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

Chapter 1023 Peter: I am the ultimate victor!

Just as Dr. Manhattan was reshaping the universe, Bruce and Rorschach II also tracked down the Ozymandias.

Inside an underground facility somewhere in Washington, Bruce's Bat Armor gleamed with a sinister, eerie light under the dim emergency lights.

His eyes, hidden beneath the mask, were fixed on the man in front of him who was controlling everything.

Beside him stood the second Rorschach, wrapped in a stained khaki trench coat and wearing his signature ink-stained mask, his body tense as he stared at the Pharaoh before him.

The Pharaoh himself stood gracefully with his back to them, calmly watching the large screen in front of him.

He wore his signature white silk robe, the hem of which fluttered even without wind, and his figure was upright.

He seemed completely unconcerned about the two angry pursuers behind him.

"Save your energy, Batman."

The Pharaoh spoke calmly, without the slightest ripple, "Anger will not solve anything. You see, everything is proceeding according to plan."

He tilted his head slightly, his perfect profile appearing both divine and cold. "The evidence is there, ready to be made public at any time to clear Superman's name, but more importantly..."

He raised his hand and pointed to a beam of blue light shooting from the screen. "He's here!"

Just then, a pure, unblemished blue beam of light descended without warning.

Bruce and the second-generation Rorschach immediately felt a heart-pounding sense of weightlessness.

The blue light dissipated, and the three people in the basement disappeared.

A moment later, the group found themselves in an unfamiliar area, and the surrounding architecture clearly indicated that it was somewhere in Washington, D.C.

A nearly satisfied smile finally appeared on the Pharaoh's face.

He turned around and faced the blue deity before him, his demeanor calm and composed, as if he were the one in charge of the meeting.

The blue light did not stop circulating.

Several smaller beams of light flickered around Pharaoh, Bruce, and Reggie.

The light faded, revealing two astonished faces.

The marionette and the mime couple were also brought here by Dr. Manhattan.

Pharaoh turned his gaze to Dr. Manhattan, who had brought them here, and spoke first:
“Jon, look, all the key pieces are in place. Bruce found the evidence, Reggie found me, and you’ve been convinced by Superman.”

His gaze swept over everyone. "You are the echoes of the past, the witnesses to old wounds, and the indispensable control group for this grand experiment."

He took a step forward, his white robe gleaming as if it had its own light source.

His gaze met calmly into Dr. Manhattan's all-seeing eyes.

“I know you can see the future, Jon. I know you see despair, coldness, and the inevitable heat death of the universe. But I also see variables—Superman, Clark Kent. He is not a product of our universe. His very existence is the biggest variable. I understand his essence, that almost foolish, unwavering belief in the light of humanity. I believe in him far more than any complex calculation or cold prophecy.”

The Pharaoh's voice echoed in the air, clear and powerful.

"Everything I did—creating panic, framing Superman, instigating conflict, and even risking infamy to become a hunted 'criminal'—was all to bring about this moment."

"Let you, Jon, this god who has transcended humanity and believes that salvation is futile, face him and listen to his voice of hope from another universe, unpolluted by our world."

He spread his hands and continued, “And now, you see, the universe has been reshaped, the doomsday bell has been turned back, potential destructive conflicts have been eliminated, there is no global nuclear war, no complete fall of heroes, no needless sacrifice of millions, only a necessary and controllable shock, in exchange for the rebirth of the entire timeline.”

“My plan succeeded, Jon. With minimal cost, we achieved maximum redemption. Isn’t that the most efficient and logical solution?”

He raised his head slightly, looking at Dr. Manhattan with a sense of relief and certainty in his eyes after accomplishing a great task: "Alright, the dust has settled. We should go home now, back to save our universe, Jon."

"boom--!"

The moment the Pharaoh finished speaking, gunshots rang out.

The sudden and violent sound instantly shattered the silence in the air.

The Pharaoh's body stiffened abruptly.

The relief and certainty on his face froze instantly, turning into astonishment.

He slowly lowered his head and looked at the left chest area of ​​his white robe.

A small hole with charred edges suddenly appeared, and scarlet blood was rapidly seeping from the hole.

The immense impact caused him to stagger back a step, and the color drained from his face visibly.

Edward Blake, also known as the Comedian, appeared.

He stood behind the Pharaoh, the iconic revolver with its thick barrel emitting wisps of smoke.

The muscles in his face contorted with extreme anger and a twisted sense of pleasure, and the scars looked like living centipedes.

"Home?!"

The comedian roared hoarsely, "To hell with the plan, to hell with the redemption! You bunch of clowns in costumes, your act is over? Time for the curtain to fall!"

Without hesitation, his finger slipped back onto the trigger, aimed directly at the heart of the fallen Pharaoh.

At the critical moment, an invisible, high-frequency buzzing sound instantly filled the entire space.

Sound does not travel through the air, but acts directly on the material basis that constitutes existence, bringing a resonant feeling that makes your teeth ache and your bones tremble.

The comedian's finger, which was about to pull the trigger, suddenly froze.

His maniacal laughter, the action of pulling the trigger, even the blue smoke drifting from the muzzle of the gun, were all strangely frozen in that instant, as if time had been paused.

Then a figure emerged from the shadows behind the comedian.

The newcomer was wearing a suit of armor that was perfectly tailored and shimmered with a unique matte metallic sheen.

The armor has smooth lines and covers the entire body. The head is covered by a sharply styled helmet with a purple mask, only revealing the cold and hard jawline.

The newcomer held a strangely shaped weapon steadily in his hand. The gun body shimmered with a ghostly blue energy circuit. The muzzle was not a solid object, but a vortex that emitted a high-frequency invisible force field—it was this vortex force field that imprisoned the Laughing Master.

High-frequency anti-phase vibrational wave interferometer

The newcomer spoke, his voice coming through the mask; it was Lex Luthor!

"Phase cancellation targeting specific frequencies of cross-dimensional displacement residues has an immediate effect, doesn't it, Mr. Black?"

Luther said calmly.

The imprisoned comedian was instantly filled with astonishment and disbelief.

He made a hoarse, struggling sound in his throat, his body trying futilely to twist in the invisible force field, his eyes filled with humiliation and rage.

Luther flicked the energy adjustment knob on the side of the weapon.

"Frequency matching complete. Target spatiotemporal coordinates locked: October 11, 1985, New York, over the East River, 00:00:00."

"Goodbye, Mr. Blake!"

Then the buzzing sound abruptly rose to a devastating shriek.

The invisible force field that had imprisoned the comedian suddenly erupted with a blinding white light.

Edward Black's body twisted and deformed violently in the light, as if being kneaded by an invisible giant hand.

The frozen expression on his face was utterly torn apart by extreme pain and anger.

Then a flash of white light appeared, and then it collapsed and went out instantly.

Edward Black disappeared from the spot.

Only a tiny vacuum vortex remained in place, emitting a hissing wail, before being smoothed out by the surrounding energy, as if it had never existed.

At the same time, in the Watchers universe.

October 11, 1985, midnight, 00:00:00.

Above New York City, a distorted ripple of space, invisible to the naked eye, suddenly appeared high in the sky.

Edward Black's figure in his dark green uniform appeared as if he had been roughly thrown out by an invisible giant hand.

The feeling of weightlessness gripped him instantly, and the cold night wind rushed into his mouth and nose.

He waved his arms in vain, uttering silent curses, but still plummeted to the ground at high speed.

Luther sent the Comedian back to the Watchmen universe with a single shot.

He has been investigating the energy fluctuations generated by these visitors from other dimensions.

Furthermore, he had previously discovered that the Comedian had descended upon his universe a long time ago.

So he used his specially designed vibration gun to counteract the vibration frequency that brought the Comedian to this universe, thus sending him back to his original point in time—October 11, 1985, in the Watchmen universe.

That is, the moment when the Comedian falls from the building in the Watchmen universe and is about to hit the ground.

What happened at the scene stunned everyone.

No one expected things to happen so quickly!
First, the Comedian shot the Pharaoh, and then the Comedian was sent away by Lex Luthor!

Just as everyone was in shock, the second Rorschach suddenly rushed towards the Pharaoh who was lying on the ground.

He almost fell to his knees beside the fallen body of the Pharaoh.

The Pharaoh lay on his side on the cold ground, his white robe, a symbol of his Immaculate Plan, now soaked with dark red blood on the left chest, the blood slowly seeping out.

His face was ashen, his breathing was rapid and shallow, each breath accompanied by a subtle pain, and his forehead was covered with a fine layer of cold sweat.

"Witt!"

Reggie's voice, coming through the mask, was filled with anger.

He instinctively reached out to touch the Pharaoh's terrible wound, but then recoiled as if burned.

Reggie's gloved fingers clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. Anger surged within him like magma.

For the Pharaoh's deception, for his ruthless manipulation of the world as a chessboard, and for this dying weakness before us—this weakness itself is the cruelest irony of that cunning man.

The ink stains beneath the mask seemed to distort slightly due to the intense turmoil in his heart.

He recalled the curse placed on this person in the original Rorschach diary, and the countless lives he had witnessed shattered by the Pharaoh's plan as he pursued the truth.

The thought of revenge instantly entwined the heart of the second Rorschach like a poisonous vine, almost bursting out of his chest.

The Pharaoh seemed to sense his approach, and with difficulty turned his eyes, looking somewhat unfocused at the ink-covered mask on Reggie's face.

His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but only a string of bloody foam came out.

There was no pleading or explanation in the Pharaoh's eyes, only an almost transparent calmness and a serene acceptance of the final judgment.

He awaited Reggie's fist, or the switchblade hidden in his trench coat.

Reggie's body was trembling violently.

The next second, he suddenly raised his hand, not to smash it at the Pharaoh, but to slam it hard and with all his might onto the ground next to him.

"Oh!"

The ground seemed to tremble slightly from his punch.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes beneath the mask fixed on the bloodstains on the Pharaoh's chest, then slowly shifted to the other's eyes awaiting judgment.

The voice of the original Rorschach, those diary passages filled with anger and defiance that he had read on countless cold nights, resounded in his mind like a great bell:

"Never compromise. Even if the world burns beneath our feet, let the truth blind them! But the purpose of punishment is not to satisfy the venom of revenge, but to expose evil to the sunlight and subject it to eternal judgment."

Revenge is simple and satisfying.

It was as simple and satisfying as the comedian Blake pulling the trigger.

But is that the end?

Let the Pharaoh die here, either from the anger or indifference of his own "Rorschach"?

What's the difference between that and a pharaoh sacrificing others for a so-called "higher goal"?
How is that any different from the complete destruction of "The Comedian"?
"Do not……"

Reggie's voice came from beneath the mask, deep and hoarse, with a resolute quality that seemed to break through the fog.

"No, Witt."

He took a deep breath, as if trying to forcefully suppress the raging anger in his chest and transform it into some kind of heavier force.

"The blood debt you owe cannot be settled with a single bullet. You have manipulated the entire world, using countless lives as chips in your grand game. Your crimes... your crimes need to be seen by everyone!"

"They need to be recorded, they need to be tried, they need to be nailed to the pillar of historical shame, so that every successor can see clearly what a dictatorship in the name of 'salvation' will ultimately bring!"

He abruptly raised his head, his gaze no longer fixed on Old Wang, but sweeping over everyone around him—the shocked Bruce, the still-shaken puppet couple, the expressionless Luther, and Dr. Manhattan, who was suspended in mid-air.

His voice echoed in the air:

"He cannot die here. He must live, live to return to our world, stand in court, stand before the whole world. He must pay the price for every detail of the 'Spindle of Destiny Project,' for everyone who has died or suffered because of him—the price of the law, the price of history. This is what Rorschach wants: not vigilante justice, not a silent death in the dark, but a trial in broad daylight!"

Reggie bent down again, his movements no longer hesitant.

He carefully avoided the Pharaoh's chest wound, and with both hands he tried to help the dying, once arrogant man to his feet.

His movements were clumsy and forceful, even somewhat rough, but his determination to "bring the other person back" was clearly conveyed through his trembling arms.

The Pharaoh's body was heavy and cold from blood loss.

With Reggie's help, he managed to sit up, his eyes filled with a complex and unreadable emotion as he stared intently at the young man wearing the ink-stained mask.

"you……"

The Pharaoh's voice was so faint it was almost inaudible, "...You are as wise as him, and...and also more foolish."

After saying this, the Pharaoh seemed to have exhausted all his strength, his head tilted weakly to one side, and he fell into a semi-conscious state.

Reggie didn't say anything more, but gritted his teeth and used his shoulders to support the other's heavy body.

Dr. Manhattan shifted his gaze from the second-generation Rorschach to the still-shaken marionette couple on the other side.

This couple, who have weathered many storms together, now nestled close together.

Both of them still bore the marks of witnessing the shooting and the extreme terror and bewilderment from the spatial teleportation.

Dr. Manhattan stared at the two men, his calm voice resounding directly in their minds:

“Laurel Jasper Jupiter, Dan Dreberg, you don’t need to return to our universe. I will leave you here.”

The two were startled and looked at the blue deity in astonishment.

"You will take root in this newborn universe, never to return to the Watchers universe. The river of life will grant you new continuation. A daughter will await your embrace in the future; her bloodline will be the foundation of your existence in this world. As for your son..."

Dr. Manhattan's "gaze" seems to pierce through time, casting its gaze toward a more distant future.

"...He also exists, and his trajectory has intertwined with this world. I will arrange for you to meet in the future. You are the anchor points for that child in this universe."

Dr. Manhattan's voice, like a warm current, instantly dispelled most of the fear in their hearts.

The marionette's eyes instantly reddened, and tears silently streamed down her face.

She instinctively covered her lower abdomen.

The mime artist held her tightly by the shoulders, his eyes filled with unbelievable excitement and hope for the future.

Dr. Manhattan's gaze finally settled on the Odysseus, who was being helped up by Reggie, and then swept over Bruce and Luther, who were standing ready.

Then he gently waved his hand, which was radiating blue light, in the void.

A blue beam of light, far more stable and magnificent than when the Comedian was teleported, descended suddenly like a bridge connecting heaven and earth, completely enveloping Pharaoh and Reggie (Rorschach II).

Within the beam of light, the spatial structure undergoes a gentle and orderly folding.

Dr. Manhattan's thoughts echoed within the beam of light, entering Bruce and Luther's minds with crystal clarity.

"Goodbye, Batman, Lex Luthor. Tell Peter Padrick that he has won this time, but the future crisis is more severe, and the enemies he faces are stronger. But as long as he believes in the hope he has given to Superman, he will still win the war."

The blue light receded and disappeared rapidly, like the receding tide.

Bruce was slightly taken aback as he watched Dr. Manhattan disappear with the two of them and heard the other party's final warning.

The Godfather won?!
How did he do that?
A light drizzle began to fall from the sky. Beneath their feet lay shattered concrete blocks and twisted metal fragments, washed away by the rain that stained the dark red bloodstains.

Bruce took a deep breath. Having just witnessed a trial and exile that transcended dimensions, he needed to calm down. There were still many things waiting for him to do.

Now, only he and Luther remain here.

An overwhelming sense of exhaustion instantly overwhelmed Bruce.

It wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was also the steel beams of "responsibility" and "perseverance" that supported him deep in his soul that finally groaned under the weight of so many absurd and illogical changes.

He felt an unprecedented, bone-deep coldness and emptiness.

The Pharaoh was taken away, to a dimension beyond his reach, along with the opportunity that might bring final judgment.

Clark had the evidence of his innocence, but the victory tasted like ashes soaked in rain—bitter and heavy.

He slowly and heavily removed the bat helmet.

The icy rain instantly lashed his face, running down his tightly pursed lips, his dark hair clinging wetly to his forehead and temples.

Those eyes that once struck fear into the hearts of Gotham's criminals were now shrouded in heavy shadows, their weariness palpable, almost overflowing.

He was slightly hunched over, rainwater sliding down the grooves of his armor, making him look like a stone sculpture forgotten in the rainy night.

Lex Luthor stood a few steps away, his specially made dark purple armor gleaming coldly in the rain.

He had already put away the high-frequency weapon in his hand, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and his mask had been raised, revealing his bald head.

As the two remained silent, an indescribable, pure sense of power suddenly descended upon them.

"Bruce."

The next second, a familiar male voice rang out.

Upon hearing that voice, Bruce felt as if all his strength had been instantly drained away.

His body trembled slightly, his lips shook violently, and a sob rose in his throat as he tried to say something, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Turning around, Bruce suppressed his emotions and looked at Peter, who was smiling.

"The Godfather?"

Bruce's voice choked with emotion.

More than twenty years of memories of longing, pain, loneliness, and despair have now been replaced by new memories.

Dr. Manhattan caused him to lose his loved ones for more than 20 years, but now everything is back on track and his warm childhood memories have returned!
Peter could sense Bruce's emotions. He didn't make any unnecessary movements; he simply took a step forward and opened his arms.

With a "thump," the two embraced.

Peter hugged Bruce, his hand patting Bruce's cold, hard back armor firmly and steadily, making a soft "thump" sound.

"Well done, Bruce!"

the other side.

Luther stood quietly a few steps away, rain streaming down his smooth purple armor.

The usual air of complete control on his face had vanished, replaced by a faint sense of loss.

(End of this chapter)