DC & Marvel: This Guy Is Crazy

Chapter 145: Allen Cons His Second Teammate

The grave robbers at the excavation site all paused their work and looked up at the sudden appearance of a helicopter. They naturally assumed a high-ranking military officer had arrived to inspect the operation.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

Lately, a terrifying rumor had been circulating—the ghost of a pharaoh was said to haunt the Sahara Desert, mysteriously slaughtering tomb raiders.

Just then, a man who appeared to be the gang's leader, a cigarette dangling from his lips, lazily buckled his belt.

Behind him, in the shade of a canopy, the silhouettes of two naked slave women could be vaguely seen lying down.

This area had long been a war-torn zone, where many armed factions captured homeless women and sold them on the black market.

It was a cesspit of filth and depravity.

Naturally, the so-called superheroes chose to turn a blind eye and ignore the evil festering here.

"Damn it, who is it now?"

Annoyed at having his fun interrupted, the leader spat and muttered, "Didn't even bother to call ahead via satellite phone? How rude."

Before the helicopter even touched down, a long and shriveled figure leapt down from dozens of meters above.

The leader's brow furrowed.

Jumping from that height—even into sand—could easily result in broken bones.

Who the hell was that crazy?

Then his eyes widened in terror.

That gaunt figure was racing toward him like a phantom.

Panicked, the man drew his pistol.

He fired purely on instinct—because the approaching figure looked just like a mummified corpse freshly unearthed.

Roar!

Unfortunately, the bullets couldn't stop the oncoming Drake. His razor-sharp fangs pierced the man's carotid artery with ease.

Gurgle...

Drake greedily drank the long-lost taste of blood.

At the same time, his shriveled body began to rapidly regenerate in a grotesque transformation. His previously desiccated frame swelled with vitality as if being pumped full of liquid, and his sparse hair grew wildly.

He casually discarded the drained corpse, still unsatisfied.

After being imprisoned for a thousand years, his hunger was unbearable—he needed a lot more blood to recover his strength.

Just because he looked restored didn't mean his power had returned to its peak.

He needed more.

Abruptly turning his head, he looked toward the excavation site.

The tomb raiders, still clutching their tools, were frozen in fear, momentarily forgetting to run.

With part of his power restored, Drake charged at the grave robbers, his body blurring into afterimages.

"The pharaoh has come back to life! Run!"

"Don't kill me! I have a family!"

"I'm innocent! The boss made me do it…"

…

Their excuses were pathetically hollow.

These men weren't just grave robbers—they were traitors who sold out their country, and killers who turned their weapons on innocent civilians. They deserved no sympathy.

Hidden beneath the desert sands, Nick silently watched everything unfold.

As a former Navy SEAL, he had long grown accustomed to killing and had no delusions of mercy. He was simply following the mission entrusted to him by Set.

Just then, he felt a pressure on his back—someone stepping on him.

A voice followed.

"This is a good spot. Let's see who can pee longer."

As he spoke, Allen stomped a little more, clearly marking a target. "Aim here. Whoever strays off target loses."

"How about a different spot? I… need to take a dump," Coblepot muttered humbly.

Edward and Coblepot obeyed Allen without question.

After all, they were just ordinary humans. If they didn't humor the madman, they were in for a beating at best. At worst, they'd be shipped off to intensive care.

"Once we've peed a hole, then you can poop," Allen replied cheerfully.

He used his toe to draw a circle in the sand.

Buried directly beneath that spot, Nick suddenly had a very bad feeling—Allen was aiming right at his ass.

"Stop."

He stood up.

Nick abandoned his disguise.

He looked at the three strangely dressed men and a humanoid shark with a puzzled expression.

Inside the helicopter, Arthur was still unconscious—he'd lost too much blood and was physically weak.

"Tom Cruise, I loved you in Mission Impossible 8: Midnight Raid on Lady Eight-Feet. Sure, the plot was weak and the acting so-so, but it was all about the spectacle. That lady was two meters tall—I was very into it. Left hand, right hand, one fast move—guess what happened next?" Allen said with a smirk.

"…What?" Nick blurted out instinctively.

"I rubbed myself raw."

"…"

Nick snapped out of it and frowned. "Who are you people? What do you want?"

He already figured out they'd known he was there all along and had just been toying with him.

"Don't you want to be free from Set's control?" Allen said, smiling.

"I do. Can you help me?"

Of course, one of the Nine Gods, Set, wasn't the kind to negotiate. Unlike the Moon God Khonshu, Set didn't ask nicely—disobedience was met with death, plain and simple.

And in the movie, Nick had always been looking for a way to break free.

Allen shrugged and said honestly, "I don't know. I crossed over before The Mummy 2 even got filmed."

Then why the hell bring it up?

Acting like he knew something useful.

But Allen quickly pivoted: "Help me with something, and I'll contact a professional for you."

"Professional?"

Nick didn't buy it. This guy clearly wasn't right in the head—nothing he said sounded trustworthy.

"Like Constantine, who mocks demons and Death itself; the Ancient One, protector of Kamar-Taj; or even Thor, the cult leader of Asgard. I'm sure one of them can help."

Truthfully, all three of those figures probably could.

Constantine was infamously hated from heaven to hell, and had tricked major demon lords more than once. Dealing with an outdated god like Set? Child's play.

Assuming they had a reason to help, of course—maybe if Allen had King Shark dirty things up a bit more.

The Ancient One was even more formidable—she stood on par with Odin himself. If she couldn't solve a problem, she'd eliminate the problem's source.

As for Thor? Well, maybe he could try reasoning with Set using his hammer.

"You can really help me?" Nick asked, eyes full of hope.

Truth be told, he really didn't want to be Set's pawn. He'd rather retire and live a peaceful life. All this sand—it was even in his underwear.

"I can't guarantee everyone, but the Ancient One owes me a favor. Worst case, I'll pull some strings—I've got friends in both the Justice League and Avengers."

Allen did know Bruce and Diana in the Justice League, and they owed him some favors.

In the Avengers, he had life-and-death bonds with Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Thor. Some of them were even family.

After all, Allen was Tony's uncle. That much was irrefutable.

"Tell me what you want help with, and I'll consider it."

Nick wasn't some hot-headed rookie who could be swayed with a few words.

So Allen laid everything out about the situation in Gotham.

"I'll help you," Nick agreed.

But not without a warning: "If you're lying to me, don't expect any mercy."

Just then, Drake finished feeding and wiped the blood from his lips.

His very presence was bone-chilling. Edward and Coblepot didn't even dare meet his eyes.

Allen, naturally, was unfazed—he'd gone toe-to-toe with Ares himself. A mutant vampire wasn't going to scare him.

"Next target: Ocean Master Orm."