Chapter Fourteen: When a Child Is Ill-Mannered, It Is Not Always the Parents' Fault

Elias scrutinized Cale from head to toe with immense rigor.

It couldn't be helped. Although Cale possessed keen eyes, capable of peering through Elias’s impenetrable facade to conclude, "Yes, that is indeed my father," this was, in truth, the first time Elias had encountered his nominal kin in reality. Ordinarily, this would be the moment to add a comment like "You've put on weight" or "You've gotten thin" to alleviate the awkwardness of a long-overdue meeting, but Elias had never been one to squander breath on such pleasantries.

So, he simply asked, "Where is Ophelia?"

**

Ophelia tripped.

She and Miles had been discovered by the Mafia members in the lounge. One of them, sporting gray hair, had approached the door with a gun; another, with a scarred face, had looped out the back door of the lounge, crossed the second-floor deck to the opposite side, and blocked the corridor exit. The third, the burliest of them all, had charged in like a bull, smashing the door open and catching Miles—who had been standing stealthily to the side—completely off guard.

The two children wisely chose not to engage and turned to run.

However, the corridor of a small cruise ship is only so long. In the blink of an eye, Ophelia reached the end. She saw the scarred man standing there, backlit, looking down at them. A hideous, savage grin split his face as he raised his gun butt to strike, sneering, "Where do you think you're running, little brats?"

Miles, still invisible, lunged forward and delivered a punch to the scarred man. This blow was more powerful than that of any adult; Ophelia even heard the crackle of electricity. It seemed to be another of Miles's superpowers—he possessed quite a few, radiating the distinct aura of a "chosen one."

The scarred man collapsed, and the gray-haired man and the third Mafia member caught up. Ophelia bent down to retrieve a gun, but Miles stomped the weapon into pieces, grabbed her, and they sprinted toward the second-floor deck.

As they ran, Ophelia began to feel dizzy, as if suffering from severe oxygen deprivation. Her eyelids fluttered, and the sounds around her grew muffled, as if she were submerged beneath a membrane of water. Her heart felt distressed, and a fine layer of cold sweat broke out across her forehead and the back of her neck. She couldn't ask for anyone to accommodate her, so she gritted her teeth and pushed on. A moment later, however, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the deck.

Miles reacted instantly, pulling her up and asking anxiously, "What's wrong with you?!"

Ophelia looked up blankly. "I... they're chasing... me..."

Her linguistic system was malfunctioning, primarily because she could not concentrate. Her head throbbed, and chaotic images flashed through her mind: countless people chasing her, brandishing weapons, shouting with hatred and glee. She was panicked and breathless, her chest burning as if on fire. She was trapped in a labyrinth of streets and alleys with nowhere to hide, as if already caged...

The visions of the past soon receded, but the post-traumatic stress they triggered did not. Her gait became stumbling, and she sank into a semi-conscious state. Miles gritted his teeth, dropped his invisibility, and hoisted her onto his back. Not far away, the kidnappers wore smug smiles and leveled their guns at them.

"Jump..."

In that desperate moment, Miles heard Ophelia whisper, her voice as thin as a thread.

"What?" Miles, busy dodging bullets, failed to grasp her meaning.

"Jump into the river!" Ophelia forced her voice up. "The ship doesn't look that big... we've been running for so long, and we're still on the deck... something is wrong..."

She drifted back into unconsciousness, but this time Miles understood: the actual size of the ship was inconsistent with their perception—their senses had been tampered with!

If so, the river might not be a river at all, and they might not even be on a ship. What they saw and heard were merely hallucinations created by the enemy to keep them trapped in place!

If that were the case, escaping on land would be far simpler than being stuck in the middle of a river trying to swim to the opposite bank. Miles glanced at the churning, hyper-realistic river below the deck, listened to the gunfire ringing out nearby, and, overcoming his human fear of heights and torrents, took a forceful leap!

He landed steadily on the "water surface."

It was indeed land!

It seemed that after the International Gang members knocked them out, they had used drugs to interfere with their perception of the external environment. Thinking this, Miles, with Ophelia on his back, followed his intuition and sprinted in a random direction with all his might. He had no idea where he was or where he was heading; he could only see a full moon hanging in the sky ahead.

Or perhaps it wasn't a moon, but a giant lamp.

Because in the center of that silvery-white disc—

There was the faint shadow of a bat.

**

"She is at another of my strongholds; the voice you heard earlier was AI-generated," Cale said earnestly. "Don't worry too much, Father, because worrying is useless. By the time you see her, she will either be dead or have found a way to escape. However, I have guards watching her and her companion, so the odds of them getting away easily are slim."

Elias: "..."

The look in his eyes confirmed it: this rebellious son was provoking him.

He raised his lantern slightly. Though he didn't say a word, his body language clearly signaled the precursor to "Your father is about to beat you."

Cale’s grip tightened on his notebook, his bravado wavering slightly as he added, "But... she might not necessarily be in trouble. A very powerful mutant should be helping her."

Elias asked coldly, "What exactly is your goal?"

"You wouldn't understand even if I told you," Cale said calmly. "The conflict between us can no longer be resolved by a conversation or two. As the saying goes, 'Those with different paths cannot make plans together.' Although you raised me, you cannot force me to grow according to your vision. Perhaps from now on, only those who survive and thrive can prove the validity of their philosophy, Father."

He rattled off a long string of English, and without waiting to see if Elias understood anything other than the word "Father," he reached out and pressed the alarm button on the ship's wall. As the piercing siren wailed, four flamethrowers emerged from the deck, unleashing a torrent of fire toward Elias in the center!

*What kind of ill-mannered minor is this? Did your parents never teach you not to play with fire in public?*

No sooner had this thought crossed Elias's mind than he realized Cale’s adoptive father was himself.

*Ah. Never mind then.*

If a child has poor manners, it isn't always the parents' fault, is it?

The energy shield generated by the power ring protected him completely; this level of heat was nowhere near enough to harm him. Just as Elias was wondering what Cale’s next move might be after delivering his ultimatum, he noticed that the boy’s jeans were being licked by the flames, yet he was still hunched over, engrossed in flipping through his notebook, completely oblivious to the danger behind him.

Elias: "..."

*Manners! Where are his manners!*

If his manners were poor, that would be one thing—he could just pretend not to know him in public. But to not even know how to dodge in the face of danger? Was he a moron?

The smoldering rage that had been burning in Elias's chest since seeing Cale ignited once more. He felt the urge to whip out the staff formed from the Book of Fate to give Cale a sound thrashing, yet he also wanted to pull this brat out of the fire immediately. Without two seconds of hesitation, he reached through the flames and gripped the back collar of Cale’s jacket.

Cale seemed caught off guard, looking up at him with a dazed expression.

Elias first hoisted the unconscious janitor onto his shoulder, then, clutching his wayward son like a rabbit, left the cabin with a taut face. The hull beneath his feet was beginning to disintegrate in the high heat, and the bow was already showing signs of sinking. He glanced toward the cockpit, confirmed Cale hadn't been insane enough to drag innocent people down with him, tucked the youth under his arm, and flew toward the nearest bridge crossing the river.

He hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself, but here in the middle of the West River, unless his ring could conjure an invisibility cloak, he would inevitably be seen flying.

Moreover, given that Cale was still in his rebellious phase, Elias was actually worried the boy might pull a knife from his pant leg and stab his old father in the waist... If that happened, bleeding into the river would be embarrassing even when calling for help. Thus, Elias kept his defenses up.

This resulted in the commuters on the main thoroughfare staring in utter shock as he flew toward them in a figure that was, to put it mildly, overly radiant. Some, disregarding the danger, pulled their cars over on the overpass and held up their phones to record. In the center of the frame was a majestic, sun-like figure, wearing a cloak, holding a lantern, with a ring on the middle finger of each hand, and carrying... carrying... well.

Someone had a flash of inspiration and looked toward the center of the river, noticing the sinking cruise ship, and shouted excitedly, "He saved that kid from the wreck! It's a superhero!!"

To the people of the 21st century, having superpowers and using them for good—or evil—was nothing out of the ordinary.

With the explosion of technology and the new media industry, the sheer volume of information refreshed daily was staggering. People no longer felt panic or curiosity when a new mutant appeared; they immediately defined their stance based on their actions:

Saving people meant being a superhero.

Harming people meant being a supervillain.

Furthermore, this was Metropolis, home to that most well-known superhero—Superman. When the residents of Metropolis faced Elias, who appeared in the image of a Sinestro Corps member, they felt no fear; instead, they gathered on the bridge and erupted into continuous cheers and applause.

Elias: "..."

He truly hadn't seen a spectacle like this before. Just as he was about to bow his head and ask Cale, "Is this part of your plan, too?", he heard the youth tucked under his arm let out a soft laugh and say, quite seriously:

"You'd better get them to move back, Father."

Elias snapped back to reality and heard a violent roar echoing from behind the crowd. At first, it sounded like the growl of a gargantuan beast—deep, cold, and possessing an unsettling aura—so much so that many took a long time to realize it was the engine of a car.

A car with no license plate, darker than the night, with fluid lines, a metallic shell shimmering with an eerie sheen, and a long blue exhaust trail, accelerated to top speed in mere seconds and crashed straight toward Elias!

It was the Batmobile!!

In truth, Elias didn't know what a Batmobile was, but the vehicle arrived with such speed and such fierce intent that he instinctively tightened his guard. Then, he saw gun ports extend from both sides of the ghostly car, unleashing a barrage of fire toward his front!