LRAB Page 264
Page 264
He held it in his hand.
The sword was as black as night, with crimson patterns flowing across its surface, seemingly writhing with life. Wherever the blade passed, even light was swallowed up, leaving only a chilling darkness.
It is—the Black Death Sword!
A sword that slays gods!
A peerless divine weapon capable of slaying members of the Celestial Gods!
"clang--!!"
The deafening clang of metal clashing echoed throughout the entire royal court!
The tip of the Eternal Spear pressed against the blade of the Black Death Sword. The two opposing forces clashed violently, and the resulting energy wave seemed to sweep across the entire planet with unbridled force!
turbulent and terrifying!
The guards were thrown to the ground by the shockwave, staring in horror at the scene before them—Loki stood firmly in place, using the Black Death Sword to block Odin's fatal blow!
For the first time, Odin's one eye showed shock.
He couldn't recognize the sword, but he could sense its immense power. And now, this unimaginable weapon was in the hands of a young Frost King!
No wonder Lau died!
"Where did you get this sword?"
Odin asked in a deep voice.
Reach out and recall the Eternal Spear.
Loki didn't answer, but instead stroked the sword with a fascination, as if listening to its whispers. His eyes grew increasingly unfocused, and the smile on his lips twisted into a near-grotesque grin.
His eyes grew increasingly bloodshot.
"You should all kneel before me, the god who writes history!"
At that moment, Loki's roaring voice suddenly became loud and manic, and the crimson patterns on the Black Death sword throbbed like veins, "I am King Loki! I am the God of Stories!"
He swung his sword and charged at Odin.
"A dream is just a dream!"
Odin growled.
Gungnir, the spear of eternity, burst forth with dazzling divine light.
It collided violently with the Black Death Sword!
The collision of the two supreme forces caused the ice plains of Jotunheim to crack and glaciers to collapse. The shockwaves swept across the entire world, and the home of the Frost Giants was on the verge of being reduced to dust.
Loki's black hair flew wildly in the wind, his eyes burning even more crimson: "You don't understand! Those images—those memories—they're more real than reality!"
Odin's single eye hardened, the tip of his spear pressed against the sword's edge, divine power continuously flowing within: "Put down the sword, Loki! You've been bewitched!"
"Bewitchment?"
Loki grinned maliciously, and the Black Death Sword suddenly twisted and deformed, transforming into a monstrous serpent that bypassed the Spear of Eternity and lunged straight for Odin's throat. "It was this that showed me the truth!"
"And judging from your expression, I know... you saw it too! You saw those scenes! Those realities!" Loki roared furiously at Odin.
Such a battle.
The guards were unable to intervene and could only watch as the two figures clashed on the battlefield, each collision creating ripples of energy that were as awe-inspiring as a star exploding.
The battlefront must extend into the galaxy.
Unbeknownst to anyone, far, far away from reality, the Dark God Nal sat upon a throne of bones, his eyes, burning with purple flames, gazing down upon the world below.
His eyes reflected the figures of Odin and Loki.
"It's almost time for me to go back." The Dark God, Nar, floated silently in the void, clad in tattered armor and bound by invisible shackles.
“I will be the first, and I will be the last.” Nar looked around at himself, his gaze piercing through the area that sealed him, sweeping over one figure after another in the void.
this area.
Countless picture frames, resembling comic book panels, floated in the air.
In each picture frame.
They all conceal a terrifying figure.
“Rewrite my story, God of Stories.” Nar’s laughter echoed in the void as He gazed upon the dimension of reality, His schemes unfolding in the direction He had envisioned.
.........
at the same time.
DC Universe.
In the newly built log cabin.
Ian lay on the floor, with sheets of paper spread out in front of him, holding a pen that could dispense many different colored leads, and was carefully drawing something on the sketch.
His new room contained only that simple wooden bed.
There was almost no furniture.
It appeared empty and desolate.
Mom and Dad had already gone to work overtime, and his two older brothers were fast asleep, their snores filling the air. Once back in their own world, no one asked about his sudden disappearance.
In fact.
Ian is the extra dimension that returns first.
Then he crawled back down to the first-floor bathroom from another dimension. At 12:42 AM, the house was already dark, but this did not dampen Ian's creative enthusiasm.
“Howard needs to be fleshed out in Iron Man’s story.” Ian still savors his experiences in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, while also regretting the fact that Howard is dead in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. He’s drawing a scientist in a suit, holding an abacus, with a determined and piercing gaze. That’s his imagination of Howard.
He even wrote a line of text in the corner of the painting.
May everything you have done be remembered in the future.
Finish this painting.
Ian still felt a deep sense of regret.
That man who once stood alone at the pinnacle of his era, that great father who used his mortal body to fight against fate, never had the chance to be recruited into the faith of the evil god.
God knows how much Ian desired such high-quality believers; he also longed for a truly useful external brain, since the wisdom of believers was equivalent to the wisdom of evil gods.
Having a follower like Howard Stark is practically like having a quantum computer installed in your body. Unfortunately, Ian can only try to find Mr. Fantastic next time he enters the Marvel universe.
“It’s not just me who’s disappointed! I believe it’s Howard’s regret too!” Ian drew a few lines on the paper with his charcoal pencil and then began drawing another journal entry.
[Author Experience Points +1]
[Author Experience Points +1]
[Author Experience Points +1]
This is the story of Venom.
among them.
Ian meticulously depicted the majestic appearance of the Dark God, Nal.
As he recalled the aloof appearance of the God of Darkness, he gritted his teeth and, driven by his petty nature, deliberately drew Nal to be extremely ugly.
A crooked throne, a disproportionate skull with protruding fangs, a tumor on the forehead, one eye squinting, and the other eye constantly oozing pus.
Ian is a true villain.
He was still thinking about how Nar had run away before he could level up.
[Author Experience Points +1]
[Author Experience Points +1]
[Author Experience Points +1]
……
Ian's great enthusiasm for drawing stems from his desire to verify his own suspicions. He had previously experienced the need to draw the Boys in the DC Universe and spread the word in order to unlock a profession. Therefore, in his view, people's perceptions in the DC Universe could very well influence the "rebirth" of the Marvel Universe.
This might also be an anchor point that helps heroes rediscover their "self." Of course, Ian was only speculating about this, and he knew he should take the new Tony's suggestion about becoming a psychologist seriously.
"After all, I'm not a professional, so I still need to consult a professional." Thinking this, Ian took out his half-broken phone and dialed a number while drawing.
"dududu~"
late at night.
In Hannibal Lecter's study, a desk lamp cast a warm, yellow glow on the hardcover book cover. He was enjoying a steak tartare with truffle slices when his phone screen lit up.
The phone vibrated.
His knife hovered in mid-air; the caller ID showed "Psychiatrist." Hannibal raised an eyebrow; he couldn't recall ever adding such a note to anyone's contact.
"Hello?" Hannibal elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth.
"Doctor, are you asleep?"
A clear and youthful voice came from the other end of the phone.
He heard it.
It was Ian Kent, that special patient.
“Considering what happened yesterday, I don’t think anyone can sleep well… Ian, are you and your family alright?” Hannibal asked with concern while revealing the other’s identity.
“As long as the Earth hasn’t blown up, we’ll be perfectly fine.” Ian’s response was incredibly light, and Hannibal could even hear the sound of the pen tip touching the paper.
Hannibal gazed at the rain outside the window and decided to categorize the remark as American teenage humor: "So, is it because you have something on your mind that you're calling so late at night?"
He began to get into character.
Become a psychologist.
We must always be prepared to meet the needs of patients 24 hours a day.
“I have a few friends who need help.” Ian’s voice suddenly turned serious on the other end of the phone. “They are very, very sick, probably more critically ill than the most seriously ill patients you’ve ever seen.”
Yes.
Ian wants to ask Hannibal for help.