Chapter Five: The Genesis of a Monster
The cave was hidden deep in the mountains, far away from the prying eyes of Gotham. Bruce had found it years ago, a secret that even Alfred never knew about. Now, it was a tomb. A place of isolation, grief, and rage. Here, there were no memories of the Batcave, no reminders of his family's legacy. Just cold stone walls, the hum of machines, and the stench of death that clung to him every second of every day.
Bruce Wayne had become a ghost. Not just to the world but to himself.
The lab was a maze of stolen technology and research, collected from the darkest corners of the world. Files from LexCorp, DNA samples from Cadmus, and schematics pulled from the ruins of alien ships. It was the culmination of everything Bruce had ever been afraid of—a nightmare of genetic engineering and bio-weapons. Except now, he wasn't afraid.
He was the one pulling the strings.
His hands moved over the console, barely trembling, though his mind was screaming. Images flashed before his eyes—Joker's laugh, Nightwing's body falling to the floor, Robin's scream cut short. Over and over, the images burned into his skull, fueling the fury that kept him working, kept him alive.
At first, it was research. He had scoured every piece of data he could find on Kryptonian biology, on Doomsday's unstoppable evolution. He had studied their strengths, their weaknesses, their limits. Then came the experimentation. Weeks bled into months as he tested and refined the formula, each failure dragging him deeper into madness.
It wasn't enough. He needed to be stronger. Faster. He needed to become something no one could defeat.
"Perfection…" Bruce muttered under his breath, as he inserted the last genetic sequence. The syringe in his hand was filled with a glowing blue and green serum, the result of months of work—months of anguish. The combined genome of Superman and Doomsday. Power beyond comprehension.
He stared at the needle for a long time. Could he really do this? Could he become the monster he had sworn to fight? In his mind's eye, he saw them again—his family. Their blood on his hands, their screams echoing in his ears.
There was no other choice.
With a snarl, he jabbed the syringe into his arm and pressed the plunger. The serum shot into his veins like molten fire. Bruce gritted his teeth, his body immediately seizing as the transformation began. Pain. More pain than he had ever known, more than any broken bone, any wound, any loss. His cells were ripping apart, reforming, his bones cracking and mending as the serum tore him apart and rebuilt him from the inside out.
For an entire month, Bruce writhed in agony, alone in the dark, his body convulsing, shifting, adapting. Every day, the pain was worse, as his cells absorbed the power of Superman's solar energy and the unstoppable evolution of Doomsday. He screamed until his voice was raw, until his throat bled. He thought he was dying—no, he wanted to die.
But death didn't come.
When the pain finally subsided, when his body finally stopped tearing itself apart, he was reborn.
He opened his eyes, the world sharper, clearer. He could hear the hum of electricity miles away. He could feel the tremors of the earth beneath his feet. His body had changed—his muscles were bigger, harder, but his frame was still lean, his movements fluid. He clenched his fists, feeling the raw power coursing through him. The rage, the grief, it was still there, but now it was a furnace, controlled and focused.
Bruce stood before a cracked mirror. His face was the same, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something new. His pupils glowed faintly red. When he clenched his fist, bone spikes erupted from his knuckles, sharp and deadly. He stared at his reflection, the man he used to be now a distant memory.
"I am vengeance," he whispered. "I am… more."