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

Chapter 992 The Death of the First Green Lantern!

A chill ran down Courtney's spine.

"The Justice Society's stray cat, Midnight Doctor."

Courtney's voice involuntarily rose, and her fingers unconsciously gripped the edge of the tablecloth.

She sensed something was wrong.

"And there were Starman, Timeman, and others fighting against the Injustice Society! You were there! You were Starman's sidekick!"

Pat's hand, holding the coffee cup, froze in mid-air.

The brown liquid in the glass swayed slightly, reflecting the bewilderment on his face.

Then Pat coughed. "Courtney, you know my resume. I've been a mechanic, a long-haul truck driver, and a chauffeur for rich people for a few years..."

He paused for a moment, as if searching for something deep in his memory, but in the end he just shook his head, his eyes even more confused.

"But I've never heard of any 'Justice Society,' let alone any 'Starman's' assistant. Have you been reading too many comic books lately? Or are you under too much pressure from school projects?"

Courtney shoved the chair back and stood up abruptly, the wooden chair legs scraping against the floor with a harsh sound.

"I'm stuffed!"

She practically shouted it out as she turned and rushed out of the kitchen, taking three steps at a time to get up to the second floor.

Rushing into her bedroom, locking the door behind her, Courtney quickly walked to her desk.

She quickly slammed the laptop lid open, and the screen lit up with a faint blue light.

Courtney's fingers trembled slightly with nervousness as she typed "Justice Society" into the search bar.

Then, I pressed the Enter key heavily.

No results found!

A few cold, black square characters stand on the blank search results page.

Courtney's heart skipped a beat.

impossible!
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and changed one keyword after another:

"Starman".

"Midnight Healer".

Each search was like throwing a stone into a bottomless abyss, without even a ripple.

In the vast ocean of information on the internet, everything about the "Justice Association" has vanished completely, as if it had never existed.

Courtney realized things had gotten really bad.

Something incomprehensible has happened in this world!
Has everyone in the world, except myself, had their memories of the Justice Association erased?!

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm down, Courtney opened the encrypted folder deep inside her computer—"Hero Files".

This contains some scanned documents.

These included clippings of old, yellowed, and curled newspapers, and group photos of association members.

She held her breath, hovered the mouse pointer over the photo file labeled "Christmas Party," and double-clicked to open it.

The next second, it felt as if all the blood in her body froze instantly.

Courtney was stunned when she saw the photo.

All the Justice Society superheroes gathered around the Christmas tree turned into pale, faceless human silhouettes.

They were as if their flesh and blood, and all traces of existence, had been erased from the photograph, leaving only blurry outlines.

Coming to his senses from the immense shock, Courtney swallowed hard.

Fear coiled around my heart like cold vines.

Courtney then frantically pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk, his fingers groping among the clutter until he touched the cane with its strange metallic texture.

She suddenly drew the Cosmic Staff.

The moment her fingers gripped the staff, the dormant cosmic staff suddenly burst forth with dazzling pure white light.

Thankfully, I still have my Cosmic Staff!

Holding the Staff of the Universe, Courtney let out a long sigh of relief.

She thought the Justice Society no longer existed, and that her Cosmic Staff was gone too.

It seems things haven't gotten to the worst yet.

But what exactly happened?
Why does the Justice Society no longer exist?
Even Pat doesn't remember the existence of the Justice Society!

Am I the only one who remembers the Justice Society?
"Connie? Are you alright?"

The sound of her mother Barbara calling from downstairs was followed by the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.

Barbara was walking towards her room.

Courtney's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.

She hurriedly shoved the still-humming, warm cosmic staff back under the bed.

"Are you alright, Courtney?"

Barbara entered the room and, seeing her daughter's distracted appearance, asked her in confusion.

"Yes, I... I'm fine, Mom. Aren't you going to work? You'll be late if you don't leave now."

Courtney pointed to the clock on the wall and said to her mother.

After sending her mother away, Courtney bit her finger and immediately thought of Peter.

If there's anyone in this world who can help me, it's probably Mr. Patrick.

After all, Mr. Patrick had defeated Darkseid and the Anti-Monitor, as well as Greer.

Those were powerful beings who could make her tremble at the mere sight of them.

Perhaps he, like himself, will not have his memories erased.

Confused and disoriented, Courtney immediately thought of Peter.

After her mother left, she immediately took the Star Staff and went to Patrick Farm.

Padrick Farm.

Mordred buried her face in the fur of her dog, Murphy, and said in a muffled voice, "Don't run around, Murphy. It's dangerous outside the farm. There are a lot of meteorite monsters around here."

After warning his dog not to run around, Mordred turned his gaze toward the living room with some frustration.

In the living room, Raven stood as straight as a poplar tree.

Her fingertips hovered above the chessboard, pondering her next move.

Raven was playing chess with Peter.

Peter watched as his daughter was about to kill him, and his lips twitched slightly.

Am I about to lose?
Someone as proud as me, would I lose to my daughter?!
Peter coughed and looked outside.

Just then, he saw his youngest daughter, Mordred, puffing out her cheeks and sulking.

Then, Courtney, panting heavily, burst into the farm.

"Mr. Patrick!"

Stargirl didn't notice Mordred playing with the dog in the courtyard and went straight into the living room.

"Contenny? What's wrong?"

Peter, seeing Stargirl suddenly appear, stood up and discreetly put away the chessboard.

"Mr. Patrick!"

Courtney said breathlessly, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

"The Justice Society...it...it's gone! It's like someone...like someone used an eraser to wipe away the entire history!"

She stammered to Peter, "Pat! Pat has forgotten Starman! Completely forgotten! There's no trace of the Justice Society on the internet! Even... even the encrypted photos on my computer have... changed!"

Courtney's voice was filled with immense confusion and fear, to the point that she was almost incoherent.

Peter listened to the other person's words, and the gentle smile on his face disappeared.

"Are you sure, Courtney?"

"Yes, Pat has absolutely no recollection of the Justice Society. He was clearly Starman's sidekick, and everything related to the Justice Society, except for the Cosmic Staff, has disappeared."

After Courtney finished explaining, Peter fell silent.

The history of the Justice Society has been erased, which is an extremely troublesome matter.

Without even guessing, Peter knew that this must be the work of Dr. Manhattan, who had entered this universe.

After a moment of silence, he said to Courtney, "I understand."

Peter then turned around and walked steadily toward the bookshelf against the wall.

The bookshelf wasn't filled with ordinary books, but rather with all sorts of yellowed notebooks, scrolls, and sealed metal tubes, exuding the unique scent of old paper and leather.

Peter then pulled out a dark brown leather notebook with a badly worn cover and curled edges.

This is a magic book that Peter got from Madame de la Ville dei.

It contains information about some old superheroes and villains from the last century.

Peter's eyes swept over Courtney's panicked face, Raven's focused expression, and Mordred's bewildered yet attentive eyes.

His voice was deep and clear, instantly drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"Do you know anything about the history of the Justice Society?"

Peter asked the three men.

They all shook their heads, looking completely bewildered.

Peter took the book and walked up to the three men.

"The founder of the Justice Society was Alan Scott, the world's first Green Lantern."

Peter looked into Courtney's eyes and slowly said to her:
"The turning point was the catastrophic collapse of the Pennsylvania Railroad Bridge on July 16, 1940."

As he spoke, the glow of the desk lamp seemed to come alive, gently washing over the pages and illuminating a meticulously drawn pen-and-ink illustration beside it.

In the torrential rain, Alan Scott, a young and handsome railway engineer, stood on the edge of the broken railway bridge, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, his face a mixture of fear and disbelief.

He was clutching something tightly in his hand.
It was a lantern with an ancient design, radiating a rich green light.

The green light, as if alive, formed resilient energy vines that wrapped around his waist and arms, forcefully pulling him back from the edge of the abyss of death, where deadly floods and twisted steel churned beneath his feet.

As Courtney and the other two stared in disbelief, Peter slowly addressed them:

"This is the moment a hero is born. According to all known history, it was this light that saved Alan Scott from the train accident, gave him power, and five months later, he raised this green light, a symbol of hope and order, to announce the birth of the Justice Society."

Peter then put away the magic book, went to the computer, and began searching for information about "Alan Scott".

"Now that the Justice Society is gone, we can investigate its origins, that is, what happened to our original Green Lantern."

After Peter typed in "Alan Scott," a black title appeared before everyone's eyes like congealed scabs.

"Railway bridge tragedy kills 37; rescue team finds engineer Scott's body!"

Below the title is a blurry but chilling black and white photograph.

In the photo, half of Alan Scott's body is pinned down by a heavy, twisted steel beam, and his work clothes are soaked with mud and dark liquid.

He stretched one hand forward, fingers spread, as if desperately grasping at something.

And just a few feet away from his fingertips, a place that is out of reach for a dying man.

The green lantern that should have been his salvation was like a piece of abandoned trash, rolling in the mud.

The lampshade was shattered, like a dead pupa, and no green light could be seen coming out of it anymore.

Seeing this, the air seemed to freeze, and only heavy breathing and Murphy's uneasy moans filled the study.

"This...this isn't right!"

Courtney exclaimed, pointing at the photograph, “The lamp! The lamp’s position! Alan Scott’s hand could clearly reach it! It’s clearly shown in the painting you just provided to us, sir!”

Raven frowned deeply as she scanned every detail of the photo.

Mordred reached out and tugged at Peter's sleeve, tilting her head up with her clear, confused eyes.

“Father, if the lamp were just a little closer to him, Alan Scott would have been able to catch it, wouldn’t he?”

She pointed to the distance between the lamp and the hand in the photo and asked Peter.

Mordred's words made Raven and Courtney feel even worse.

Raven's hands clenched tightly.

She never imagined that someone could change the past and erase a person's existence!
Peter nodded, gently took Mordred's small hand, and his gaze became even deeper and sharper.

“You’re right, Morty.”

Peter nodded. "The green light shifted Alan Scott a bit; if it were just a little closer, he would have made it."

"However, the landing point of the green light was exactly beyond the maximum distance that Alan Scott could move with his arm span, compared to where he was."

On the other side, Courtney's Cosmic Staff seemed to sense the intense tremors within its master's heart.

The star-shaped gem at the top of the staff suddenly burst forth with a dazzling azure light, the buzzing vibration intensified abruptly, and the entire staff trembled slightly in her hand.

"Mr. Patrick, so someone...someone moved that light, preventing Alan Scott from catching the green light and causing his death?"

She asked the question almost hoarsely, unable to imagine what kind of being could do something so terrifying.

"To be more precise."

Peter's voice carried a profound and mysterious quality that Courtney found strangely enigmatic: "It is the movement of 'possibility' itself."

"That man possesses the power to recombine atoms and directly rewrite the timeline."

"He went back to 1941 and gently 'pushed' the lantern away from the direction that Alan Scott had pointed with his outstretched arm in his last moments."

Raven listened to Peter's explanation and looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Then Father, why didn't the tamperer just erase the existence of this lantern? You said he was omnipotent."

Her gaze was fixed on her father. "This deliberate shift, this operation that leaves physical traces, is completely unnecessary. Instead, it exposes the act of tampering itself and leaves loopholes for investigation."

"Because it must exist, Raven."

Peter spoke in a calm voice as he looked at the green light symbol.

"This lantern is not merely a source of power; it is itself a powerful anchor point in spacetime. If it is completely erased, disappearing from its very origin..."

"Then all subsequent events closely related to it—including the birth of the Justice Society, the countless heroes it inspired, and even the current structure of reality—could experience unpredictable chain collapses. He wouldn't do something so extremely risky."

Peter's gaze pierced through the glass window, looking at the setting sun sinking below the horizon in the distance, the afterglow bathing his sharply defined profile in a golden-red hue.

"That man's goal was simply to kill Alan Scott. He moved the light a few centimeters without erasing the green light, his aim being to prevent the birth of the Justice Society. He wanted the legacy of heroes to be distorted, defiled, and led in a dark direction he desired from the very beginning."

"For example—the unrest outside right now caused by the 'superhuman theory'."

Mordred blinked her large eyes, seemingly struggling to process this complex and terrifying information.

Then, feeling somewhat uneasy, she hugged the docile Murphy in her arms tighter.

Murphy, in turn, cooperated by emitting a low, threatening whimper.

Blinking, Courtney asked Peter in shock, "Sir, who exactly is the man who wiped out the Justice Society? Is he someone even you can't fight?"

“He is Dr. Manhattan, and even I am no match for him.”

Peter shook his head and said.

He now somewhat understands Dr. Manhattan's methods.

If we moved that green light a little further away, Alan wouldn't have become the first Green Lantern, and the Justice Society wouldn't have created one.

Therefore, people's trust in superheroes is no longer what it used to be.

It seems I'll have to go to Gotham to investigate.

Bruce said Rorschach was in Gotham and had been locked up by him.

He needs to talk to Rorschach.

Gotham.

The rain in Gotham soaked the entire city in a gloomy, sticky darkness.

The outline of the dripping beast twisted and writhed under the dim streetlights, as if it might pounce into the narrow back alley below, filled with garbage cans, at any moment.

Peter walked down the dark street.

His expensive black cashmere coat was spotless, and the raindrops slid away just centimeters from his body, as if afraid to touch him.

He held a cheap paper cup of coffee in his hand, the rising steam seeming out of place in the cold, rainy night.

His destination was the door at the end of the alley, the one with the neon sign of "Elaine's Bar" flashing.

Before going to see Bruce, he went to a bar to have a couple of drinks to relax.

I haven't been to a bar to relax in ages.

Deep in the alley, the shadows seemed to come alive, writhing violently.

Peter stopped and glanced at the shadows with some surprise.

Are there still guys who dare to attack me these days?
Peter didn't stop walking; he simply made extremely subtle adjustments to the angle of the paper cup.

At this moment——

"call out!"

A sharp, almost tearing shriek erupted unexpectedly from a corner piled with discarded tires to Peter's left rear.

The target wasn't his body, but the cup of coffee in his hand.

The attack was faster than the limits of retinal detection; only the keenest intuition could perceive its deadly trajectory.

It was a completely transparent "bullet" that was formed from compressed air that had instantly solidified into a glassy state and was given terrifying kinetic energy!
It tore through the rain and went straight for the center of the paper cup!

Peter didn't even turn around.

With a fluidity and precision that no human could achieve, he slightly turned his wrist, holding the paper cup, inward.

"Ding!"

A crisp sound, like the clinking of crystal glasses.

The air glass bullet, powerful enough to pierce a steel plate, struck the pocket watch case on Peter's wrist with perfect accuracy.

The high-speed spinning bullet did not shatter, but instead mysteriously lost all kinetic energy and hovered on the surface of the casing.

Then, it silently disintegrated, turning into a cloud of dust finer than raindrops. With a gust of wind, it vanished into the humid air without leaving a ripple.

Peter's hand didn't even flinch, and the coffee in the cup remained perfectly still.

"Air gun?"

Peter's deep voice echoed in the rainy alley, tinged with an almost languid confusion.

"The idea is commendable, but the accuracy is..."

He took a small sip of his coffee, as if evaluating a dessert, "It's still a bit undercooked. How about aiming for the heart next time? At least that would be a bigger target."

In response, countless silver lines suddenly appeared on the walls on both sides of the alley.

They are like living venomous snakes, suddenly shooting out from the cracks in the bricks, the shadows of the rusty fire ladder, or even from the rain dripping from above!

Each one was as thin as a hair, gleaming with a deadly metallic glint in the dim light.

The silk threads wove together into a deadly net, covering Peter's head from every angle!

The figure of the marionette Erica Manson appeared like a ghost from behind a huge neon billboard.

Her fingers moved rapidly through the air, as if manipulating invisible threads.

At the same time, directly in front of Peter, a huge, rusty green industrial waste bin lid suddenly flew up out of thin air, slamming into Peter's face with a dull whistle.

Behind the trash can, the mime artist Marcos Metz gracefully stepped out.

He was wearing a well-tailored black trench coat, his face expressionless.

He raised his right hand, elegantly making a "pistol" gesture with his index finger and thumb, and gently "pulled" a non-existent trigger at the spinning trash can lid.

Peter's left hand, holding the coffee cup, remained steady.

Then he slowly raised his free right hand.

His fingertips were aimed at the huge iron cap flying towards him.

There were no energy beams, no incantations.

Peter simply pointed casually at the heavy metal object.

"!"

A crisp sound rang out in the night, and then the trash can lid whistled towards the stunned pantomime.

(End of this chapter)