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

Chapter 989 Peter Rejects Pharaoh!

While the marionettes and mime are searching for the clown's whereabouts, Peter at Patrick's Farm also receives a call from Bruce.

After hanging up the phone, he stood in the living room, gazing at the farm under the night sky, lost in thought.

He hadn't expected that the superheroes from the Watchmen universe would enter his world.

Peter didn't know much about the Watchmen universe.

His understanding of the Watchmen universe in his previous life was only through the movies.

The Watchmen universe is set in 1985, when the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union was at its peak and nuclear war was imminent.

Superheroes are beginning to decline, and the government has passed the Keane Act, which forces masked heroes to retire or submit to regulation.

The Watchers have also begun to fade from the historical stage.

The only one with true superpowers, Dr. Manhattan, Rorschach who insists on absolute justice, the cynical Comedian, the retired Night Owl II and Silk Spectre II, these people gradually become marginalized.

The story begins with the murder of the comedian.

Rorschach begins investigating the murder, suspecting that someone is targeting the former hero.

He warned the other members, but no one paid attention.

As the investigation deepens, Rorschach discovers that the mastermind is none other than Pharaoh, a fellow member of the Watchers.

The Pharaoh's plan was to create a fake "alien attack" that would cover the entire globe: using Dr. Manhattan's energy to destroy cities such as New York and Moscow, sacrificing 1500 million people.

Then they framed Dr. Manhattan, making him an "enemy of mankind," forcing the US and the Soviet Union to cease hostilities due to a common threat, thus avoiding nuclear war.

After the truth was revealed, Dr. Manhattan, knowing the truth, chose to take the blame and leave Earth.

Night Owl and Silk Spirit compromised by remaining silent to maintain peace; only Rorschach insisted on revealing the truth, and as a result, he was broken down into blood by Dr. Manhattan.

Although the Pharaoh achieved his goal, he was severely beaten by the Night Owl.

-

According to the information Bruce gave him, Rorschach's diary was eventually delivered to the newspaper office in the Watchmen universe.

The Pharaoh's plot became known to everyone.

The scheming pharaoh failed to stop the war and still brought destruction to the world.

Peter stroked his chin, lost in thought.

What is the purpose of these guys entering their own universe?
Could the currently widespread theory of "artificial superpowers" be related to the arrival of this group of people?
Is Dr. Manhattan in his own universe?

After a moment of contemplation, Peter turned his gaze to the shadows in the corner of the living room.

He had already spotted the uninvited guest hiding there.

"There's no need to hide anymore. Now that we're here, there's no need to be timid."

Peter turned to the shadowy figure in the darkness and spoke.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to confirm whether the most mysterious person in this world is really that powerful and able to sense my presence."

A voice came from the shadows.

Adrian Wait, the pharaoh, emerged from the shadows like a ghost.

His snow-white turtleneck was spotless.

The Pharaoh smiled and said to Peter, “I apologize for my intrusion, Mr. Patrick, but there are more important things to do now. I have brought a matter far greater than the threat of the Parademon invasion: the destruction of another universe, and the only ones who can stop it—you and me.”

“I am Adrian Waiter, and it is a great honor to meet you, Mr. Patrick.”

As he spoke, he walked toward Peter.

Peter's powerful aura shocked him.

The Pharaoh had never seen such a being in his own universe.

Even Dr. Manhattan did not possess such a mysterious and elusive aura.

This made him exceptionally careful and wary of Peter.

Taking a deep breath, the Pharaoh suppressed his emotions, pressed the button on the instrument in his hand, and projected a video.

Holographic images projected a scene of the Antarctic ice sheet.

On the snow-covered ice plains, a scarlet mushroom cloud exploded.

The scene then shifts to the city, where shockwaves crush New York skyscrapers and millions are carbonized in the explosion.

“Our world has been destroyed, so I came to this world seeking help. I have consulted the information about this world, and you are one of the most powerful beings, Mr. Patrick. You can help us.”

"help?"

Peter realized that the man before him was Pharaoh. He shook his head slightly and said, "I know you, Pharaoh."

"Using millions of lives as sacrifices for peace? That's... heartbreakingly naive."

He then walked up to the Pharaoh, his imposing height drawing the Pharaoh's attention.

The Pharaoh was somewhat shocked by Peter's words.

The other party actually knew what I had done?
Who exactly is Peter Patrick?

Could the other party also be an omnipotent god like Dr. Manhattan?

Peter turned to the astonished Pharaoh and asked his question, "Is it worth it, Pharaoh, for three million lives to bring seven billion peace?"

The Pharaoh paused for a moment, suppressing his shock, and said to Peter, "I had no choice. When the probability of the apocalypse reaches 99.8%, morality becomes a luxury. I made the only effective choice."

"efficient?"

Peter sneered, "That won't work, otherwise you wouldn't have come to this universe."

Peter didn't like this guy at all.

I'm not a good person, but this guy seems to be even more ruthless than me.

He hates those self-important guys who like to show off.

Pharaoh was not angry at Peter's mockery, but said to him, "Our world is temporarily at peace because of our fear of Dr. Manhattan's power."

I knew what I was doing. After Dr. Manhattan disappeared, my world quickly went into a state of pre-war preparation.

What can I do?

The alarm bells of doom have already rung, but no one knows that the world has reached a critical point.

This is an utterly hopeless predicament: constant friction between superpowers threatens to plunge the entire world into war.

The Pharaoh spoke calmly with Peter.

"I am trying to discover entirely new energy sources so that humanity can enter a new era."

But politicians and capitalists don't accept this, because coal and oil are generating a steady stream of profits for them.

The emergence of new energy sources will inevitably make the world more turbulent... This is just self-deception, because I know these people are beyond redemption.

New energy sources will not bring peace; people need those outdated but practical energy sources!

The Pharaoh's expression was complex.

"What shameless people would say such things, that they would hinder technological progress for the sake of profit."

I tried, but in the end I have to admit one thing: the comedian was right.

Rorschach is the only hero among us who upholds justice; he will never compromise and cannot accept this false peace.

He was a very pure person; he couldn't stand this world, a utopia built on lies. I admire him, but he couldn't exist in this world.

Peter paused for a moment upon hearing the Pharaoh's reply.

This guy is both incredibly clear-headed and incredibly naive.

Since you know humanity is beyond redemption, why try to save it in this way?
After a moment of silence, Peter asked the Pharaoh, "This is your plan for the future. You have chosen the future for humanity, but do you really have this right?"

Peter gazed at the Pharaoh and said slowly, "A god cannot save the world, yet a mortal is needed to do so?"

“I don’t know, and I can’t answer you, Mr. Patrick.”

"I need to find Dr. Manhattan."

The Pharaoh, unsure how to answer, changed the subject, saying, "He escaped to this universe and altered reality; the current turmoil outside is a result of that."

“I need your help to find Dr. Manhattan, Mr. Patrick.”

Peter shook his head. "I can't help, I'm sorry."

He called out to Raven, who was eavesdropping upstairs, "Raven, stop eavesdropping and come down to see the guests out."

Raven, who was eavesdropping, felt a little embarrassed.

She coughed as she came downstairs, glanced curiously at the Pharaoh, and said, "Sorry, Dad, I just overheard your conversation in the bathroom. I didn't mean to."

Peter: "."

Without exposing his daughter's lie, Peter said to Raven, "Then help us see the guests out."

Seeing Peter see his guest off, Pharaoh wanted to say something, but in the end he shook his head helplessly.

The rain in Smallville seems to never stop.

The cold silver needles, carrying the town's unique squalor, relentlessly pierced the night.

Adrian Waiter, the Pharaoh had just emerged from that unpleasant meeting.

Peter's arrogance and sarcasm were like a layer of sticky oil, clinging to the surface of the Pharaoh's mind.

He needed the cold air to wash away the unpleasant aftertaste.

The Pharaoh then walked through the streets, which were repeatedly washed by the rain.

He walked on a relatively quiet side road, where the glow of the streetlights appeared dim and yellowish in the rain, barely illuminating the slippery road beneath his feet.

The Pharaoh walked with a steady gait, his snow-white turtleneck sweater maintaining an almost obsessive pristine cleanliness despite the rain, a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts churning within him.

Peter's reaction was within his expectations, yet on a deeper level, it left him with a sense of...disappointment?
No, it's the inevitable result of the short-sightedness of mortals.

If Peter Patrick were a god like Dr. Manhattan, he wouldn't stand idly by; therefore, he must be a mortal.

But he also felt that Peter was not an ordinary person.

Why does Peter Patrick know himself so well, and who exactly are his children?

Everything revolved around the Pharaoh like a puzzle.

Pharaoh shook his head, banishing Peter's matter from his mind, and began to think about backup plans: how to locate Dr. Manhattan's whereabouts more quickly.

Just as he passed an alleyway piled high with black garbage bags.

"boom!"

The gunshot was muffled and unexpected, tearing apart the relative silence of the rainy night.

It wasn't the sharp crack of a high-precision sniper rifle, but rather the roar of a large-caliber pistol, brimming with primal destructive power.

The Pharaoh's pupils suddenly contracted.

Superhuman reflexes took over the body in a fraction of a second.

He did not turn around to find the source of the sound.

That would waste precious escape time.

Driven purely by instinct, he lunged to the side and forward, his body making an extremely clumsy yet incredibly efficient tactical roll on the slippery ground.

"Pfft!"

The scorching bullet grazed the hem of his trench coat and struck a black garbage bag where he had just been standing. The bag burst open, scattering rotting organic matter and an unidentified liquid mixed with rainwater, instantly filling the air with a pungent stench.

Immediately afterwards, a second shot followed!

The bullets whistled through the air, closely following the Pharaoh's tumbling trajectory.

"Hey!"

The Pharaoh felt a burning pain in the skin under his left rib, as if he had been rubbing it hard with a red-hot iron.

Although the bullet did not hit him directly, the heat and shockwave that passed by at close range tore his clothes and left a burn mark on his skin that quickly swelled up.

The excruciating pain slightly distorted his rolling motion, and he crashed into a rusty fire hydrant, the cold metal digging painfully into him.

Despite the pain, the Pharaoh used a fire hydrant as cover, suddenly looked up, and his sharp gaze shot towards the direction from which the gunshots came—the dark alleyway piled with garbage.

A figure slowly emerged from the shadows.

The other person was tall and muscular, wearing a khaki trench coat that appeared to be soaked through by the rain, with the collar turned up high.

Rainwater streamed down his signature, cynical face.

The other person had a cigar, wet with rain and almost extinguished, dangling from the corner of their mouth.

The most glaring thing was the stained, blood-red "smiley face" badge pinned to his chest.

The badge reflected an eerie light under the dim streetlights.

Edward Blake.

Comedian!

The Pharaoh's heart seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible, cold giant hand, and stopped beating in an instant.

The blood seemed to have congealed in the blood vessels.

An unprecedented shock crashed down on his mental defenses like a tsunami.

This is impossible!

He watched as the Comedian fell from the window of his penthouse apartment in New York.

He orchestrated that "accident" himself.

This traitor, this source of chaos, this stumbling block that he had to remove for the sake of a “greater peace,” should have already turned into a pile of rotten flesh and been buried six feet below the surface!
"Surprise, motherfucker!"

The comedian's voice was hoarse, full of familiar mockery and madness.

He spat out the soaking wet cigar, the butt making a soft "sizzle" sound in the puddles.

"Looks like the drinks at Death's place didn't suit my taste, so I threw them all up again!"

He grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth, his smile twisted and distorted in the rain, like a demon crawling out of hell.

The Pharaoh's shock lasted only a moment.

Superb rationality quickly suppressed the turbulent emotions.

No matter how impossible it may seem, the threat before us is real!
He suddenly pulled out a custom-made pistol hidden inside his trench coat.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The Pharaoh calmly pulled the trigger, and the bullet lashed out at the comedian's torso.

He no longer cares about "why," he only cares about "solving it."

However, comedians are not easy to deal with.

This veteran, who had experienced World War II and the Vietnam War and crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, had a sense of danger as keen as a wild beast.

The moment the Pharaoh drew his spear, he moved.

With an agility disproportionate to his massive size, the comedian lunged sideways at a pile of discarded wooden pallets.

"Puff puff!"

The Pharaoh's bullets embedded themselves deeply in the thick, soaked wooden planks, sending splinters flying.

"Ha! Still as scheming as ever, Adrian!"

The Comedian chuckled wildly as he leaned out from behind the pallet, his "Big Bottle" (his beloved gun, a modified .44 Magnum) spitting fire once more.

"Bang! Bang!"

Two bullets whistled as they shot toward the Pharaoh behind the fire hydrant.

Pharaoh quickly retreated into his bunker. The bullet struck the fire hydrant, sending up blinding sparks and making a loud clanging sound that made his eardrums tingle.

He could feel the vibrations from the bullet impact.

He took a deep breath, the cold rain making him even more alert.

Then Pharaoh suddenly leaned out from the other side of the fire hydrant, but instead of firing, he smashed his pistol hard against the lid of a rusty metal trash can next to him!
"Bang Dang——!!!"

A deafeningly loud metallic clang echoed through the narrow street.

This sudden, high-decibel noise was amplified several times in the silence of the rainy night, instantly assaulting people's eardrums and nerves.

The comedian, who was preparing to fire again, was jolted by the sudden loud noise and froze, instinctively frowning as his ears rang.

It's that tiny delay of a fraction of a second.

Like a cheetah, the Pharaoh sprang out from behind the fire hydrant, no longer relying on firearms, but charging directly towards the pile of goods where the Comedian was hiding.

His movements were swift and explosive, unlike those of a scholar.

He knew that close combat was his only chance to quickly subdue this bull!

"Well done!"

The Laughing King grinned maliciously, threw away the empty "big bottle," and lunged at the Pharaoh with his large, fan-like hands outstretched.

Two fated enemies engaged in a primal battle on a cold, rainy night beside a garbage dump.

The Pharaoh's fighting skills stemmed from top-tier military training and the development of human potential, making them precise and deadly, with every strike aimed at the joints.

A sharp chop to the side of the comedian's neck was delivered, while his knee slammed viciously into the man's soft abdomen.

But the Comedian's strength and resilience are monstrous.

He took the knee strike aimed at his abdomen by the Pharaoh, letting out a muffled groan, and used his strong left arm to tightly grip the Pharaoh's leg that was striking him with the knee.

At the same time, his massive right fist, accompanied by a whistling sound, slammed towards the Pharaoh's temple!

The Pharaoh's pupils contracted, and at the critical moment, he leaned back sharply, while his left leg, which was restrained, burst out with powerful force and kicked out.

The comedian's fist grazed his cheekbone, sending a burning pain through him. He used the force to break free of the grip, but lost his balance and staggered backward.

The comedian pressed his advantage, charging in like a bull.

The Pharaoh's back slammed heavily against the wet, cold warehouse wall, the impact making his internal organs feel as if they had shifted.

He endured the excruciating pain, and as the Comedian's massive fist slammed down again, he abruptly ducked, simultaneously unleashing a lightning-fast kick with his right foot, striking the outside of the Comedian's supporting leg's knee.

"Click!"

A sickening, not-so-crisp cracking sound rang out.

"Ugh—!"

The comedian let out a painful roar, his huge body suddenly swayed, and he fell to one knee.

Don't miss out!

A cold glint flashed in the Pharaoh's eyes. Enduring the burning pain in his ribs and the impact wound on his back, he lunged forward.

However, just as he was about to succeed...

"boom!"

A third shot rang out!
The gunshots were so close, they exploded right next to my ear!

An unimaginable, excruciating pain erupted instantly from the Pharaoh's right groin.

It felt as if he had been pierced by a red-hot iron rod, and the force receded from his injured leg like a receding tide.

The Pharaoh looked down and saw a gruesome hole on the outside of his right thigh, near the hip joint, from which warm blood was gushing out.

The bullet tore through the muscle and may have grazed the bone; intense pain, accompanied by dizziness from blood loss, struck violently.

The Comedian had somehow pulled out a spare gun hidden under his arm – an old, but still formidable Colt .45!

Just as the Pharaoh lunged at him, he endured the excruciating pain in his knee, drew his gun with his still-functioning left hand, and fired at an extremely awkward angle, almost pressing it against the Pharaoh's thigh.

"Pfft!"

The Pharaoh could no longer hold on and collapsed heavily to his knees.

The intense pain turned his face deathly pale, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his inner shirt, mixing with the rainwater and streaming down his face.

He pressed his hand tightly against the wound on his thigh, trying to slow the bleeding, but warm blood continued to seep out from between his fingers.

The comedian, also kneeling on the ground due to the excruciating pain in his knees and the forceful action of firing the gun, gasped for breath, rain and sweat mingling as they streamed down his face.

He grinned, looking at the Pharaoh kneeling before him, the Colt in his hand still emitting a faint smoke, steadily pointing at the Pharaoh's forehead.

"Cough cough. Ha. Adrian."

The comedian's voice was hoarse from the pain, but his frenzied energy remained undiminished.

"Didn't expect that, did you? I fell off your damn building and didn't turn into mincemeat."

He was panting, his eyes filled with absurd memories.

"Damn it, in mid-air, I think I saw a glowing fish? And those damn fish-headed streetlights in the Gotham River? Plop! I fell into Gotham's stinking sewer! Haha! God... no, hell's joke!"

He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "I climbed ashore with only one thought in mind: to find you and pay you back double for that bullet you owe me!"

Despite the excruciating pain and dizziness, the Pharaoh forced himself to calmly analyze the situation.

The comedian's description is absurd, but time travel is the only explanation.

Like himself, the Comedian traveled from the Watchers universe to this world.

It must have been that this guy traveled through time the instant he fell to his death from the building and fell into the river.

As Pharaoh was analyzing the situation, the Laughing Man's gun was less than half a meter from his forehead.

"Blake"

The Pharaoh's voice remained steady, though tinged with tension from the pain, "Killing me won't change anything. Your world will still be destroyed by nuclear war. I can stop everything!"

"To hell with nuclear war! To hell with saving the world!"

The comedian roared, the muzzle of his gun trembling slightly with excitement, "I don't care about any of that! What I care about is you! You self-righteous bastard who thinks you're a god! Push me down!"

He struggled to stand up, but the sharp pain in his knees caused him to fall back down, though the gun in his hand remained firmly pointed at the Pharaoh.

"Now, give me one reason not to blow your head off right now? Convince me with your bullshit peace theory, Doctor?"

He mockingly imitated the Pharaoh's tone.

at this time--

"W-W-W-W-!"

The piercing, sharp siren, growing louder as it approached, suddenly shattered the silence of the rainy night!

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars began to flicker at the end of the street, rapidly approaching this location.

Clearly, the continuous gunfire finally alerted the nearby police.

(End of this chapter)