Ultraman opened his eyes.
Beneath his feet was the cold teleportation platform, and in his hand was the monitoring instrument he had dropped.
The data curve on the display screen was as flat as a dead man’s EKG—nothing had been recorded.
The process of traversing, the destination coordinates, any fluctuations in between—it was all blank.
“So, this Chat Group is something of a higher dimension…” Ultraman tossed the instrument back onto the console, his tone devoid of much surprise.
“It fits the settings of those novels I’ve read.”
He stopped thinking about it; overthinking was useless.
With his current level of technology and cognitive framework, analyzing something that could bypass the DC Source Wall was akin to a caveman trying to dismantle a nuclear bomb with a stone axe.
Ultraman floated to the edge of the platform and looked outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The sky over Metropolis was still that familiar grey-blue, and the angle of the Sun had barely changed since he left.
Ultraman had spent the better part of a day in that zombie World, yet the passage of time here was negligible.
“This kind of setting is actually quite nice.” Ultraman nodded, his tone uncharacteristically relaxed.
“At least I won’t have to worry about going to another World for a spin, only to come back and find my home blown up by the Anti-Monitor.”
The Chat Group’s light screen was still floating in the corner of his vision, with no new messages.
Ultraman withdrew his gaze and shifted his attention back to his own World.
…
In the meeting hall of the Crime Syndicate, Ultraman sat at the head of the round table, eyes closed, one hand supporting his head.
Ultraman was not wearing that’S’ costume that outfit belonged only to performances in other Worlds.
Now, the cold ‘U’ emblem sat on his chest.
A red and yellow shadow flashed into the meeting hall, freezing beside the round table into a man wearing a tight uniform: Johnny Quick.
The lightning bolt emblem on his uniform was very conspicuous, and he wore a flattering smile on his face.
“Boss, good morning. I shouldn’t be late, right?”
Ultraman gave him a cold look and said nothing.
Johnny Quick sheepishly put away his smile and sat down obediently.
He knew very well his position at this table the man in front of him could drag him out of the Speed Force in an instant if he wanted to.
Johnny Quick had originally just been a small-time thug with nowhere to run, chased by the Police.
One day, a lightning bolt struck him; he didn’t lose his life, but instead gained the Speed Force.
From then on, he went from being ‘the one chased’ to ‘the chaser’, but no matter how fast he ran, in front of Ultraman, he was always the one being chased.
A green and white light drifted in from the doorway.
Power Ring dragged his heavy footsteps to the round table; his face beneath the green mask was uglier than a dead man’s.
His hands were covered in bulging veins, swollen and twisted, with something seemingly wriggling beneath the skin, giving people goosebumps.
That ring green, emitting a faint, eerie fluorescent glow was firmly embedded on his finger, like a parasite clinging to its host.
“Lord… good morning…” Power Ring’s voice sounded as if it were being squeezed out from between his teeth.
Ultraman’s gaze fell on those hands, paused for a second, and said, “After the meeting ends, I will help you remove the ring temporarily.”
Power Ring jerked his head up, and light shone in those eyes filled with pain.
“Yes! Thank you, Lord!”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the ring tightened another notch.
Power Ring let out a muffled groan and hunched over, but he still sat obediently in his designated seat.
When Ocean Master walked in, the butt of his trident struck the floor with a dull echo, also signaling his respect to Ultraman…
Ultraman glanced at him, similarly saying nothing.
Ocean Master’s counterpart in the main World is Aquaman, and here he is still Aquaman except he rules over more than just Atlantis; he also uses fear and violence to suppress the deep-sea territories, and he can still talk to fish…
Deathstorm followed closely behind.
He possessed the ability to control the molecular structure of matter.
His counterpart in the main World is the second-tier hero Firestorm.
He also first signaled his respect to Ultraman, then sat down without a word.
The last to enter was a figure that resembled a giant owl: black, silent, with footsteps so light that almost no sound could be heard.
When he walked in, the air pressure in the entire meeting hall dropped a few notches.
He was Owlman, the counterpart to Batman in the main World.
He had no superpowers, no Speed Force, no ring, no trident but the seat he occupied was the closest to Ultraman.
Once these few people were all seated, the remaining superpowered criminals dared to enter one after another.
They had no right to sit and could only stand on the perimeter of the round table, like a group of employees called in for a reprimand.
Ultraman placed his hands on the table, leaned forward slightly, and struck a standard evil boss pose.
“The reason I summoned you all here today is because some people have started to disobey.”
Those seated said nothing, while those standing on the perimeter had varied reactions some were confused, some had cold sweat trickling down their temples, some turned pale but tried to maintain their composure, and some clenched their fists only to unclench them.
“I should have said this before.
Everyone is only to rule within their designated territory…” Ultraman’s voice was not loud, but every word clearly hammered into the ears of everyone present, “And you must manage, or kill, those who disturb society.”
No one dared to respond.
“Without my permission, cross-regional cooperation is forbidden.” Ultraman paused, his voice dropping lower, “If there are still those who violate this you know the consequences.”
Silence was like a giant boulder, pressing down on everyone’s chest.
“The fact that you can see me means you have already joined the Crime Syndicate and are willing to serve it.” Ultraman slowly scanned every face present.
“If anyone wants to back out now, you may leave, but our reckoning will follow accordingly.”
Not a single person moved…
…
The meeting ended.
Johnny Quick was the first to disappear; with a flash of the Speed Force, the person in the seat was gone, leaving only the back of the chair swaying slightly.
Ocean Master stood up, carrying his trident, and strode out, his footsteps fading into the distance down the hallway.
Owlman did not leave.
He rose silently and walked toward another room connected to the depths of Ultraman Building, his black silhouette merging into the shadows of the corridor.
Power Ring was still sitting in the chair, his body trembling.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t.
The ring had tightened around his finger, the pain shooting along his nerves all the way to his shoulder, and tears were already streaming down his face. This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
A grown man, crying in the empty meeting hall like a broken child.
“Lord… please…”
Ultraman looked at the weeping man before him with no expression on his face, only one thought in his mind: How disgusting.
Ultraman was not disgusted by Power Ring’s pain well, he actually was; for an adult to cry like this was truly undignified but he was even more disgusted by that ring.
Power Ring’s ring was different from a Green Lantern ring.
The Green Lantern ring was driven by willpower; the more determined the wearer’s will, the stronger the ring’s power.
But the Power Ring relied on fear.
It specifically chose to parasitize people filled with inner anxiety and cowardice, feeding on the host’s fear while continuously eroding the host’s body until the host was completely hollowed out, and then it would find the next victim…
Simply put, this man had been chosen by Volthoom’s power ring because he was weak, humble, and had no backbone.
Ultraman reached out and grabbed the ring.
The ring did not resist him it dared not.
It slid smoothly off Power Ring’s finger, like a snake whose vital point had been pinched.
The moment the ring detached, Power Ring relaxed entirely.
His swollen hand quickly returned to normal; the veins faded, and his fingers became slender and long once again.
Power Ring slumped in the chair, revealing the real face hidden beneath the green mask a scrawny man wearing a bomber jacket, looking like a gust of wind could knock him over.
Then the ring spoke, its voice emanating from Ultraman’s palm, shrill, sycophantic, and tinged with a hint of resentment at being ignored:
“Ultraman, why would you help this weak man? He has no value at all! I am the one with value! He is just a consumable!”
Power Ring lowered his head; he did not refute it, as he was used to being evaluated this way.
Ultraman pinched the ring, looking down at it.
That ball of green light pulsed uneasily between his fingers, as if waiting for judgment.
“You should understand that the reason you have value is because of him…” Ultraman’s voice was very cold, stating a fact.
“You are an inherently evil tool, and I have no need for the chaos you bring. But Power Ring he is an obedient worker, and that is what I need. Without him, you are worthless.”
The ring fell silent, and Power Ring was stunned.
Power Ring looked up at Ultraman, his lips moving, but he couldn’t make a sound.
From the day he was born, everyone had called him a loser criminals mocked him, companions looked down on him, and even the ring treated him as a consumable.
No one thought he had any value, except for Ultraman.
Only this man had ever said his value was greater than the ring’s.
“Thank you, Lord!” Tears streamed down again, even more fiercely than before, but this time it wasn’t because of pain.
Ultraman didn’t look at him, saying with disgust, “Disgusting. Once you’ve rested, put the ring back on.”
“Yes!” Power Ring straightened up abruptly, his voice so loud it echoed throughout the meeting hall.
To be acknowledged by Ultraman this was the highest honor of his life.
Ultraman walked out of the meeting hall without looking back.
He passed through several alloy doors that only a few people could open and walked into a huge room.
This was not his private space; it was a laboratory various scientific research equipment was neatly arranged on both sides, from molecular reassemblers to dark matter analyzers, from Kryptonite energy extraction devices to several prototypes that didn’t even have names.
Every piece was designed or modified by his own hands, with a level of technology at least fifty years ahead of this World.
There was already someone waiting for him in the room a black figure standing in front of a monitoring device, with dense streams of data jumping on the screen: Owlman.
He did not turn around, only speaking in that signature deep voice: “Ultraman.