.

A hero of the golden age, a messenger who commands thunder, the young man with a radiant smile, featured on the yellowed front page of an old newspaper, accompanied by a lightning bolt symbol.

Johnny.

His chapped lips moved silently.

Chaotic fragments of memory, accompanied by a tingling, electric sensation, crashed wildly through his mind.

Another voice, cold and rational, with an indescribable sense of pity, pierced through the mists of time and echoed in the depths of his memory: "Wake up. What you remember are only fragmented pieces. The real Johnny is dead."

"No!"

A silent scream exploded in his frozen chest.

The old man struggled suddenly, causing the ropes binding his body to sway slightly.

Whose voice is that?

Why are we so certain?
The overwhelming panic, like ice water, instantly drowned out the spark that had been supporting him.

He felt a sense of weightlessness, as if he were falling completely.

It was no longer a mental breakdown, but a real, soul-wrenching pain.

It felt as if millions of red-hot steel needles were simultaneously piercing every corner of his body.

His consciousness was brutally torn apart by this violent force.

Then, he saw a pair of mysterious eyes staring at him.

An indescribable sense of "wholeness," accompanied by tearing pain, crashed into the core of his chaotic consciousness like an island in a raging storm.

The truth, which had been forcibly sealed and distorted for countless years, finally broke free of its shackles and, with overwhelming power, was clearly imprinted on his soul.

He remembered!
He was never Johnny Thunder.

He is Johnny's Thunder Sprite!
A conceptual entity born in the fifth dimension, it is the pure embodiment of the courage, hope, and lightning speed embodied in the title of hero.

When the real Johnny was erased, the immense grief and the bond of the contract tore apart the dimensional barrier, forcibly anchoring him—the Thunder Elf—to this lower-dimensional reality.

However, a cataclysmic event that swept across the multiverse erased the heroes of the Golden Age. The Justice Society, the original Green Lantern Alan Scott, and all those illustrious figures were brutally removed from the timeline.

Humanity has lost the security and motivation that superhumans provide, leaving only the seeds of fear and rejection to take root and sprout.

Only he, this outcast from the fifth dimension, is like a stubborn rock stuck in the gears of time, impossible to completely erase.

He was simply lost, trapped in this severed, broken, and hostile tributary of time, imprisoned in this cold, forgotten land, enduring the torment of countless years.

He took Johnny's name and identity, and along with that heart-wrenching sense of loss, became the only pillar that kept him alive.

A huge mistake that lasted for more than half a century.

"No!"

A stream of murky tears welled up and streamed down his deeply lined face.

The immense grief and the belated realization struck his heart like two heavy hammers.

He curled up even tighter, his body convulsing violently in extreme pain and mental breakdown.

Just as he was lost in grief, the mysterious voice rang out again, "Sorry, old friend, I'm late!"

The Thunder Elf looked up in shock at the source of the sound.

That was his master, the real Johnny Thunder.

Johnny Thunder, smiling at him, extended his hand and said, "Old friend, you've worked hard!"

Upon seeing the real Johnny appear, the Thunder Elf instantly burst into tears.

Time is not a river.

In Dr. Manhattan's perception, it was more like an infinitely extending, intricately interwoven three-dimensional light net, with each luminous thread representing a possibility, a choice, and a moment of existence.

At this moment, this optical network is undergoing an unprecedented "repair".

Countless dark voids and twisted nodes, representing "absence" and "error," are being precisely smoothed and then rewoven by his fingers, which are covered in quantum glow.

His consciousness transcended location and anchored at the core of the "event".

He was “looking” at Patrick Farm in Smallville, Kansas.

The night was gentle, and the stars seemed to be in a whirlwind.

Young Clark Kent, awkwardly dressed in a rented, slightly tight suit, his hair meticulously combed, his face showing a mixture of youthful anticipation and nervousness.

He took a deep breath, about to start the old pickup truck, carrying his parents and godfather Peter, and drive towards the vibrant prom in town.

In that "erased" old timeline, the next moment would be the screech of brakes, the blinding lights of an out-of-control truck, the deafening roar of twisting metal, and the instantaneous extinguishing of three lives.

The ripples of that tragedy ultimately pushed Superman toward loneliness and a deeper alienation from humanity.

But now, Dr. Manhattan's fingers gently brush across the strings of time, like plucking a harp.

An invisible "corrective force" spread out.

The truck, which should have gone out of control, came to a stop just a fraction of a second before the driver, due to a sudden, inexplicable, intense heart palpitation, slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the road, and the truck came to a dramatic halt just a few feet from the pickup.

The people in both cars, including young Clark, were just breathing heavily, still shaken, asking each other if they were alright.

It was a false alarm. Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look and patted their son on the shoulder reassuringly.

The pickup truck started up again, carrying the intact family and friends, and smoothly merged into the traffic heading to the dance.

That deadly disaster was erased silently, as if it had never existed.

The doctor's gaze did not linger, but traced back along the web of time.

He "looked" towards an earlier point in time, on a night in 1940.

A runaway train roared off the tracks, emitting a terrifying groan of twisted steel as it plunged into the bottomless abyss.

Inside the carriage, terrified screams merged into a wave of despair.

At this critical moment, a bright, vibrant green light tore through the night sky.

The light was so pure, so powerful, carrying an indomitable will.

It didn't come from inside the crashed train; it fell from the sky.

A figure dressed in a purple striped suit and a red vest appeared as if descending from the heavens, hovering steadily above the falling train.

He held tightly a uniquely shaped metal lantern in his hand. The lantern had an antique body, and in the center was a fist-sized green gem that was emitting an amazing light.

Alan Scott has appeared!
His face was a mixture of disbelief and shock, as well as a sense of mission as if he had been chosen by a tremendous force.

He didn't find the lamp by chance; in the old timeline, he should have died at this moment.

But now, Dr. Manhattan's will, like an invisible force, has caused this cosmic marvel—the Green Light—that should have been left in the wilderness after his death, waiting for its next owner, to fall into the hands of this train engineer destined to become a legend, a moment earlier than expected, carrying a sense of destiny.

"By the light of eternity... I swear!"

Alan Scott's voice echoed in the night sky, carrying the rawness of newly acquired power, yet unwavering determination.

He focused his mind, and a surge of green light burst forth from the lantern, instantly forming a huge, gleaming green railway track and a buffer ramp, which steadily supported the falling steel dragon.

The ear-piercing metallic scraping sound was deafening, and sparks flew everywhere.

The carriage shook violently under the buffer of the green light energy, and finally, miraculously, it came to a stop, hovering on the edge of the abyss.

Survivors poured out of the train carriages, staring in disbelief at the figure shrouded in green light in the air, as if gazing upon a deity.

The first Green Lantern was born here.

At this moment, the great wheel of history was gently turned back to its original course by Dr. Manhattan. The cornerstone of the Justice Society was thus laid.

The doctor's consciousness, like an invisible tide, continued to trace back and spread along the timeline of restoration.

He "saw" more erased figures shining again.

The Speed ​​Force's red lightning traces a path of hope across the city's rooftops; beneath Doctor Fate's pointed helmet, the light of wisdom pierces the fog of destiny...

The heroes of the golden age, like scattered stars, have been relit and returned to the firmament of history.

Their existence and their heroic deeds, like warm sunshine, dispelled the fear and gloom in people's hearts caused by the unknown.

Newspaper headlines are no longer just about crime and disaster; they are now filled with hope and miracles.

Children ran through the streets wearing homemade hero capes, their eyes sparkling with admiration and longing.

Superhumans are no longer synonymous with aliens or threats; they have become beacons, symbols of "security," inspiring an entire generation to pursue higher ideals.

The world becomes brighter and warmer because of their return.

On the other side, the brilliance of the White House faded.

Standing there, Clark clutched his injured chest and stared in shock at the sky where the strange phenomenon had occurred.

That was not a visual illusion, but rather ripples created by the pressure of some enormous force on space itself.

It seems something has been opened.

The next second, Peter's voice came from behind him, "Sorry, Clark, I'm late!"

Clark turned around in shock to look at Peter, who had appeared with a smile.

"godfather!"

Clark was stunned when Peter appeared!
He was excited and was about to run towards Peter.

However, before he could make any move, the deep darkness in the sky, like viscous ink, was stirred and torn apart by an invisible force.

Piercing the darkness was a vibrant, almost blinding, scarlet red.

Then, a figure in a blue bodysuit covering a strong body appeared.

A tall, almost oppressive silhouette slowly emerged from the crimson and deep blue, not fully emerging from the shadows, but hovering silently a few inches above the ground, like a silent declaration.

The shadows outlined his sharply defined jawline, and a faint, domineering smile seemed to hang at the corners of his mouth.

Ah Zu has appeared!
Immediately afterwards, a small, eerie green flame suddenly ignited with a "poof" sound to the side and behind Azu's floating figure.

The flames were cold and devoid of any warmth, instead emanating a sinister chill.

The green flames leaped and quickly outlined the silhouette of a slender, elegant figure.

The lines of the pointed helmet appeared in the flames, with an eerie curve. A pale, handsome face wore a half-smile, and emerald eyes gleamed with a cunning and dangerous light in the shadows, like a venomous snake locking onto its prey in the deep forest.

Loki appeared in the void.

The third figure appeared almost immediately after Loki.

An exaggerated gas mask covered most of his face, leaving only a pair of sharp, wary eyes that constantly scanned the surrounding environment.

He carried a uniquely designed energy gun on his back, and his red and black leather jacket was open, revealing a similarly flamboyant tight-fitting combat suit underneath.

Each step forward carried a sense of relaxation, yet also resembled a taut bowstring, poised to unleash a fatal blow at any moment.

Star-Lord has appeared here!

The fourth figure that emerged carried a completely different sense of heaviness.

The boots slammed heavily on the ground, making a dull, drum-like "thud" that made the surrounding air tremble slightly.

Beneath the heavy Space Marine power armor, Horus appeared behind Peter without a helmet.

Then a slender one appeared.

The girl's golden hair, like a brocade woven by sunlight, cascaded over her shoulders.

The girl was barefoot, her face still chubby with baby fat, and her large, clear, icy blue eyes.

When she saw Peter, her big eyes instantly burst with intense dependence and grievance. Almost subconsciously, she wanted to take a step toward Peter, but she was affected by the huge and chaotic aura of her other "brothers and sisters" that permeated the surroundings.

Ceresia!
The sixth figure made an almost explosive entrance.

There were no footsteps, only a short, high-pitched "bang!"

Like a miniature explosive making a muffled sound in a confined space.

The shadowy figure sprang out from the shadows and transformed into a young, wild girl.

She sported a head of bright pink pigtails that resembled burning flames, wore a brightly colored punk jacket and shorts covered in studs and graffiti, and had an excited smile on her face.

Then, without a care, she flicked the gun in her hand and whistled loudly into the air.

Explode!

Following closely behind Bao Bao, a more composed and agile figure silently slipped out of the shadows like a cheetah.

With short, dark blue hair, sharp, hawk-like gray-blue eyes, and a face with distinct features that carried a hint of barely perceptible concern, he quickly glanced at Bao Bao, and only after confirming that she was alright did he warily turn his gaze to the audience.

蔚！
The eighth figure carried the clang of metal and a furious rage.

His short but exceptionally sturdy body was encased in thick, black lacquered armor covered with spikes and ferocious beast head reliefs.

The helmet visor was roughly ripped off, revealing a rebellious, furious girl's face, her blonde hair disheveled and plastered to her sweaty forehead.

His emerald green pupils, like burning poisonous flames, were fixed on Peter.

The girl gripped a massive sword, disproportionately large to her size and shrouded in ominous black mist. The tip of the sword dragged on the ground, drawing a series of blinding sparks and a teeth-grinding scraping sound with each heavy, aggressive step she took.

Mordred!

Finally, the shadow was slowly pushed aside by an invisible, chilling pressure.

A tall, unusually pale boy slowly walked out.

He looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, with his black hair neatly combed and his face so handsome it was almost otherworldly.

He was wearing a well-tailored, retro-styled black robe, his hands casually tucked into the robe's pockets.

The boy's face was expressionless, as if he were wearing an exquisite porcelain mask, except for his eyes—long and sharp—which slowly and coldly swept across the scene.

Tom!

After Tom, a dark blue figure emerged from the void. The figure wore glasses and had a faint smile on its lips.

The blue-black figure turned his gaze toward Clark and gave him a thumbs up.

mark!

The Fathers of Sorrow were of different forms and auras, yet they all possessed an inhumanly powerful presence and an unfathomable, chaotic essence.

They emerged from different shadowy corners, like demons crawling out of a deep abyss, yet their gazes were all seemingly focused on the same center—the smiling young man, Peter, in a gray suit.

The air seemed to freeze.

The surrounding space seemed to be distorted and repelled by the complex and chaotic aura emanating from this group of "fathers of sorrow".

The erased fragments of the multiverse are being forcibly returned to their places through these unruly and extremely dangerous "anchor points".

As he saw Peter and his many brothers and sisters appear, Clark burst into tears.

We're back, everyone's back!

He remembered everyone's name and all the little memories he had with them.

He recalled all the happy and painful memories of his time on the Patrick Farm.
Those were the beautiful things that he could never forget, the things that sustained him through life.

Looking at the assembled "fathers of sorrow," Clark tried hard to hold back his tears, but no matter what he did, he couldn't control his overwhelming emotions.

In that dimension beyond time and space, Dr. Manhattan is like an observer suspended at the singularity of the universe.

His consciousness is the tentacles of perception, extending infinitely to capture all the fundamental particles, quantum fluctuations, and spacetime curvature that constitute reality.

As the fathers returned to their places, a barely perceptible ripple appeared on Dr. Manhattan's eternally unchanging face for the first time.

One by one, the "Children of Tomorrow" appeared in front of Clark. At this moment, Dr. Manhattan finally saw hope and the future.

For the first time, he was no longer in despair.

(End of this chapter)