"That it will never come again is what makes death so sweet."

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fan-fiction. I do not own, or hold any rights to any DC character (s) presented in this work. OC character (s) are my own creation, and therefore belong to me, the author. The themes and mature elements in this work may be unsuitable for young audiences, as there references to violence, sexual themes and ideologically insensitive material.

RIGHTS:

ARTWORK BELONGS TO ©Georgina-Sarkissian

WRITTEN BY ©Georgina-Sarkissian

CANON CHARACTERS BELONG TO ©DC COMICS

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS BELONG TO ©Georgina-Sarkissian

POISON IVY

CROWN OF THORNS

WRITTEN BY

GEORGINA SARKISSIAN

The sun has set on the golden age of superheroes. After the defeat of Kal-El at the hands of Lex Luthor, the Justice League have disbanded, carved into two opposing factions - one in support of the Kryptonian's beliefs, the other firmly against everything he stood for. It is in this dark, uncertain time that the metahumans begin to rise, and nature selects her deadliest champion.

Some of the worst ideas imaginable were conceived with the best intentions. In the case of Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, a young, aspiring botanist specializing in biochemistry, nothing could be further than the truth. Ever since she was a little girl she wanted to help plants. Study them. Help them grow. Her father would often find her wandering the lush gardens of their home, only returning when the moonlight fell across the trees, late at night, her pockets filled with pretty flowers. Coming from an unknown, poor family, it came as a great surprise when Pamela was offered a place at Oxford to study biochemistry, with a focus on botanical sciences - not that her family paid the achievement much notice.

Naturally pensive, she often wore large glasses and kept her light, auburn-red hair in a messy, unkempt ponytail, that and the sheer amount of free time she spent studying and caring for the tropical plant species in the greenhouse labs, gave her a rugged appearance that dissuaded most from seeking her company. Her quirky, awkward personality failed to allow her the opportunity to fit in with her fellow students, and so she focused solely on her studies, excelling in her chosen field until she graduated with full honors. Shortly after, Wayne Industries offered her a position at the arboreal facility in the heart of Borneo to complete her PhD. The rich, tropical jungle setting was the perfect place for a botanist trying to make a difference in the world. It was supposed to be a new beginning, a chance to put her miserable childhood firmly behind her. A chance to bloom.

"Failed again!" Came a voice from deep within the dark, dimly lit laboratory. "The mutated venom samples of Nepenthes rajah are potent, but my plans to combine them with the venom of the Bornean cottonmouth are proving next to impossible."

Dr. Isley frantically fumbled through various documents, the rustling of overgrown vines and broad, fan-like rainforest leaves drowned out by her paranoid mumbling. She had a rugged look to her, with crazy, dull-brown eyes hidden behind a pair of large bifocals, her pale-red hair damp and stringy. The air held the aroma of the Bornean jungle; close and bore the stench of a hot greenhouse filled with compost deposits. The large, towering shelves were filled with glass cylinders, containing bubbling, lime-yellow chemicals with the signature skull symbol printed on the front.

She pressed her pale, cracked lips to the recording device as she held a hand to her right hip, pacing back and forth between the aisles of greenery. "Despite this setback, I still hold hope for the animal-plant crossbreeding, and from their toxic union I will finally be able to create a viable cure for cancer. The test results show a distinct reduction in the number of corrupted cells in the human tissue samples. If only I can find the right formula - these plants may rid humanity of the disease for good. The possibilities of my work are...endless!" Dr. Isley mused, her eyes twitching back and forth as she ran her fingertips over a juvenile Rhododendron. "Still," she said, in a light, inquisitive tone. "The fruits of my labor have unearthed a truly fascinating discovery. The cross-bred Nepenthes villosa have grown well beyond their natural limits, and the strength of their digestive enzymes have increased tenfold. It appears they've taken rather well to the hybridization experiments. I can only scarcely comprehend how far they'll evolve, or, rather, what they'll evolve into."

There was a sudden scream echoing from the other side of the ivy-clad door, shaking the very foundations of the leaf-litter that dominated the laboratory floorboards. It made her jump, and even disturbed a giant venus fly trap floating in a tall cylinder of opaque, fizzing water.

"...On a personal note," she said, bringing the device to her lips once more. "My work would proceed faster if not for Dr. Woodrue's insistence on whisking my venom samples away to his Gilgamesh Wing. Why won't he let me inside? What is he up to?"

She looked around, checking to see the security cameras were still covered by the colourful orchids that bloomed near the corners of the ceiling, before carefully pulling the door open, the rubbery snapping sound of stretched vines filling her ears.

For a time, Dr. Isley worked as an assistant to Dr. Woodrue; a rather brash, eccentric botanist who specialized in plant biogenetics. He often took to calling himself the 'Floronic Man'. In reality, he was an intolerable, egocentric man, and a far more questionable scientist, possessing a work ethic that - more often than not - involved the theft of her notes from her laboratory, using her chemical formulas for his own devices. She was blind to his betrayal, as the desire to do good, to save humanity as well as nature itself, clouded her judgement. And before she had a chance to come to her senses, it was far too late.

During what would ultimately become the final moments of her life, Dr. Isley crept into Dr. Woodrue's laboratory, horrified to discover the true purpose of the theft of her prized venom samples. A number of elite figures were in attendance, watching as a serial-killer was strapped to a revolving table, bound in place as the mad scientist, his grey hair far more unkempt than her own, danced about the table. Multiple tubes were attached to the test subject's limbs, a black-green mask covering his face, though through his audible, ear-piercing screams that echoed around the Gilgamesh Wing, it was easy to see what emotions he was experiencing as the oozing, amber-green venom flooded his body, creating a shrill hissing sound as it coursed through his veins. Dr. Isley watched, stunned by the sight of his bound form transforming rapidly, veins visibly bulging from his oversized biceps as he expanded, the cries of torment becoming more brutish as the process continued.

"Dr. Isley!" he said, gasping in surprise to see her cowering in the shadows. Dr. Woodrue rushed over to her. "I'm so glad you could see this. The fruits of our labor in all their glory."

She protested, fighting against him. "You monster!"

The coils of vines parted as the door to her laboratory was thrust open. "Monster?" he asked, tilting his head back towards the grunting beast that was once a man. "I think you mean him, dear."

"You…" Dr. Isley said, catching her breath. "Corrupt my research, all my hard work, and for what? To achieve some maniacal means of world domination?"

"Pamela," Dr. Woodrue said, trying to reason with her. "Everything you claim to own is rightfully mine. Every breath you take in my presence," he nodded, "is mine. I gave you sight, I gave you the means to advance your little experiments."

She laughed. "And in return for your generosity you betray my trust, using my venom samples - my work - to sell off to the highest bidder."

"Is that not why we became scientists?" he queried, running his fingers down a glass vial. "To sell our minds to those in positions of power, those who can affect real change? Imagine it, Pamela. We could…" Dr. Woodrue trembled, pushing his glasses up his nose, "do it together, you and I. Side by side!"

"Never!" Dr. Isley pushed herself away.

"...I...I don't understand," he said, his tone adopting an unusual fragility. "I thought…"

"You thought what, Jason? That I would throw myself at your feet and proclaim you my mentor, my teacher, my - "

" - Lover?"

Her pale demeanor, already greatly disturbed by the horrors she had witnessed, contorted into an expression of pure disgust. "Love?" Dr. Isley narrowed her eyes. "I became a scientist to help people, not to immerse myself in wild fantasies of ruling the world. I'm not some cheap villain who can be bought with a simple paycheck."

Dr. Woodrue hesitated as he glanced around the laboratory, almost admiring the manner in which she allowed the surrounding jungle to feel right at home. "I must admit I'm deeply hurt by such words, Dr. Isley," he explained. "I truly believe you would make for a good ruler, what with your talent and my...vision, we could accomplish anything. The world could be ours."

Her cracked, slender lips curved into a sly grin. "I would rather reduce myself to a high-school chemistry teacher before I help you," she said, bluntly, spitting on the ground. "And when I'm through, you won't have a cent to your name."

"...Well," he said, bitter disappointment overcoming him, "I can respect your opinion, unfortunately I'm not good with rejection." Dr. Woodrue suddenly grabbed her by her upper-arms. "I'm afraid you'll have to die!"

Before she could reach for the nearby desk, Dr. Isley was thrown against a shelf containing dozens of glass cylinders, crashing to the ground as they smashed all around her, chemical solutions leaking into the earth and burning against her skin and clothing alike. Her screams disturbed even the plants as they appeared to shudder at the unfolding drama, silent witnesses to the death of a good-hearted woman. The last thing she saw, as Dr. Woodrue smiled sadistically, was a bright purple light, blinding her to the scorching pain of the glass shattering against her. The venomous snakes she had been studying were freed as their vivariums were also added to the toxic cauldron that formed a depression in the ground. Her eyes closed as she let out a final whimper, the last vestiges of hope sparking in their innocent pools fading to darkness.

Dr. Woodrue gasped, holding his arms aloft. "Yes, yes, let the poisons and toxins burn a grave for you in the earth you love so much! So long, dear!"

As the life ebbed away from the young botanist, the maniacal, over-eccentric mad scientist returned to sample the spoils of his newfound success, not paying attention to the manner in which banners of strobe-like, violet light began to glow from her resting place.

The lifeless corpse that once belonged to Pamela Isley was moved deeper into the pit, carefully guided down into a large, fleshy sac that encompassed her entire form. Bioluminescent veins pulsated along its smooth, transparent walls, transporting fluids from the surrounding soil to the interior of what now resembled a plant-cocoon. Light erupted from within, as the dance of chemicals breathed life into the young woman. The burn marks on her skin were swiftly healed. The look of horror upon her demise replaced with a sinister smirk. Bubbles of oozing liquid popped and crackled inside the cocoon, causing Pamela's body to twist itself into a fetal position, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. The chemicals pouring from the glass cylinders that accompanied her below-ground seeped into the toxic mixture, creating a chemical cesspit. As if to protect the occupant inside, thick, blue-red tendrils shot up from beneath the fleshy mass, wrapping themselves around it, spreading like weeds to cover the entire surface area. And as the last rays of violet light were concealed from view, casting the grave in darkness once more, Pamela's eyes slowly opened, filled with lights of their own.

Sometime later, Dr. Woodrue appeared in the laboratory, his assistants having already removed most of the venom samples still left inside. He spoke in a confident tone, watching as the last of the glass cylinders were carried back to the Gilgamesh Wing. "Yes, your supreme worshipness, I'm so glad you won the bidding. We're merely making the final modifications on Bane for safe transit to Tehran. And...yes, we'll certainly be creating more super soldiers to advance your cause. Now, you mentioned something about gold?"

The earth beneath him suddenly began to tremble. He stood still, gripping the wooden table ledge, only now noticing the intricate web of ivy-vines coiled over the grave formed not hours before. A brilliant, bright purple-green light erupted from the hole, the quakes increasing in strength as the plants parted, heralding the rise of what Dr. Woodrue could only describe as a goddess. Columns of lilac-scented smoke perforated around the half-naked woman as she arose, running her hands across her shimmering, nubile form. Her hair was long, wavy, free-flowing, wild with a few blades of crimson ivy protruding from the thick, radiant magenta-red mane of hair that mirrored the complexion of her full, glistening lips, pursed as she moaned, inhaling and exhaling in satisfaction. "Mm...mmph…" she sighed, arrogantly admiring her beautiful form.

He fell to his knees as she appeared before him. "...Dr. Isley? P-Pamela?"

Her eyes suddenly snapped open, the verdant-green gaze penetrating Dr. Woodrue's mind and soul alike. There was a familiarity about them, but the innocent spark that once betrayed their owner as Pamela Isley was now extinct, replaced by the promising light of something new, something exotic. As her senses returned, now heightened to an extreme degree, she recognized the man kneeling before her, summoning the memories of her former life to heed their merit in this particular, fateful moment. "Hello, Jason," she practically purred, her voice a deep, seductive lilt, captivating him instantly, "I think I've had a change of heart." Her eyes widened slightly in false vigor, matching his own expression for the briefest of moments, oozing a seductive quality that Pamela Isley could only dream of possessing.

"You mean," he stuttered, "me?"

"Quite, literally." Her voice was like the deep, romantic lyrics of a jazz singer. So captivated was Dr. Woodrue by her stunning, newborn appearance, that he failed to notice the thick, thorn-covered vines slowly slithering their way through the leaf-litter towards him. "It seems, well, I...don't think I'm human anymore. The animal-plant toxins had a rather...unique effect on me. They replaced my blood with aloe," Pamela sighed, lifting her dainty hand to her cheek. The soft, glowing light of her skin betrayed the presence of the green-blood coursing through her veins. "My skin with chlorophyll."

All he could muster was a gulp, every toned, yet soft, feminine inch of her was practically perfection, as though crafted by nature itself.

"...And filled…"

Dr. Woodrue gasped, audibly, visibly, helplessly. "I-I…"

A pair of gentle, delicate hands reached down to cup his chin, green-painted fingernails bearing bright swirls resting against his jaw, lifting him to greet his goddess. "My lips…" A rich, exotic perfume danced across her neckline, filling the senses of the infatuated mad scientist, clouding his better judgement. Her entire body vibrated as she moaned, showing distinct satisfaction upon the union of their lips, their glossy, full surface dominating his own. She closed her eyes, portraying the visage of genuine intimacy, only to let them flutter open in the next moment, tilting her head as she gazed upon the tendrils already beginning to coil themselves around their soon-to-be prey. An audible, corrosive fizz filled the air between them as she deepened the kiss, unheard by Dr. Woodrue's enjoyment of the unexpected gift she had so generously bestowed upon him. She pulled away, pressing her lips together as a devious grin spread from cheek to cheek. "...With venom."

Streams of forest green and sparks of amber-jade forked a network of veins across his face, now frozen in shock upon feeling the toxic substance crippling his body within. His lips trembled, shrivelling almost, the tip of his tongue mirroring the unmistakable shade of the many jungle plants surrounding them. It was all he could do to muster a pitiful grunt, his vocal cords tightening as his throat closed, the burning sensation flooding his heart forcing him to surrender to her will, to death.

"Oh, Jason," she said, arrogantly, "that was rather silly of me, wasn't it? I should've mentioned this earlier...I'm...poison." The tip of her index finger pressed lightly to his forehead, pushing him into the waiting clutches of many tendrils, seizing his limp form for their own, dark devices.

She closed her eyes a second time, exhaling, stretching her arms to the ceiling where the dense vegetation fell upon her like a monsoon. There was a portrait of Dr. Isley lying on the ground, the glass splintering in multiple directions. The reflection caught her on two sides, the former, good-willed Pamela, held in the light of the crimson chemical vials undamaged by Dr. Woodrue's madness. On the other side, where the glass was broken in five places, the reflection of a woman she barely recognized, with bright, fiery hair and dazzling green eyes, stared back at her. Her hands trembled - not from guilt, or grief, but passion, born from the depths of pure, unconditional rage, a passion that bloomed in the void where her mammalian heart once pumped warm blood through her veins. She gripped the frame tightly before hurling it against the wall, watching as it shattered into a thousand, tiny pieces.

That passion blossomed into a dark monologue as she carried her new form around the laboratory, smashing glass bottles and tearing down the shelves on which they stood. "I am nature's arm! Her spirit, her fury, her will. I am…" she paused, caressing . "Poison Ivy. And the time has come for plants to take back this world so rightfully ours. The humans have basked in the generosity of nature for far too long. Through me, her champion, I will drown their cities in endless jungle, make use of their cold, lifeless corpses as fertilizer for my children, and reshape this world, to prepare it for the coming of the new age. For the greening."

An echoing grinding sound suddenly filled the laboratory. The huge, steel door was ripped from its hinges, revealing the enormous, towering mutant - the brain-child of the Floronic Man himself. He stood at attention, attracted by the chemical trails that oozed from the remains of the cocoon that gave birth to a living, breathing, seething mass of poison in the form of a beautiful, delicate woman.

She was about to throw another vial to the ground when she caught something in the light. "Hmm, Westwood Pharmaceuticals," Ivy purred in a low voice, gentle fingertips tapping the black ink etched across the glass. "How very interesting." Her emerald glare caught the scientist being eaten by Pamela Isley's mutated plants, eliciting a chuckle on her part, the sparks of red flames roaring from the grave beginning to envelop the entire structure. "Come, Bane darling, we have a plane to catch."

In the days that followed the mysterious fire at the arboreal preservation center in the highlands of Borneo's upper-jungle, banks of cloud rolled down from the twin peaks, broken by the intense sunlight that dominated a clear, azure sky. There was a newfound heat that smothered the people of Kota Kinabalu International Airport, a damp, stifling humidity that was highly unusual for the dry season.

"It has to be Kitala Volcano," Adrian said, standing by the fogged window. "That's the only explanation for this unbearable heat - the volcano has become active again."

"Sure, a volcano that's remained dormant for millions of years has suddenly awoken." The young man's sister, Rachel, replied in a less than enthusiastic tone, twirling the soaked tuft of her braided ponytail between her fingers, the other hand insistently flapping a fan across her reddened cheeks. She flashed their assistant a frustrated look. "Why exactly has our father decided to shut down operations on the island?"

"Your father has grown...distrustful of his business competitors, and is facing major lawsuits over a conflict of ideologies," the assistant explained, constantly looking down at his smart phone for updates. "As such, he felt the need to bring you both home as quickly as possible."

Adrian asked. "Does this have anything to do with the volcano?"

"I'm afraid that's above my pay grade."

The local Bornean police patrolled the airport, aiding in ushering the last of the tourists bound for departure. They were on edge, constantly patrolling the various entrances and exits that lead to and from the interior of the terminal. A story had leaked to the local media detailing the resurrection of Kitala, an ancient, dormant volcano that had dominated the lush, tropical jungle landscape of Borneo for millions of years. In the night sky, there had been reports from witnesses claiming they had seen fires dancing in the highlands, and - naturally - it was assumed that one of the columns had collapsed, allowing a flow of molten rock to escape to the surface.

There was an announcement on the loudspeaker. "Your father has chartered a private plane for you both, we depart in ten minutes."

"How nice of him to remember he's a trillionaire," Rachel sighed, grabbing her crocodile-skin handbag.

"Where is he sending us?" Adrian inquired, ignoring the comments of his older sister. "Back to Cambridge?"

"That information will be disclosed to you on the jet." The assistant looked over his shoulder as he motioned for the siblings to walk out onto the tarmac. There was something other than the oppressive heat in the air, the gentle breeze carrying the essence of something sweet.

The tarmac was littered with small planes; none of the A380's or 747's of major western airports. Borneo's international airport was seldom the chosen destination of the larger airline companies. A twin-engine, state-of-the-art jet sat on the burning, black tarmac, the shimmering white fuselage blinding in the brilliant sunshine. The staircase was guarded by a black-suited man, his arms held together in front of his torso, shifting slightly as the two siblings made their way up the leather-clad steps.

Rachel flung her bag against one of the cream-leather chairs, resting her heeled-boots against the rosewood table. "I wouldn't be surprised if he sent us to the moon at this rate - we may as well live on another world in his mind."

The engines fired up, allowing the jet to begin moving towards the main runway.

"So, where are we going?" Adrian looked out the window.

"Gotham City."

They both looked up from their seats. Rachel peeled her sunglasses away from her eyes. "Surely you must be joking?"

"Gotham is the safest place for you until he can smooth things over with his lawyers," the assistant said, sternly.

Rachel frowned. "A haven for criminals, maybe. For the heirs to a trillion-dollar fortune, not so much."

"Uh, I hate to interrupt but…"

"You can tell our father that we will be returning to the mansion in Cambridge," she practically commanded, making her way to the end of the fuselage. "I will not be cast aside like this."

"Did our father also want us smelling of roses when we arrive in Gotham?" Adrian held up a large, pink and orange rose that fell from the air-duct above his seat. It appeared to turn in his hand, facing him directly, the mouth opening to reveal a powdery substance housed within.

She was still grumbling under her breath when she reached the cockpit door, practically ripping it aside. "Change of course, we're going home - what the hell?"

A large, hulking mass sat in the pilot's chair, disguised rather poorly in a large beige trench-coat, the other two lying dead at his feet, their spines ground to dust. He turned, slowly, to face her, grunting primitively. She tried to scream, only to to find his enormous hand wrapping itself across her face, muffling her cries.

From the end of the fuselage, a pair of green eyes glowed in the darkness, just as the jet began to ascend. A magenta-haired woman stepped across the carpet, weaving her silky, elegant way past the oversized seats. "Mammals, so smug in the comfort of your private jets and luxury estates. You need not concern yourself with such petty things - nature has come to reclaim what is hers." She stretched out her hand before the assistant could lunge at her, full, generous ruby lips pursing into an 'o' shape as she blew a cloud of sparkling, violet-red pheromones from the palm of her hand, smiling as they haloed around his face.

Her other hand flexed, causing the dangling rose to release its contents, a green mist that - once inhaled - connected Adrian's mind to an unknown plain, the distant, drowned voice of the green-clad goddess the only thing that mattered to not only him, but the man now lying dead on the floor, a simple kiss delivering him to oblivion's gates.

"Love hurts," she said, sensually, wiping an index finger across her lips. "In my case, it kills."

Somewhere, in the long-lost recesses of his mind, Adrian could hear the audible snap of his sister's neck, and the acidic, hissing sound upon watching the misty apparition of the gorgeous redhead kissing their assistant, before he collapsed in a heap. "W-who are you?" he mumbled, dreamily.

Ivy draped herself across his lap, stretching her arm across his shoulders, supporting the back of his neck, staring down at him. "Shhh, relax. I've been watching you from the jungle for sometime, and I must admit, now that we're this...close," her deep voice was practically sprinkled with romantic undertones, "you're far more handsome than your father. Wouldn't you agree?" The tips of her nails danced their way across his jawline, framing his cheeks as she admired the complexion of his bright-green eyes, showing the level of control the hallucinogens had over his mind, and the grin that formed across his face in response to her sultry words. "I can see why he places so much value on you."

"You know my…" he gulped, blushing, "father?"

"Yes - in a way." Her devious expression only grew more satisfied with each passing moment. "I'd just love to meet him. You see, I have to thank him."

Adrian's cheeks flushed with colour, the tropical, feminine aromas perforating around him, oozing from Ivy's gleaming skin, heating his blood, causing it to rush to the surface of his face. "I could arrange that."

Ivy cupped his chin between two fingers. "Oh, I'm sure you could. Although, I think you're better suited to sending a message. Can you do that, for little old me?"

"I'll do anything you want," he admitted, far more eagerly than his personality would normally accommodate.

She whispered, their faces inches apart. "Anything?"

"Yes…"

The confirmation of his desires - whether they were influenced by her magic or not - was practically a death sentence in her mind. Her voice had become an ethereal lilt, as though every syllable was sacred - a secret shared between them and only them. "What if I were to tell you, that a single kiss from me would kill you?"

"Right…" he sighed, focused on those scarlett lips hovering an inch from his own, "whatever."

She moved in, planting a soft, gentle kiss on his lips. The dose was fatal before she even had a chance to look him in the eyes, allowing her smug, evil - but beautiful - expression to be the last thing he saw before darkness took him.

Bane grunted something from the cockpit. The jet cruised at around thirty-thousand feet on auto-pilot, and was, unusually, close to breaking the sound barrier. Ivy crossed her boot-covered feet over and leaned back in the reclining, white-leather seat, enjoying the view from the passenger window.

The abomination that was once a man handed her a perspiring glass of bubbling champagne.

"For such a brute, you have good taste," she said, wrapping her lips around the glass. "It is rather divine: strong but sweet. Or is that the venom in my lips?" Ivy laughed.

He grunted again, watching her without a thought of his own.

"Gotham City, Bane." Ivy directed him back to the cockpit. "There are just so many people to kill, yet...so little time."