The behaviors and strange encounters of Madison and Jordan—it was hard to say if there were other hands pushing things from behind.
Sometimes, in a life where changes occur as silently as spring rain, many thoughts people assume to be their own might actually be guided by an invisible, divine hand.
Of course, this likely didn't include the "Origin Story" Jordan was currently crafting—or perhaps a masterpiece he felt could serve as the *New Bible*?
The rare sight of the studious, diligent writer was manifested in the usually academic-averse second Kent brother.
[Act I: The Fallen Superhero]
[Pantyhose Superman unfortunately perished during a superhero operation against a world-ending crisis. His noble spirit moved Heaven, allowing him to ascend and become a "Pantyhose Angel."]
[However, due to his origins as a "mortal superhero" and his combat suit style being too avant-garde, he was marginalized and mocked by the traditional, conservative angel group led by Michael. He was reassigned to guard the furthest edges of Heaven, completely ignored, suffering endless humiliation. A female angel even mocked him, saying he would be nothing but a low-level angel for his entire life.]
[For the sake of all living beings, and to better protect the mortal world, Pantyhose Angel bore it all without complaint. He endured in Heaven, suffering through one bitter year after another.]
[Act II: The Mysterious Ring]
[Just as Pantyhose Angel was losing hope, washing his face with tears daily as he looked down at the mortal realm, the mysterious ring his mother had secretly tucked into his coffin during his funeral suddenly burst with brilliant light!]
[A weak but wisdom-filled voice of an elder resonated from within.]
["The kindest child in the mortal world, do not panic... I am God. Many years ago, I was ambushed by that rebellious son, Lucifer, and only a wisp of my soul remains hidden within this ring."]
[The elder's authority of omniscience and omnipotence had been stolen, but his insight and the "God's Seven-Day Crash Course" remained. From then on, Pantyhose Angel began his path of counterattacking under the guidance of the Old God's remnant soul.]
[Act III: Ten hours on the east bank, ten hours on the west bank!]
...
To be honest, this was a plot even the great writer Ian couldn't have come up with.
Jordan wrote with boiling blood. He was completely immersed in the grand narrative he had constructed, feeling like a modern-day Shakespeare, using his keyboard to compose a magnificent epic of the divine realm! He believed he had finally found the right way to contribute to this family and his younger brother!
"That's it, yes, that's it. It's like the story has come to life on its own." Jordan intended to polish this script to perfection and then anonymously drop it across various online platforms. He even considered funding a small studio to turn it into a low-budget web series.
As someone who had successfully entered the industry, playing Homelander and starting his Hollywood path, Jordan believed he had already built some connections in the circle. It could work. Everything was falling into place.
Meanwhile, far away in another school, Ian, walking down the hallway, inexplicably shuddered. He sneezed one after another, wondering if someone was plotting against him.
"A-choo!"
Another sneeze. Ian rubbed his nose and arrived at the school cafeteria.
As the school's "Invisible Bully," wherever he went, students would subconsciously move aside, so he could always find a seat quickly. The cafeteria was already bustling, the smell of various foods mixing with teenage hormones to create a unique, noisy energy field.
He got his food and found a seat. Ian began to gorge himself alone. He was like a walking silence field; the table he sat at naturally had a ring of empty space around it. No one dared to approach the bully famous for his "brilliant achievements."
Of course, there were always those with heads made of iron.
Ian was buried in his lunch, occasionally pulling various items from his dimensional pocket that looked like "garlic cloves" but were actually minerals.
[Entropy Lord EXP +19]
[Entropy Lord EXP +18]
[Entropy Lord EXP +17]
Immersed in his own world, Ian looked quite solitary. However, his figure always attracted specific classmates.
"Ian is over there!"
Madison usually didn't eat at the cafeteria; she preferred finding "elegant" food off-campus. This made Emily feel she had found a rare opportunity for some alone time.
"I can definitely win Ian back!" Emily Parker took a deep breath, clutching a delicate three-tier lunchbox with a kitten pattern as if it were a sacred mission. She mustered her courage, crossed the invisible "barrier," and sat opposite Ian.
The young girl's heart was pounding, a shy blush on her face.
"I... Ian..." Her voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz, her cheeks flushed. "Today... today my mom made many of her specialty dishes. She... she told me to bring some for you to try..."
Emily's eyes were full of anticipation. Ian didn't even look up.
"Hmm? Your mom? Could it be that your mom, like you, also wants to taste something good?" His question and surprise could probably only be correctly interpreted by a true veteran driver.
Although kids in the West tend to be more mature, expecting a fifteen-year-old like Emily to understand the subtext in Ian's words was truly asking too much of an American girl.
"My mom wants me to eat truly healthy, additive-free food." Emily wasn't deterred by his dismissive attitude. She carefully opened the first layer of the lunchbox.
A rich aroma immediately wafted out.
"Look, these are her specialty BBQ ribs. She used a special sauce and slow-roasted them for four hours..." Emily's voice carried a hint of pride and expectation.
Ian finally lifted an eyelid, glancing at the tantalizing ribs. His nose twitched. "But, I'm sorry. I think I'm allergic to soy sauce."
He wasn't the kind of simple boy who could be easily won over by a girl with food.
The smile on Emily's face stiffened, but she quickly rallied and opened the second layer. "It... it's okay! Then try this! Cheese baked lobster! It's very fresh!"
The little simp continued her recommendations.
"Eh, today seems to be Tuesday. On Tuesdays, I'm usually allergic to marine proteins." Ian blinked. His answer made Emily's heart sink even further. She didn't understand it, but she still felt Ian was so full of personality.
"Then... then a vegetable salad should be fine, right? It's very healthy!" Emily's fingers trembled slightly as she opened the third layer, revealing a colorful vegetable salad.
Seeing this, Ian's eyes widened immediately.
"Oh, no. There's broccoli in there. I am truly... truly very allergic to broccoli." This time, his rejection was much more obvious than before.
"?????" Emily was stunned. Looking at the fragrant sandwich in the last layer, she was almost in tears. "Co... could it be that you're even allergic to sandwiches?!"
She looked at Ian with one final look of hope.
"That... I am indeed allergic to as well."
Ian finally put down his strange spoon, looked up, and looked at Emily with an extremely serious gaze, as if stating a universal truth, and nodded solemnly.
"Emily, I know you're a good girl, but I am truly too fragile. I'm easily allergic to many things. I am a boy destined to be Allergy Man."
Ian subtly rejected Emily's advances. Emily's face instantly turned from red to white, then from white to green. A mix of shame, indignation, and disbelief made her eyes well up instantly. She snapped the lunchbox shut with a loud *thud*, glared at Ian, and spoke with a sob.
"Ian! I hate you!"
Like a scene from a romance drama, she picked up her lunchbox and ran away without looking back, her silhouette filled with grief and anger. According to routine, she would hate Ian for at least one full class period.
"Sigh."
Ian watched Emily's back disappear into the cafeteria crowd and sighed heavily. He didn't understand why Emily couldn't be like an ordinary American girl and have a crush that only lasted three minutes.
"If only everyone was like that delinquent girl." Having no answer, Ian picked up his spoon again and continued enjoying his lunch, which looked unappetizing but was said to be extremely nutritious.
The world was finally quiet. Ian also had time to study his new profession.
As he used his peculiar spoon to poke the "mineral gel" he had added to his food—which was still slightly changing color—he summoned the system interface that had been silent for a while in his mind.
Ever since he "devoured" a bit of Belial's dark essence last time, this mysterious system had unlocked a high-level but extremely abstract new profession template, which had remained in an inactive gray state.
Right now, that gray interface was floating in his sea of consciousness, radiating a cold yet imaginative aura.
[Inactive Profession: Lord of Cinder]
[Profession Description: You have illuminated the starry rivers and witnessed the end of the universe. Your existence is both the dawn of civilization and the twilight of the old world's end.]
[Light should not be prayed for; it should only be mastered. Eternal light and blazing cinders burn within you. You hold no justice and ask no questions of good or evil; you measure the value of all things only with the scale of light. King of Light and Cinder, you shall eventually recast the eternal cosmic order by incinerating all phenomena!]
[Class Change Quest (Not Started)]
[Quest Name: Twilight Reversal • New Chapter of Fire Stealing]
[Quest Requirements: Within the Abyssal Darkness, you must find the 'Primordial Dark Core' of that rebellious light. You must not take it by force nor convince it with logic; you must use your true capacity to guide its internal paradox, completely reversing its dark nature and reshaping it into a torch of pure light, causing the "Shadow of the End" to reignite the "Radiance of First Birth."]
[Through this, you shall ignite the beginning of a new era.]
The quest icon was surrounded by intertwined patterns of dark gold and cinder red, like stellar remains left after burning.
Ian took a bite of a cracker, cream oozing from the corner of his mouth, but he was completely oblivious.
"Abyssal Darkness... Primordial Dark Core... Reversing dark nature... Reshaping the torch of light..." he muttered softly, his brain working at high speeds trying to understand what this riddle-like quest wanted him to do.
He didn't know what this "Primordial Dark Core" specifically referred to. It could be the heart of darkness of a certain universe, or a certain corrupted artifact.
Or it could be... a fallen dark deity itself.
Thinking of this, Ian's eyes widened.
"Hiss..."
Ian took a sharp breath, feeling his teeth ache. He stared at the quest description, his brow furrowing deeper. The system never explained; it only gave puzzles. And this quest sounded both grand and absurd—turning "Darkness" itself into "Light"?
It wasn't about defeating darkness or sealing it. It was about *training* the darkness, making it voluntarily turn into light? The first darkness he thought of was, of course, Lucifer's aunt—the personification of the Great Darkness.
Could it be that the system wanted him to actually go and educate the Great Darkness, to lecture her into the path of righteousness?
Even Ian's super-brain wasn't enough for this. He felt the system had glitched. How was his small frame supposed to lane against the Great Darkness?
"Is this quest difficulty a bit ridiculous? 'Not by force, not by logic,' and I have to use my 'capacity' to guide and reverse the darkness?"
"Damn it, everyone knows Master Ian doesn't have capacity, only scale." Ian glanced at his pants; whether in body or character, he always had self-awareness.
Yes. Two helpings of self-awareness.
The system was seemingly inciting him to go and confront Lucifer's aunt. Once this thought appeared, it took root in Ian's mind like it wouldn't go away.
"Can't do it, absolutely can't do it!" Ian shook his head like a rattle.
"Lady Darkness... though she's right under my manor, that's a billions-of-years-old woman. This isn't a Star Destroyer hitting a mosquito; this is asking me to put out the sun with a toy water gun." He looked miserably at the high-end profession description in his mind, suspecting his system might have been invaded by the shameless Lady Darkness.
Lady Darkness might be a weird auntie just like the Lady Goddess. The young boy suddenly felt life was difficult.
Ian sighed, temporarily closing the system interface. Although the class change quest was tempting, it clearly wasn't something to consider now. The priority was to successfully get through this rare day where no big events were happening.
Ian cherished days with only daily life and no major incidents. However, he had barely taken a few crunchy bites when someone sat in the seat opposite him again.
"Emily... you hated me for too short a time today." Ian put down his spoon helplessly and looked up, only to see an unexpected face.
Sam Winchester.
The younger of the Winchester brothers. Lucifer's vessel was wearing a hoodie that looked like it hadn't been washed in a long time, radiating an aura of travel-weariness and lack of sleep.
He looked much more haggard than the last time they met, with blue stubble on his chin and sunken eyes. Those eyes, usually tinged with melancholy, were now bloodshot and filled with intense anxiety.
"Hmm?" Ian raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing this uninvited guest, but he said nothing. He just lowered his head again and began to crunch on his lunch even more vigorously, almost vengefully, as if he wanted to chew up anyone who dared disturb his meal.
"Uh... Ian? Are you there?"
Sam sat there, hands on the table. His question was absurd to the extreme. It was clear he was distracted, his fingers unconsciously twisting together with white knuckles.
"Can you give me some response?"
He leaned forward slightly, looking restless. His eyes flickered toward Ian and then warily scanned the noisy surroundings. This mismatched tension made him look like a trapped beast that had wandered into a flock of sheep.
"Smack~ smack~"
The sound of Ian eating grew louder. Sam was stunned. He waited for a full minute, and seeing that Ian had no intention of asking anything—and was even eating with increasing relish—he finally couldn't take it.
The long-suppressed worry and fear seemed to find a vent. He broke the silence first with a raspy voice, his tone even carrying a hint of an unnoticeable plea.
"You... you aren't even a little curious why I came to find you? Why... I'm so restless?" He proactively provided a topic for Ian.
Hearing this, Ian finally stopped his exaggerated chewing. He slowly swallowed the food in his mouth and picked up a napkin with an abstract pattern to wipe his lips.
"Okay, why are you restless?" Ian asked in an extremely programmed tone, like a customer service recording. He implemented politeness to the extreme.
Sam seemed to have finally received permission. His speech speed instantly increased as he said urgently, "It's my dad, John, and my brother, Dean. They went to Wyoming yesterday to track the last lead on that yellow-eyed demon! And then... then they completely lost contact!"
"All the usual channels, safehouse markers, even the most secret emergency contact methods we agreed upon... they're all dead! It's like they vanished from the face of the earth!"
His voice trembled slightly with emotion, his eyes bloodshot. "That's not an ordinary demon! Ian! You know! I'm worried they..."
At this point, Sam didn't dare say more, afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself from crying. He was, after all, a fourteen-or-fifteen-year-old kid; even with a resume of returning from Heaven, he was still somewhat at a loss.
"Hmm?"
After listening, Ian nodded thoughtfully, a look of appropriate regret appearing on his face. Then he uttered two words most commonly heard at funerals.
"Condolences."
Brief and clear, with a sincere expression.
It wasn't that Ian lacked curiosity or a kind nature. It was mainly that he knew the Winchester brothers had deep connections with God. At least Sam's older brother Dean wasn't someone who died easily.
The Winchester duo was basically a trouble magnet; their business was always tangled with the Old Man's broken plans, internal power struggles among angels, and rebellions in Hell.
And Ian himself didn't want to have too much contact with people related to God—mainly because he was afraid the Goddess of Light, God's wife, would follow the "network cable" God placed on the Winchester brothers to come and sleep with him.
"No, Ian, they aren't necessarily dead! They're just missing! Missing, do you understand?! I need to see them alive or see their bodies! Right now, there's nothing!"
Sam felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. He hurriedly explained, clearly not knowing the true reason why Ian seemed uninterested.
"Okay, understood. Too many uncertain factors. Offering 'condolences' directly was indeed a bit rash. Then... how about 'quasi-condolences'? We'll mourn hypothetically for now and finalize it once the bodies are found. It won't be wrong either way; it's a strategic position." Ian followed suit and immediately changed his tune, his tone even carrying an approval that said "what you said makes sense."
"?????"
Sam's expression instantly became as stifled as if he had swallowed a whole lemon and it had gotten stuck in his throat. He completely couldn't understand Ian's bizarre logic and terminology. What the hell was "quasi-condolences"? Could one even mourn like that?
Despite not knowing Ian for just one day, Sam clearly still wasn't used to him. He took several deep breaths before he managed to suppress the urge to cry.
"Ian! Listen! You need to help me! Did you forget the Colt you took?? That's a weapon passed down through my family that can kill almost any supernatural creature! You haven't repaid this favor yet!" Sam didn't know much else, but he was quite good at hyping up the value of items. He even brought up "family heirloom."
Ian blinked, seemingly just remembering that. He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful, then suddenly revealed an extremely professional, street-vendor-like warm smile.
"Fine. I have a one-stop funeral service here. You can choose any prime burial spots in Hell or Heaven. Customized reincarnation packages are available; you can choose to be born into a wealthy family or a family of high officials."
"Which way do you think is more appropriate as a return favor?" Ian could truly do these things. However, Sam clearly didn't understand Master Ian's capabilities.
"?????" The facial muscles of this second-generation hunter twisted and shriveled together at a speed visible to the naked eye, as if he had been punched hard.
He lowered his voice. A sob he couldn't hold back squeezed through the gaps of his teeth.
"I don't want my dad and brother to just die like that. Didn't you say you were the King of Angels? You must know what happened to them." He looked at Ian with pleading eyes.
"There is a difference between King of Angels and King of Angels. I'm just a... well... non-mainstream, rather incompetent King of Angels who usually uses his position to run a few side businesses."
"As for whether your father and brother are still alive, I truly don't know." Seeing this, Ian also sighed, his small face twisting along with him.
Sam was like a man grasping at the last straw.
"I have clues. Help me out, please." He knew Ian was very powerful; perhaps only Ian could help him. He put his hands together in a prayer-like gesture.
"As a King of Angels, I was worrying about saving the multiverse this morning. It's really inconvenient for me to get involved in this kind of thing... It would really feel like using a cannon to hit a mosquito if word got out."
Ian spoke with difficulty.
Sam Winchester looked at Ian's indifferent attitude, and the anxiety and despair in his heart were almost overflowing. He knew that conventional requests and debts of gratitude seemed to have no effect on the flighty guy in front of him.
He gritted his teeth as if he had made some sort of decision and suddenly grabbed the old backpack nearby that looked bulging and was stained with unknown substances.
"Ian! Wait!"
Sam's voice carried a desperate urgency. With a clatter, he turned the backpack upside down and shook it hard onto the cafeteria table!
Suddenly, a pile of magazines and books with spicy covers, sensational titles, and varying print quality scattered out, covering nearly half the table. Guns & Angels, Hot Hell, Demon Night... various explosive titles and highly suggestive cover girls (or guys) assaulted the vision.
Among them were even a few "ancient treasures" that looked old, with yellowed paper and even more explicit covers.
The students secretly peeping from around them instantly widened their eyes, letting out suppressed exclamations and giggles. The soup ladle in the cafeteria auntie's hand almost fell to the floor.
Sam's face flushed bright red, but he still braced himself, pointed at this pile of "spiritual food," and said to Ian: "The... these! They're all my brother Dean's private collection! They're all out-of-print editions! You can't find them on the market anymore! As long as you're willing to help me, these... these are all yours!"
Ian's gaze swept over the pile of "exquisite, rare items." A look of obvious disgust appeared on his face. He shook his head and refused righteously.
"Mr. Sam Winchester! Please have some self-respect! Do I, Ian Kent, look like the kind of person who would indulge in such low-level tastes, someone who needs this kind of paper stimulant to trigger dopamine secretion? My spiritual world is as vast as the universe; I have zero interest in such shallow physical art!"
Ian glanced around. He even elegantly straightened a non-existent bowtie, then added again: "However, I can introduce my second brother, Jordan, to you. He seems to be quite interested in this kind of... uh... 'anthropological research material' lately. He can take this job."
Sam: "..." He felt his temples throbbing.
Seeing this "honey trap" fail, Sam took a deep breath and used his final trump card. He quickly stuffed the magazines back into the backpack, leaned forward, lowered his voice, and spoke with extreme seriousness.
"Ian! I know you're particularly interested in starting companies, production, and making money! Our Winchester family has accumulated a vast amount of precious exorcism notes over generations of hunting!
They record the weaknesses of various supernatural creatures in detail, the details of various ancient exorcism rituals, and even some recipes and blueprints for homemade exorcism props! From the optimal blessing duration for holy water, to the grain size selection for salt rounds, to the rune carving techniques for dealing with different levels of demons... everything is there!"
He stared closely into Ian's eyes and tossed out the most tempting condition: "If these things are handed over to you, with your 'wisdom' and 'business mind,' you could absolutely establish an efficient, standardized, low-cost production line for exorcism items! Just think about it. By then, holy water will be as cheap as bottled water, salt rounds will be sold by the pound, and runic daggers will support custom engraving... This will completely change the ecology of the entire exorcism industry!"
Sam had also learned how to handle Ian by becoming a flatterer. Sure enough, these words were like precise magic, instantly hitting Ian's weak spot!
Ian's original indifferent, lazy, and dismissive expression vanished instantly. His eyes brightened as if countless stars were twinkling within them. He even unconsciously sat up straight, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop as if he were already mentally calculating how great he could become.
He rubbed his chin, his gaze drifting into the distance, as he muttered to himself, even quoting a famous saying he'd heard somewhere.
"An era where everyone can afford exorcism props, eh? Interesting... Technology serves the people. No, it's magic. Exorcism also serves the people..."
Greatness needs no further words.
Ian seemed to see a massive, global supernatural supply business empire rising, and he was the "Ray-bus of the Exorcism World" hidden behind the scenes, controlling everything!
A few seconds later, Ian suddenly snapped back to reality. His face instantly switched to an expression of extreme sincerity and brotherly loyalty. He grabbed Sam's hand and shook it vigorously.
"Sam! My brother! My nineteenth best friend! Look at what you're saying; you're being too formal! Helping a friend is my duty! Your father and brother going missing is such a big deal; how could I, Ian Kent, sit idly by? Don't worry! Leave it to me! I am definitely taking on this case!"
"Even if Jesus came, he'd have to stop me twice to actually hold me back." He thumped his chest, his tone forceful. He also casually swept those magazines into his own backpack.
The movement was incredibly smooth, as if he had rehearsed it a thousand times in his heart.