Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

WOLF

I huddled in the dark corner with my face down, harsh breaths escape my lips, my heart pounds and quakes against my rib cage in an attempt to vacate the confines of my chest. Warm tears bead and fall down my sweat soaked face, my mouth is slick with saliva. I hug my knees tighter as the door to my room shakes. Every time the fists pound on it, the room trembles as does my spine.

No. No. No.No.No.NO!

He will come in here and…! I shake my head. I can’t imagine, I don’t want to imagine. I don’t want to imagine. I don’t want to imagine.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I cup my ears. The door is almost broken, if he enters here I am dead. Let’s wait for help. Let’s huddle and cry, cry for help, cry till he hears it and feels guilty, he will leave us alone then.

In spite of my advice, I crawl on noodle limbs, sweat, tears and snot stain my path as I snail forward. The shadows try to stop me with their twisted visages. The voices beg me to stop, they scream in my head so loud all I can do is stare at my goal. I tremble and fall to my stomach, clawing at my neck, trying to get air past the sock in my throat to my starved lungs.

Stay away from the door! Please, Please!

Sorry, no. No, I can’t. I just can’t. I have to face this.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I dry heave, unable to tell if it’s my heart beating or the door banging. The knob is white hot, I grab it without a second thought—afraid that spending any time in reasoning it would sap away whatever boldness I’d accumulated. The fire whittled my fingers to scorched bone.

Pain, pain, pain.

I still use it to pull myself up and twist it. It doesn’t budge, my bony digits slidingly clink across its scalding surface. The blinding fear still has a hold on me, the irrational dread must be conquered, I must rise above my trauma and terror.

I plant my feet to the floor, locking my knees up, refusing to fall, refusing to cry, refusing to beg. Iron rods support my body straight. I bite on the handle, my mouth blisters and my tongue sizzles over its sweltering surface. I turn my head and with it the handle, the door slams open and—I backpedal to the floor. He is a titan of darkness made in the image of the bastard.

“Heh! That’s just how I like it kid.” He whistles, walking into my room and approaching me. “Now make sure to scream for me like your mommy does. She’ll be joining us later.”

“Bleargh” I vomit. The abusive stench from the devil’s asshole that is his mouth burns my sense of smell out. He picks me by the scruff, my feet dangle off the floor. He pulls me to his face, his slimy tongue slides over lips.

Bile piles out my open mouth, spraying over my shuddering shirt.

“AHHH!” I offer a pathetic cry, my bony thumbs needle into his eyes. I clench for dear life as he roars in pain and fury. He strikes my back, breaking it. His massive hands hold my sides, snapping my ribs like twigs in a play to pull me off. I dig deeper into his eyes which leak down my finger, I dig deep enough to touch wrinkly flesh. I hook my digits into the soft mushy flesh and drag.

Silence reigns, he falls back with a floorboard shattering crash. I shakily waddle off his body, spitting on it as tears drain down my burning eyes. I heave myself through the open door—light blinds my sight. The light in sky that brightens the world and light in the horizon eating the world up, drawing ever near.

I breathe easier regardless of my wounds and injuries, a weight I never knew I carried is no longer on my shoulder. The chains on my neck are broken, the burden is off my back. I feel free. Free enough to die in peace even.

Finally.

A green streak zooms into view, “Bruce Wayne of Earth sector 2814, you have the ability to overcome great fear.” It speaks and slides itself over my right hand’s middle finger “Welcome to the Green Lantern corps.”

A yellow light crowds my vision, at its core another ring. “Intelligent lifeform located, Bruce Wayne of sector 2814, you have the ability to inflict great fear.” On I included, “Welcome to the Yellow Lantern corps.” I grabbed the ring and stored it. I only needed one at the moment, distilling my focus was unwise.

I channel the power within the green lantern ring, thankful it’s fully charged. Operation is simple; the psionic link allows you to create hard light constructs of whatever you imagine, just as a knife allows you to slice and stab at things. Training will enable you to do more, but common sense is the only fundamental in achieving your will.

I learn fast, and work even faster, cycling between a variety of constructs and modes to get myself acclimatized to it.

[Ring power at 99%.] It alerts, no power battery on me to charge it, no time to waste on anything else.

I begin construction of the machine, using my imagination, meta knowledge and comic book physics. I pour Slade’s spinal fluid into a section of the machine along with Diana’s god blood as a purifying catalyst. The section hums as it spins, going through a complex number of states and steps I do not have the liberty to expand on.

The light is already here, minutes is all I’m left with to guarantee my continued survival.

I couldn’t fly to space to escape it; the light wasn’t just the release of energy from the atomization of Captain Atom—the human nuke—the light was an observable phenomenon of this highly unstable universe collapsing in on itself. There is no safe spot. No snowflake room to hold hands and kumbaya in.

The machine stops spinning, a neon green fluid is synthesized within a small tube. I climb into the machine’s center seat—the construct is surprisingly comfy—hard light delivery tubes bore through my flesh, into blood vessels and my spinal canal. The sloshing substance in the micro tube is emptied into my body, it’s a barbed wire raking its way to my heart and spine.

Pain? At this point what I am if not entirely made of it? The Dionesium deposits in my bloodstream interact with the green substance, my body freezes over and burns at the same time.

My mind isn’t shackled by the suffering of my flesh. I retrieve the bottle from my utility belt, within it speed force lightning crackles. If it can store genies and 5th dimensional beings, it can hold speed force lightning, albeit a fraction of it.

I place the bottle in the center and create a multilayered, protective bubble of hard light over the machine. The stowed away yellow ring slips onto my index, sitting snugly next to the green on my middle-finger. With it a greater protective bubble wraps over the green, separated only by a pocket of air.

What is it like controlling Will and Fear? Easy. For me at least. Like moving two fingers on my hand, they respond and obey—perhaps an advantage unique to me. The trapped lightning is poured out into veins within the hard light machine.

The blinding white light covers the device and for a moment, an infinitesimally small, nano moment, the crushing weight of a universe collapsing is upon my mind, body and will, the speed force lightning is faster than my moment of demise, it bears the brunt, breaks the physics and makes the impossible possible.

Blood paints my vision red and trails down my mouth, ears and nose. The enhancements from the miracle formula heal the damage—slow, but faster than the Dionesium alone.

It starts slow, the shaking turns into a buzz that nearly makes my blood foam, the buzz turns into a pure vibration. I am as weightless as the air, as immutable as water, the machine slowly blends into the immaterium and the yellow light aids the phasing stage. My machine breaks through the physical barrier, I am surrounded by celestial lightning, the songs of creation and colors that don’t exist, colors that make it obvious I’ve been blind my entire life.

[[Ring power at 40%, please charge.]] Both rings alerted, their electronic voices superimposed.

Cracks spread through my machine transported through the tunnel. Despite my imagination, tenacity and will, the strain—akin to ferrying mount Everest on a transport truck hefted on my back—will break me soon. This isn’t the real Metron’s Chair. I am not an all powerful god, a cockroach is a more fitting description. It will take one to survive this.

I spot the light at the end, the bloody grin on my face breaks when—

KRRACK!

The machine splits twain, the lightning is exhausted, nothing remains to shield my broken device and me from the corrosive forces of this meta-dimensional tunnel.

[[Ring power at 8%, please charge immediately.]]

My 99 problems became a 100.

I quickly discarded the machine construct, putting all I have into the forcefields protecting my body. The tunnel pressure flattens my ribs first, a silent scream is everything I can give from my mouth whilst tissue and blood pool in it.

Cracks reverberate all out my body, my flesh splits and frays, blood dyes my flayed armor. The reddened suit of souls covers me from head to toe, tightening to keep my body in one piece beneath the flimsy protection of my disintegrating armor.

My mind reels from the effect of pulling much from little. I retrieve all the magical weapons on myself. The sword crumbles to ash upon exposure to the space, the trident, lasso and mace remain stable. Hurriedly, I coil the lasso around the trident, securing the end of its golden length around my arm. I sloth the Atlantean weapon into the massive rail cannon construct.

The weapon’s barrel points at the fading light in the distance, yellow energy crackles over its green length.

BANNG!

[[Ring power depleted. Shutting down.]]

The tug breaks my arm, the resistance whips my brain to the back of my skull, the trident lances into the light, I follow behind like a bullet, sailing through the light that snags around my cape—FUCK!

Give me a fucking break!

I tumble down the side of a skyscraper. My blood soaked and ragged reflection mirrors my fall from the almost opaque glass. The trident hangs uselessly from the rope wrapped around my broken arm, the lantern rings are dim and unresponsive, they needed a lantern power battery to charge. I could try using my raw emotions but with my luck so far, I’d be splattered across the pavement before that happened.

My cape was shredded and short, I couldn’t fly with it. The suit of souls was the only thing holding my body together, I couldn’t use it for anything else. My grappling gun was gone, in its place was Martha’s pistol.

I whipped my broken hand up, knowing my ulna was the foreign thing poking through the flesh of my arm and against the suit’s threads which kept it down. Catching the trident with my unbroken left, I spear it into the glass of the skyscraper, it flailed right back out as the glass shattered. I repeat the process as the ground draws ever near, this time aiming for the metal frames. It found purchase within one, the sudden stop pulled the rope taut and with it my one good arm out its socket.

I caught the surprised stare of a well dressed businessman in a swiveling chair with his arms folded behind his head and the woman on her knees with half her face buried in this groin area. They didn’t even mind the glass shards that pelted them, I was too much of a sight to miss.

I would’ve called out, but my tongue was still growing back, so I tried climbing in instead but like an obese man riding a slim hooker, my weight was too much for the for the frame to hold, it groaned, twisted and snapped, I jumped and caught the edge but blood soaked gloves and a broken arm meant my slick grip was useless, I slipped right off it.

Hahaha! Fuck me sideways.

My back met the cement and fell in love, blood—of which I barely had any left— spurt through the various tears and breaks in my body. All I could smell was a dull rusty scent, that was when I could even breathe through the nose. The darkening skies occupied my sight, on each cloud was a list of reasons I couldn’t die here and now. But maybe I could sleep for just five minutes. Just five minutes, my lead filled eyelids begged.

People gathered around me, pointing, shouting and whispering—none had the good sense to call 911 or leave me alone to sleep and regain my breath in peace. Good thing the fall popped my shoulder back in. I sat up like the reanimated corpse I appeared to be. I affixed the lasso to my belt and used the trident as a makeshift crutch.

“Hey, you’re hurt! Someone call a fucking ambulance!” A young, dark skinned man who breached the crowd offered me aid. “Fucking Gothamites.” He muttered, shaking his head and dialing the authorities on his phone.

Ah, tis but a scratch my good sir.

I pushed him away, noiselessly thanked him for his efforts and limped through the gasps, taunts and fake show of concern layered over fascination. Smoothly swiping the phone off a rather slow looking, red headed lady who kept staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

I must have executed the sorriest disappearing act in all of existence as I threw some smoke pellets and hobbled my way into a dark alley, hiding with my back to a dumpster.

Recalling that I did indeed have a grappling gun which I had underutilized and entirely forgotten about. Fuck me. I felt around my belt, and slapped myself, remembering that I handed the tool to Thomas and took one of his guns in its place.

That’s what sentimentality gets you. I learned the hard way.

I dialed a number, one I had inherited from my memories of various Batmen.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

“Hello?”

“…” My tongue was yet to fully regenerate and my mouth was wrapped up by the suit of souls’—which I decided to just term the Cloak from now on, choosing to ration my words and thoughts.

I began tapping the keypad, sending a message in Morse code I hoped was obvious to the listener.

Beep! They hung up without so much an answer.

I laughed so hard my body shook, so hard I cried. With blood on the screen I dialed the number again, this time with the video on.

“Who might you be?" said the aged Brit on the other side, visibly unimpressed. I pried off the sticky cowl, loosened the Cloak’s tendrils and looked at him. “Master Bruce?!” He gasped at my blood caked face. Surprise, confusion and caution were etched across his features.

‘Help me’ I shakily signaled in sign language, offering a tired smile, knowing he’d track my location if even to confirm just why I looked like his employer/adopted son. My hand fell to the side, the phone slipped out my grip. I was done, I truly was done at this point. Once my body registered this as being a safe enough spot to sleep, it demanded that I do, alertness be damned.

“Master Bruce!” Alfred cried from the phone over and over, his voice echoing into the distance as I slumped into temporary oblivion.

“…Bruce?” My tired eyes cracked half open at the voice. That was fast, I looked ahead at the figure who knelt to meet my gaze, “Bruce! Wait, how—why? Oh my God, you’re dying!”

“Tell me something new.” I muttered drunkenly.

It was the red head whose phone I’d borrowed earlier. Even with my eyes open, I was losing vision. If she knew Bruce Wayne then she might have been a friend, even if she was an enemy, at least she’d give me much needed medical attention before torturing me.

Splotches of black ink spread from the corners of my sight, eventually painting it all black, I collapsed into her soft and warm embrace.

*.*.*.*.*