American comics: You're asked to fish, but you catch a Superman template?

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Cisco stammered, "...Do you still believe evil doesn't exist?"

Chapter 1707 Demon

"Krona!"

The window on the first floor of the dormitory shattered with a "crack," and two black figures, along with shards of glass, flew onto the roof of the low building, right in front of Konop. Or rather, it should be a human and a creature whose classification was currently unknown.

Helena's special combat suit helped mitigate the impact, and as she landed on the roof, she quickly rolled on the ground, narrowly avoiding the black monster's attack. Its bloody claws dug into the ground, and taking advantage of its momentary lapse in concentration, Helena kicked it in the face, striking it squarely on the bridge of its nose, sending it staggering.

Helena quickly stood up and resumed her fighting stance. She admitted that she had been stunned the moment she saw the monster, but after so many strange things happening in the world, her reaction to this phenomenon was excessive. At least this attack proved that ordinary attacks were still effective against it, which wasn't a bad thing.

The monster opened its gaping maw, letting out a foul growl from deep within its throat. Its entire body trembled, and its sharp claws lashed out again, creating a howling wind. Helena dodged two claw strikes, seized the opportunity to grab its arm, and raised her elbow high, aiming a blow at its elbow joint. Unfortunately, the monster's arm structure was likely different from a human's; Helena's powerful strike to the joint had no effect whatsoever. The monster used brute force to fling Helena's entire arm aside, and Helena groaned as her back slammed against the roof wall, leaving a network of cracks on the freshly painted surface.

The monster moved with lightning speed, followed by another claw strike. Helena turned her head almost reflexively, and five sharp claws dug into the stone wall opposite her cheek, leaving a thin layer of blood on her snow-white face.

Helena gritted her teeth, leaped at her opponent, and kicked him hard in the stomach. The monster pulled its claws from the wall, took a small step back, and then another claw landed on its head. Helena blocked her opponent's wrists with both hands; the immense force made it almost impossible for her to breathe, her shoulders trembling slightly from the pressure, and the sharp claws, reflecting a chilling aura, continued to descend inch by inch. She gritted her teeth, twisted the monster's arm, struck its chest with her right elbow, and propelled it into a leap, flying forcefully off the roof.

Neither of them was tall enough, so Helena lunged at the monster, using its body as a cushion, and free-falled, crashing heavily onto the concrete floor in the center of the building with a loud bang. She rolled over, trying to get up, but her opponent grabbed her ankle and threw her leg far to the side, causing her to roll several more times before finally coming to a stop on the ground.

Helena brushed aside her long hair and nimbly took a folding crossbow made of golden composite material from her belt. With a gentle press of the switch, the crossbow swiftly transformed into a bolt. The monster stood up and dashed away like a black cheetah through the dark street. Helena raised the crossbow, and an arrow with a special fiber attached to its fletching flew out with a whoosh, spreading out a net less than half a meter from the enemy and firmly binding the monster.

Helena pulled the trigger of the crossbow. High-voltage electricity shot through the fibers and black netting, and visible blue currents snaked up the monster's body. The monster writhed in agony, but the high-voltage electricity seemed to still have an effect on it.

Unfortunately for Helena, the crossbow's tension was probably insufficient. After struggling for five or six seconds, the monster tore open a cell twice its size in the net with its sharp claws and gripped the black fibers tightly. A tremendous force flowed into the fine fibers, catching Helena completely off guard. She convulsed along the fibers, and then a black claw struck her head. She hurriedly released the crossbow bolt, only managing to raise her arm to block the blow. Her body was sent flying back seven or eight meters like a feather by the powerful impact.

The electrical discharge was interrupted, and the monster (BBFI) seemed to instantly regain its vitality. It tore the entire net in half along the gap in the mesh, like a fish tearing through a net, and rushed in with lightning speed. When it landed, Helena fell to the ground, her crossbow bolts were thrown more than ten paces away, and her arm was sore and numb from the shock that she couldn't stand up. She could only watch helplessly as the cold, piercing claws came clawing at her head.

This creature was incredibly fast, faster than a cheetah, covering the distance almost instantly. Perhaps in the next second, it would tear open Helena's head with its claws, and blood and its contents would gush out.

In that decisive second, a transparent shockwave struck the monster's side without obstruction. With a low growl, the helpless monster was thrown more than ten meters away, crashing to the ground upside down.

Helena glanced to the side and saw Sisko wearing glasses, pointing in that direction with both hands outstretched, panting heavily, whether from nervousness or fear, she couldn't tell.

D gave Cisco the codename "Shockwave," not only because he could sense atomic vibrations and had extraordinary sensory abilities, but also because he could unleash shockwaves and tremors to attack, which could sometimes be very useful.

The creature remained unmoved, attempting to stand. Cisco took two steps forward, took a deep breath, and slammed into the enemy's black shell, gathering even greater punching power. The monster, which had just slightly raised its body, collapsed to the ground again, its limbs pinned to the earth as if bound. Ten seconds later, the concrete ground cracked slightly, countless tiny fissures rapidly spreading across the monster's entire body with a soft cracking sound.

Cisco gritted his teeth and held the stun gun in his hand for more than twenty seconds, only stopping when the last finger of the unknown species ceased to resist. He sighed, "My God, what is that thing?"

Helena moved her aching hand away, walked to his side, and patted his shoulder: "Whatever it was, you overcame it."

Helena doesn't have the habit of saying thank you, so this felt like a disguised way of expressing gratitude.

“I think this is becoming a trend in horror movies. There aren’t going to be any more of these things in the woods, are there?” Cisco’s expression changed drastically upon hearing this.

"I'm afraid so. This means that the security of our mission objectives may not meet the standards, and we may have to improve our game. Also."

Helena paused, glancing casually at the people peeking out from behind the low door and curtains into the room.

"We really need to leave before we attract too much attention."

Chapter 1708 Order

Metropolis, late at night.

From the street corner, two beams of golden headlights flashed into the empty residential area. A black sedan slowly pulled up to the side of the road, its headlights and engine switched off. The car door opened, and a middle-aged man jumped out. He was wrapped in a black cloak, his hands in the cloak's pockets, and wearing a black hat, looking like a gentleman from the United States.

He chose an inconspicuous alleyway by the roadside, trudged in, and wandered back and forth in the dark alley. Soon he came to a rusty green iron gate. He extended his right hand, which was covered by a black leather glove, and knocked on the door three times. Then he took a half step back and waited patiently.

A few seconds later, the iron gate was ajar, and a hooded face appeared behind it. A deep, husky male voice came from under the hood: "What color is the water of Angelina's Sea?"

A trivial question. But the cloaked man answered without hesitation: “Red, bright red—like blood.”

The gap in the iron gate closed, and a second later, the rusty old-fashioned lock creaked open, and the gate opened from the inside. The cloaked figure reached out and pushed the door open with a creak, revealing a narrow, dark corridor.

The masked man stepped back and handed the cloaked man a rough hooded cloak. He took off the hood and handed it to the guard, then put on his coat, pulled the hood up, and covered most of his face.

“They’ve been waiting for you for a long time, you’d better hurry,” the masked man said. “I heard your trial didn’t go well, so you might need some luck today.”

The cloaked man nodded, tilted his hood towards him, and strode into the dark corridor. The hooded man didn't follow; he simply bumped his back against the iron gate and remained standing motionless behind it, like a faithful doorkeeper.

A cloaked figure walked down a ten-meter-long corridor, pushed open the dilapidated wooden door at the end, revealing an open room. The room had no windows; a round wooden table stood in the center, the only dim light coming from five candles arranged in a specific order on the table. The candles flickered, their light occasionally brushing past the shadowy figures in the dark corners of the room, like nocturnal animals lurking in the darkness.

“You’re late, Grinton Marcus,” one of the figures in the shadows said. “The Great Center won’t appreciate this bad habit.”

“I sincerely apologize to you, Elder.” The cloaked man, to be precise, was Grinton Marcus, who bowed with the utmost respect. “However, Facebook and the police have been monitoring me recently, which has caused me some inconvenience, so the delay was unavoidable.”

“That’s your own problem.” The elder snorted. “Speaking of which, your performance on this test was hardly satisfactory. Your goal was the 103rd Street overpass, not some university shopping street. Of course, you shouldn’t have been discovered by the police or Facebook either; that would have caused us a lot of unnecessary trouble.”

He paused, then concluded, "So, in my opinion, your test was a complete failure, and that's why the center cannot accept you."

The man remained silent for a long time, then said softly, "Things turned out this way because of unforeseen accidents, but I have no intention of defending myself. I failed the test and am willing to accept any punishment from the Knights and the Center."

"That's not too busy." The voice from the shadows softened slightly. "Although the trial didn't go smoothly, the Knights know it was due to some unforeseen circumstances, and we have no regrets about that. After all, the bomb exploded in a public place, which is enough to prove your loyalty to the center. So, it doesn't mean everything was accidental."

The man was interrupted; his tone suddenly changed, and he roared, "Who's here? Who did you bring?"

Grinton-Marcus said stiffly, "I didn't bring anyone with me."

There was silence for two or three seconds in the darkness, followed by the rustling of clothes and the clicking of shoes on the floor.

“It’s me,” Mike Marcus stepped into the dim candlelight, surveying the people in the room with unprecedented solemnity, finally fixing his gaze on the one in the middle: “Dad.”

“Mike?” Mr. Marcus frowned in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t do this. We’ve never had a good relationship, but you’re my father. You can hide from the police and the FBI, but you can’t hide from me forever. I’ve been following you for a long time. To be honest, although I’ve always thought you were a rather dull father, I’ve never been sure if that bomb was really related to you until now.”

Mr. Marcus remained silent for a long time, deliberately lowering his eyelids to avoid direct eye contact with his son. "You shouldn't be here. You should leave."

“I don’t think so, Mr. Marcus,” the man in the darkness spoke again. “He followed you here; he already knows too much. Now, either you prove your piety to the Order, or this child will never be able to speak again unless he wants to be one of us.”

Mr. Marcus turned around. "I need five minutes."

There was no more echo in the darkness. But when the flickering candlelight returned to that corner, the figures in the shadows vanished like ghosts.

Mr. Marcus removed his hood and stared at Mike for a long time. In his memory, his son had never agreed to anything, as if he were born to be his father's enemy, as if he had a superpower to always lash out at the right time and do bad things, as if he always appeared at the worst possible moment, just like what he was doing now.

"Is that you?" Mike broke the silence, asking only one question: "I need to hear the story of this bomb from you."

· ·Requesting flowers····· ·······

Mr. Marcus was silent for a moment, then nodded. "It was me." After a pause, he added, "You shouldn't have stolen that car."

“You mean you can let it explode under the bridge?” Mike frowned, his tone unusually serious. “A lot of people could die.”

“This is a small number compared to the many more who are about to die,” Mr. Marcus said calmly. “It was inevitable.”

"Inevitable"? Do you know you look like those iconic, cannon fodder characters in movies? Like you've been brainwashed.

Mr. Marcus shook his head: "No, I'm in good condition. There's a reason I did this. The Knights helped me understand everything, helped me clear the fog, and saw the truth of the world with unprecedented clarity. Our planet is sick, very sick, and we've brought it the only vaccine."

0 .... ....

"Really? Who told you that? An advertisement?"

“No,” Mr. Marcus said, his expression both solemn and reverent. “It is the Earth itself that tells us this. Everything we do is determined by the will of the Earth itself. Order can listen to the voice of the Earth; it is equivalent to an elected governor.”

Mike breathed a sigh of relief: "To be honest, I came here with a lot of hope, but now that I think about it, I feel like I was incredibly stupid, and now I'm trying to argue with a lunatic."

He sighed, looking at the man standing before him, a man who had become a stranger, with a complex expression. "I still find it hard to say, but you know what? Even though you were such a jerk as a father, even though we never agreed on anything, I've always considered you my father. I..."

He paused, then ran his fingers through his messy hair.

"I don't know, but I've probably always wanted your approval."

Mr. Marcus avoided his gaze and remained silent. For a fleeting moment, he sensed a hint of apology and hesitation in his words.

“But never again,” Mike said firmly. “It’s over, Father. I’ll call the police, I’ll call the FBI, anyone can stop this insane organization. Then I might spend the rest of my life visiting you in a mental hospital and asking for a more comfortable single room.”

No, child.

Although he already knew that his father had become a cult fanatic, he was still stunned for a moment when he saw Mr. Marcus pull out a black pistol from under his rough cloth cloak without saying a word and coldly press it against his son's muzzle.

He underestimated the extent of the cult's fanaticism.

Mr. Marcus raised his eyelids, and his eyes, meeting his, remained as still as a pool of cold, stagnant water: "I don't think you would."

Chapter 1709 Green Light

From the moment the trigger of the black pistol was pulled, everything happened in a fraction of a second. A loud drumbeat echoed from the chamber, the firing pin struck the bullet forcefully, the gunpowder ignited instantly in the sealed chamber, and the high-temperature gas, under pressure, propelled the scalding bullet out of the muzzle, spitting out a blinding tongue of fire.

The moment the gun was fired, Mike was only a few steps away from the muzzle. With his reaction speed, there was no way he could have dodged it. He was still in shock and didn't even have the thought of dodging. Who would have thought that a father would be so crazy as to shoot his own son without even blinking?

Fortunately, he didn't have time to react, but his ring did.

In the instant of the fatal blow, the dormant Green Lantern ring activated on its own. A blinding green light enveloped the wearer's body for a brief, minute moment. The incoming bullet was stopped upon contact with the green light covering Mike's forehead, and the metal body was pulverized inch by inch into powder under the high-speed rotation of the green light, as if it had been completely swallowed up.

Mr. Marcus, “047,” stared blankly as countless green lights extinguished the faint candlelight in the room, mingling to form a green uniform and bandages covering his son’s cheekbones. Mike stood motionless, his head resting on the still-smoking barrel of his gun, not moving an inch.

Grinton Marcus didn't know what terrified him more: the ferocious expression on Mike's face that he had never seen before, or the glowing ring on the other man's finger.

Mike said, “You really want to kill me.”

Mr. Marcus's face contorted several times before he finally lowered his gun and calmly admitted, "Yes."

Mike was about to say something, but his expression suddenly changed, and he abruptly pushed his father away. Almost at the same moment, gunshots rang out, and a hail of bullets from all directions surrounded the green light source in the center of the room.

The followers, wearing transparent black hoods, appeared in the room like ghosts, indiscriminately firing at the budding Green Lantern. Mr. Marcus was thrown against the back wall of the room, narrowly escaping the hail of bullets, but instantly lost consciousness.

Instinctively, Mike released a transparent shield from his green light ring, protecting himself in the center. Hundreds of bullets, densely packed together half a meter in front of him, were blocked by the transparent green light, and shattered and deflated shell casings were scattered all over the ground.

Traditional firearms obviously couldn't break through Green Lantern's energy defenses, but constantly taking hits wasn't an option either. As a native of Beach City, Mike practically grew up listening to Green Lantern stories, and he idolized the legend of Beach City, naturally doing a lot of research on his idol. He knew how the Green Lantern ring worked, and how to fight as Green Lantern, materializing his imagination into weapons to attack enemies—and perhaps that was what he should be doing now.