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

Chapter 1024 The End of Everything: Manhattan Sees Peter's Faith!

The next day.

A cacophony of noise emanated from beneath the dome of Washington's Grand Central Station.

The huge arched glass windows filtered in the warm golden rays of the twilight.

Jonathan and Martha Kent stood in the station, their gazes passing over the throng of people and the smooth marble floor, to the figure striding out from the depths of the station—their son, Clark.

Clark, dressed in a simple plaid shirt and jeans, walked excitedly toward his parents.

An excited Clark didn't say anything, but opened his arms and hugged Jonathan and Martha tightly.

Jonathan patted his son's broad back hard with his calloused hands, a suppressed sob escaping his throat.

Martha buried her face in Clark's chest, tears instantly soaking his shirt, her thin shoulders trembling violently.

"Great, Clark, you're back! We're back too!"

Martha hugged Clark excitedly.

Although she had only been away from home for a few days, she felt as if her son had been away from her for more than a decade.

Peter stood a few steps away, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.

His deep eyes were fixed on the Kent family, then he turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the group of "fathers" of various shapes and sizes behind him.

Ah Zu's mood was somewhat complicated, and his signature smile, which carried a false sense of sunshine, appeared unusually stiff at this moment.

Little Mordred held her beloved dog "Murphy," her eyes filled with a bewildered look.

Tom stood the furthest away, his pale face sculpted in the shadows, his scarlet eyes lowered as if indifferent to everything before him.

Bao Bao looked around curiously, wanting to go up and talk to Peter, but was subtly nudged by Wei next to her with her elbow.

Mark's sharp gaze swept across his surroundings, maintaining an alert posture, but his taut shoulders seemed to relax slightly.

Horus seemed to have grown quite a bit taller, and seeing this, he felt a more complex mix of emotions.

Young Ceresia clung tightly to the hem of Peter's coat, gazing at the touching scene before her, her little face filled with confusion and a hint of longing.

Raven stood beside Peter, her dark blue hood obscuring most of her face, revealing only her beautifully shaped jawline and tightly pursed lips.

Then she slightly raised her head, and in the shadow of the hood, her purple eyes gazed intently at Peter.

She reached out her cold hands and gently took Peter's hands in hers.

"Dad, the Pharaoh said before that the Doomsday Bell had rung."

Upon hearing this, Peter looked at his eldest daughter in surprise, "You heard the Doomsday Bell?"

Raven nodded and said in a low voice, "Yes, in the deepest despair, when darkness engulfs your breath like ink... I can hear it."

She paused slightly, her purple eyes fixed on Peter. "That bell never stops; it echoes at the edge of every shattered universe, vibrates in every heart frozen by fear."

"But I know that it is also calling... calling on those wounded souls who still choose to stand up, to protect that light and hope that is older than the stars and more resilient than the darkness."

She tightened her grip on Peter's hand. "I've always known, I've always...believed, that no matter how far away you wander in the ruins beyond time, it...will eventually lead you home."

Peter's body trembled almost imperceptibly as he listened to Raven's words.

He looked down at Raven's purple eyes beneath her hood.

A surge of indescribable warmth instantly washed away a cold corner in his heart.

He slowly raised the hand that Raven was holding, his palm warm and comforting, and gently stroked it.

“Raven…”

Peter said in a low, hoarse voice, "You're right. The tolling of the doomsday bell is both a call to fear and a guide to light and hope. It was your perseverance during the tolling of the doomsday bell that helped Clark win this war."

His gaze swept over Raven, then slowly swept over the unusually quiet group of "fathers" behind him.

Looking at the Avengers who seemed to have matured considerably, a hint of surprise flashed in Peter's deep eyes, which then turned into even deeper satisfaction.

These fragments from the shattered universe, these "children" who once symbolized chaos and destruction, seem to have... changed something after experiencing the storm that reshaped the universe and witnessing the most ordinary yet most powerful emotional bonds in the world.

His gaze then turned to Ciri, Persephone, Jane and Kara, and Diana's group.

Ciri and the others smiled at him.

Everything seems to be getting better.

On the other side, in a corner where the sunlight cannot reach, gears are turning harshly.

The somber headquarters of the Department of Superhuman Affairs (DEO) was now shrouded in a heavy, impending atmosphere.

The rapid thud of military boots echoed through the corridor; the agents' faces were grave, and a silent tension filled the air.

The incandescent light in the interrogation room was blindingly white, making the metal tabletop look like an operating table.

Professor Martin Stein sat in the cold chair, his white lab coat—a symbol of academic authority—looking particularly ironic and pathetic.

His hands were handcuffed and placed on the table, the metal of the handcuffs gleaming coldly under the light.

At this moment, his gray hair was disheveled, and his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses were bloodshot from staying up all night, but deep in his eyes burned an almost obsessive flame.

"I am not wrong!"

Stein roared in a hoarse voice:
"Power. Humanity needs to evolve, it needs the power to control its own destiny, not to rely on the pity or whims of those... those extraterrestrial visitors!"

He leaned forward abruptly, the handcuff chains rattling.

"Look at this world. Humans only have fear and rejection of superpowered individuals. My gene-induction technology is the only controllable and replicable way out. I have given ordinary people the opportunity to change their fate and the power to fight against injustice. I am creating a force to protect human civilization!"

“You have gone against the will of the people, Professor.”

Sitting opposite him was Amanda Waller, the DEO director known for her iron fist, whose voice remained completely calm.

Her dark face was expressionless, except for her sharp eyes, which were fixed on Stein.

"Of the seventeen test subjects, three died painfully in the genetic collapse. The remaining fourteen were altered by you, but this was also the beginning of their nightmare. Your so-called protection was nothing but inhumane experimentation."

She slammed a thick stack of documents heavily onto the table.

“You are trampling on the most basic human rights, Stein. You think you are the creator.”

Stein's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembled, but he could no longer utter the words, "I did nothing wrong."

He slumped back in his chair, as if his spine had been removed, and the fervent flame quickly died down, leaving only ashes of despair and bewilderment.

He knew that his proud "Eden Project," along with his lifelong academic reputation, would completely collapse in this cold interrogation room.

the other side.

The Oval Office of the White House.

Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, Washington D.C. is bathed in a false sense of tranquility in the sunset.

The president, the old man who once tried to consolidate his power after reshaping the universe, now sat ashen-faced behind the mahogany desk that symbolized supreme authority.

On the huge screen in front of him, an emergency congressional hearing was being broadcast live.

In the video, his chief of staff, the man who was once his most trusted confidant and personally signed the top-secret authorization order for the "Eden Project," is facing countless cameras and microphones, his face ashen and his voice trembling as he recounts everything.

Upon hearing that the president wanted to launch a nuclear missile, the crowd immediately surged forward.

The president's hand, which was resting on the table, began to tremble uncontrollably.

He wanted to use nuclear weapons during the White House battle, and now all this secret information has been revealed.

He watched his own face on the screen, overwhelmed by anger and contempt, watched the impeachment proceedings begin at an unprecedented speed, and watched the vice president's ambitious face appear on camera...

He knew that his era, along with the order based on fear and control that he was trying to establish in the new era, had come to an end.

The last rays of the setting sun shone through the window, casting his dejected figure long across the floor, like a dying ghost.

The Watchers universe.

Abandoned dockyards in New York Harbor.

The salty sea breeze, carrying the smells of rust and engine oil, howled as it passed through the twisted steel skeleton.

A lone figure stood before a low, graffiti-covered cement tombstone.

There was no name on the tombstone, only the outline of a moth with outstretched wings, drawn in rough white spray paint.

Reggie Ron, the second Rorschach, was still wearing that stained khaki trench coat, his face covered by a black mask.

He lowered his head, his gaze, complex and fixed, on the moth pattern behind the eye openings of his ink-stained mask.

Raindrops gathered on the rough surface of the tombstone and then slowly slid down the wings of a moth.

"Baron."

Standing before the Mothman's tombstone, Reggie said in a low, hoarse voice:
"I stand here, watching this world that you, and all of us, tried so hard to protect, yet was so easily manipulated by Victor."

He slowly raised his head and looked at the gray sea in the distance.

The cries of seagulls pierced the heavy air.

At the horizon where his line of sight ended, an extremely faint blue light flashed by, so fast it was almost an illusion.

The instant the blue light disappeared, an indescribable change, like a silent tide, quietly swept across the entire world.

Deep within the shipyard, inside a forgotten, rusty, massive oil tank, tactical nuclear warheads originally intended for secret storage suddenly vanished without warning. Meanwhile, deep within the Siberian permafrost, in heavily guarded underground silos, intercontinental ballistic missiles aimed at New York, London, and Paris, carrying nuclear warheads, also instantly turned to dust.

At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, inside a deep-sea fortress, the duty officer watched in horror as all the red indicator lights representing nuclear deterrence on the control panel went out simultaneously in the same millisecond, and the data stream on the screen became a jumbled mess.

Nuclear weapons, the sword of Damocles hanging over human civilization, were now completely and permanently erased from the material plane of this universe by Dr. Manhattan's silent will.

The root of fear has been uprooted.

As if sensing something, a faint yet incredibly real warmth quietly flowed through Reggie's heart.

Reggie felt his taut spine relax slightly as the shackles disappeared.

"Thank you, Balang."

Reggie's voice softened, as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart.

"The truth you sought, the bottom line you upheld, were not in vain. The root of the fear seems to have disappeared, and we can start a new life."

He reached out, his rough fingers gently tracing the cold moth pattern on the tombstone, feeling the roughness of the cement and the chill of the rain.

He seemed to be confiding in Baron Osterman (The Mothman), or perhaps he was making a new promise to himself, to the self that once only knew how to be angry.

Reggie took one last look at the lonely moth's tombstone, wrapped his trench coat tighter, turned around, and strode resolutely toward the new world outside the dockyard.

He wanted to witness and participate in the new life that he once thought would never come true.

Antarctica, a land perpetually frozen.

The Pharaoh's former base, the massive Hive that brought together humanity's cutting-edge technology and insane ambitions, has now completely transformed.

The cold, glaring searchlights replaced the once soft interior lighting, and the thick alloy isolation doors were tightly shut, with the access control system flashing a cold red light.

What was once the control center is now a heavily guarded core monitoring room.

The huge screen was divided into countless surveillance feeds, showing every corner of the base.

The Pharaoh's former private study has now been converted into a fully equipped prison.

The Pharaoh, dressed in a specially made, indestructible white straitjacket, sat on a chair made of the same material.

His face was still pale, and beneath the thick bandages on his left chest lay the fatal gunshot wound left by the Comedian.

Although he survived thanks to the most advanced medical technology, he is still very weak.

He has now lost all control, lost his elegance and composure, and is now nothing more than the shell of a prisoner under close surveillance.

However, his eyes, peering through the one-way glass wall at the scene in the monitoring room outside, still burned with an inextinguishable light of rationality.

at the same time.

Standing next to Dr. Manhattan was a boy who looked to be about ten years old.

The boy was wearing a simple white jumpsuit, with black hair and eyes, and a handsome face, but his eyes were unusually calm, with a kind of insight beyond his age.

The boy is the son of the Marionettes in the Watchmen universe, who was lost forever due to the Ozymandias's plan. He was collected from the dust of the shattered timeline by Dr. Manhattan and then reconstructed here.

Dr. Manhattan's eyes were not fixed on the boy at this moment, but rather pierced through the dimensional barrier and entered an extremely small, almost negligible tributary of time.

He saw himself in another timeline.

The version of myself that didn't become Dr. Manhattan.

It was a warm summer night in August 1959.

The young Jon Osterman was not yet Dr. Manhattan, but just a somewhat bookish nuclear physicist.

He was wearing a slightly oversized gray suit and sitting in a softly lit small restaurant.

He sat opposite Jenny Slater, her blonde hair gleaming in the light, her smile radiant.

A simple dinner was laid out on the table, and the air was filled with the aroma of food and relaxed laughter.

Jon seemed a little nervous, with his palms slightly sweaty.

He awkwardly pulled an old pocket watch from his pocket—the same pocket watch that later became part of his quantum state in an accident in the laboratory—and gently pushed it across the table.

"Jenny, this, I want to give it to you."

Young Jon's voice was a little hesitant, but his eyes were full of sincere love.

"It's not walking very accurately anymore, but it's been with me for a long time, just like... just like I hope to be with you forever."

He mustered his courage and said the words he couldn't utter in the original timeline: "I...I don't want to go back to the lab. Not tonight, and not in the future. I...I want to go home with you."

The scene unfolds gently.

Six months later, a simple wedding.

Jon, dressed in a brand-new suit, and Jenny, wearing a pure white veil, exchanged rings amidst the blessings of their family and friends.

Three years later, a little girl with Jenny's blonde hair and Jon's eyes cried loudly in her swaddling clothes.

Then came another son, then another daughter…

The scene is filled with baby bottles, toys, children playing in the park, and candles on a birthday cake.
The children's innocent yet curious eyes as they listened to Jon read his introductory physics book; the heartwarming scene of Jon and Jenny bickering over trivial matters in the kitchen and then smiling at each other…

An ordinary, mundane family life, full of everyday life and minor troubles, yet also imbued with the most delightful human experiences.

That was the path he never chose, the life of Jon Osterman as a purely human being.

So this is what Peter Patrick used to defeat himself.

Family, kinship, and bonds—these things gave Peter faith in hope, and in the invincible power of this force.

Now, Dr. Manhattan sees himself in another timeline, and he also has children.

Spending time with my son and daughters makes every day a happy experience for me on another timeline.

Watching them grow up is an incredibly happy thing.

He understood the meaning of this love.

So that's why I failed.

Peter Patrick, you understand your faith.

Dr. Manhattan understood what Raven and Azu, these children, meant to Peter.

For the first time, he clearly felt a ripple of emotion called "family".

In that universe, there is no all-knowing quantum vision, no eternal loneliness, only the warmth of daily life and the ordinary miracle of life continuing in the blood.

His gaze slowly returned to the boy beside him, whom he had reshaped.

The boy was also looking up at him with his calm, dark eyes, as if he could sense the complex and gentle feeling flowing through the doctor's consciousness.

"Did you see it?"

Dr. Manhattan's thoughts, like a gentle tide, flowed into the boy's consciousness: "That is 'me,' and also 'not me,' a choice, a fork in the road."

He reached out his hand, the hand that emitted a pale blue glow, and gently covered the boy's head.

“Power,” the Doctor’s thoughts continued to flow, “to see into all things, to reshape the rules, and even to manipulate time. It once made me lose my way, thinking I was an observer of fate rather than a participant. It brought alienation, but also interpretation and manipulation by people like Werther.”

The blue light covering the boy's head suddenly became brighter.

An endless stream of data, an understanding of the laws of physics, the mysteries of spacetime structure, the essence of energy manipulation...

All the immense power belonging to "Dr. Manhattan," like a bursting dam, gently yet irresistibly and without reservation, poured into the boy's body, which he had sculpted himself.

"Now, I give it to you."

Dr. Manhattan's mind appeared unusually calm amidst the torrent of power, even carrying a hint of relief.

"Including all my 'longing' for that ordinary summer night, that warm dinner, and that old pocket watch."

"Feel it, understand it, and then transcend the constraints it imposes on me."

With the infusion of immense power, the boy's body became more defined and solid, and an indescribable light of wisdom burst forth from the depths of his eyes, as if it instantly contained the birth and death of stars in the entire universe.

“Protect it.”

Dr. Manhattan's final thoughts were like a brand, deeply imprinted on the core of the boy's newborn soul, pointing to the Watchers universe that was struggling to rebuild itself and was shedding the nuclear shadow.

"Use your eyes and your heart to protect this imperfect yet resilient world that deserves to be treated with kindness, and become a true 'guardian' like Patrick, rather than a cold 'observer'."

The blue light gradually faded and went out.

Dr. Manhattan's figure became extremely thin and transparent, as if it could disappear at any moment.

He took one last "look" at the boy who had inherited all the power and whose eyes sparkled with starlight, and then one last "look" at the warm tributary of time that represented Jon Osterman's ordinary happiness.

No goodbye.

His figure vanished completely, like blue stardust scattered by the wind.

All that remains is a guardian boy shouldering a brand new mission, and deep in his consciousness, an ever-burning, warm glimmer of light about the summer night dinner of 1959.

That was the source of his strength, and also the beacon of humanity that he, as a guardian, never lost.

(End of this chapter)