DC & Marvel: This Guy Is Crazy

Chapter 146: Rescue Ocean Master Orm

The Sahara Desert was once part of the oceans of Atlantis.

Although now landlocked, it used to be a massive saltwater lake. As the lake dried up, the Lost Tribe that once inhabited it gradually evolved into subterranean creatures.

Despite their transformation, the Lost Tribe still maintained ties with the oceanic clans. However, their physical traits had changed—they could no longer live in water, and their technology had drastically regressed.

Recognizing the uniqueness of the Lost Tribe's territory, the ocean kingdoms repurposed it into a land-based prison, used specifically to incarcerate the most heinous criminals.

The dry environment posed a lethal suppression effect on Atlanteans and related races.

It was akin to Superman being exposed to a red sun—weakening them the longer they remained.

In the skies above the desert, a helicopter approached the entrance to the facility.

"This is the prison of the Lost Tribe. What are you planning to do?" Nick asked solemnly.

Having wandered the desert for so long, he naturally knew the Lost Tribe lived underground.

Typically, they didn't interfere with each other. Nick had no desire to provoke them.

Though their technology had fallen behind, the Lost Tribe was still not a force to be taken lightly.

"The goal is to break out the former King of Atlantis, Orm. We need him to deal with the Gotham crisis."

Yee-ha...

Allen suddenly leapt from the cabin in a flash.

Nanaue followed right behind, crashing down like a cannonball.

Arthur, Edward, and Cobblepot didn't get involved—they were just ordinary humans, so it was best they stayed back and waited for backup.

"Let's go."

Drake shot Nick a provocative look before stepping out of the helicopter himself.

Even without using his powers, his physical prowess in a normal state was extraordinary.

"Damn it."

Nick cursed under his breath, then leapt out. As he descended, golden sand coiled around his body.

In an instant, yellowing bandages wrapped around him, transforming him into a mummy. In his hand appeared a staff shaped like a candy cane.

Boom!

Allen hit the ground first—half his upper body stuck vertically into the sand.

Drake landed smoothly, looking speechlessly at Allen, whose legs flailed in the air.

Nick drifted down as a cloud of dust.

In his mummy form, he could not only control the sand but also lighten his body, letting him move like wind-blown grains.

"I nearly suffocated," Allen muttered, pulling his head from the sand and tossing aside his facemask to shake out the grit. "Hey, Tom Cruise—open us a path. We'll get in, grab Orm, and get out."

"You better think this through. Breaking Orm out means going to war with Atlantis," Drake warned.

As a bloodline progenitor who had lived for over a thousand years, Drake knew quite a bit about the world's hidden affairs.

Atlantis was no secret among certain circles—just too dangerous to meddle with. That's why his clan always stayed clear of it.

Earlier, Allen had mentioned rescuing the former king. That meant the current king definitely wouldn't stand by idly.

"Who cares? If Aquaman comes after me, I'll just call on Namor to slap him down."

Allen couldn't help but reminisce. "Namor and his people have had decades to develop—must've built up a lot of power by now."

He had once advised Namor to secretly mine vibranium in Wakanda's territorial waters. By now, their tech should've advanced by leaps and bounds.

Many of Atlantis's nobles had sided with Namor, especially their elite professionals. Rebuilding a new kingdom hadn't been hard.

With a few more decades of population growth, they might already be strong enough to challenge Atlantis.

The others had never even heard of Namor.

One had been buried underground for nearly a millennium, and the other wandering the desert—no chance they'd ever encountered him.

Nick raised his staff.

In an instant, the sands split apart, forming a winding corridor complete with hardened steps.

"Charge!"

Allen drew his pig-slaying knife and ran straight into the passage.

Way too blatant.

The others had assumed they'd sneak in, scout the layout, then locate and extract the target.

Charging in with yelling and stomping? That was just asking to alert the enemy.

"Haven't fought in nearly a thousand years—it's about time I stretched a bit," Drake said, eyes gleaming with battlelust. His reputation as a progenitor had been earned through sheer carnage.

Back in the day, he'd had a large following of mixed-blood loyalists.

Nick skimmed across the sand like a surfer, riding the dunes after them.

Beneath the surface, the space was a network of branching stone caverns.

Allen stood frozen, pig-slaying knife in hand, staring in confusion at over a dozen tunnels ahead.

No clue which one to take.

"Allow me."

Drake stepped forward, opened his mouth slightly, and emitted a high-pitched pulse.

The sharp echoes reverberated through the tunnels.

Echolocation.

After living so long, Drake had picked up a few tricks. He immediately pointed out a direction: "That way."

Following the tunnel for a while, the path suddenly opened up.

"Someone's coming."

Heavy footsteps echoed from a nearby tunnel—lots of them.

Soon, hundreds of Lost Tribe warriors emerged, riding beast-like mounts. Their skin looked like cracked bark, and they shouted in an alien tongue.

Each held a weapon resembling an electrified baton, clearly ready to eliminate the intruders.

"They honestly look like Groot," Allen remarked.

Drake and Nick had grown used to Allen blurting out random, incomprehensible references and instead focused on the approaching enemies.

"I'll summon a sand wave to scatter them—and maybe even locate Orm in the process."

Nick raised his staff to his chest.

In an instant, a massive wall of sand surged up behind them like a tidal wave.

Boom!

Allen found himself sitting cross-legged atop the wave, shocked to discover it could carry him without needing to walk.

Under Nick's control, the sand didn't harm their side.

To the Lost Tribe, however, it felt like a massive breaker crashing into their faces, sweeping them away in an avalanche of dust.

Standing hands behind his back, Allen declared, "Now I get why people love cultivation novels. Flying on energy like this is badass."

"Tom Cruise, serious question—how exactly do you know where Orm is being held?"

Allen looked to Nick, who was still channeling power. Nick replied calmly, "Set is the father of the death god Anubis. He holds part of the authority over souls—I can sense the rough location of a humanoid soul."

"Impressive."

That logic checked out.

In Egyptian mythology, if the son possessed such powers, it was only natural the father did too—just with a different emphasis.

"Can you sense if I have a soul?" Drake asked suddenly.

"No."

Nick resisted the urge to mock him. A vampire with a soul? Yeah, right.

Boom!

The sand wave carried them into a prison chamber.

Chains bound a frail-looking man to the wall—and he got buried under the sudden surge of sand.

Nick immediately swung his staff to draw the sand back, sealing off the cell door to buy Allen time.

Cough cough…

Orm spat out a mouthful of grit, eyes filled with confusion. "Who are you people?"

"Exorcist Warren. We're here to rescue you."

"…"