Chapter 52

Deep within the Batcave, Batman sat back in his chair, staring at the blank screen in front of him.

Many people thought they understood Batman. But in truth, most only knew fragments—versions of him pieced together from comics, cartoons, LEGO figures, and movies. 

The multiverse had countless Batmen, each shaped by different circumstances, but at their core, they were all the same.

It all traced back to a single defining moment. The death of his parents.

There was something else people often overlooked about Batman… He was human. And like any human, he carried trauma.

The weight of his parents' deaths had never truly left him—because deep down, no matter how much time had passed… he still blamed himself.

Fighting crime. Locking criminals behind bars. Most people didn't realize it, but that was his way of channeling his grief.

Batman was insane. And yet, people tended to overlook that. He wasn't Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne was a mask—a carefully crafted illusion.

In truth, Bruce Wayne might as well have died the same night his parents did, leaving behind nothing but a broken, traumatized child filled with rage and grief.

Batman understood why Ashborn wanted to push him toward therapy. But Batman wasn't someone who could ever have a normal mental state. Not like everyone else.

The Joker was right. They were alike. No sane man could ever hope to be Batman. Because to be Batman meant you weren't right in the head.

The only difference between him and the Joker was the side they fought for. Batman stood with the good guys, while the Joker spent every waking moment trying to push him over the edge.

Batman couldn't be allowed to kill. Because if he did… who could stop him?

He took a deep breath before rising from his chair. The first step was putting Ashborn's plan into motion. If he faked his death before the Joker… would the Joker truly disappear? It was something Batman had to do. Because despite everything, he didn't just want to stop the Joker. He wanted to save him.

It was weird, wasn't it? Batman wanted to save someone like the Joker. And that was something Ashborn would never understand about these so-called heroes.

He even recalled a scene he had watched in his past life—Batman risking his own life to save the Joker. Ashborn got the argument behind refusing to kill. He understood the principle of it. But why go that far?

Why would Batman do something so foolish? Ashborn wanted to change that mindset. Sure, they could put their lives on the line for innocent people. That made sense. But why the Joker? Why couldn't they be more like the movie version of Batman—just jump off the train and let the villain die?

Oh. Ashborn knew Batman would try to save the Joker. That was why he had given Batman the perfect way to do it—one that ensured the Joker would never return.

And now, with Batman in possession of Iron Man-level armor, everything was in place. Batman wouldn't have to be Batman anymore. Instead, he would become the symbol others looked up to—someone stepping in to carry on Batman's legacy, rather than being trapped in it.

Ashborn's vision for Batman was simple. A Batman who wasn't the other side of the Joker. A Batman who wasn't just a hero fueled by trauma. But a Batman more like the one from The Brave and the Bold.

Ashborn didn't want the unrealistic Batman—the one who could somehow defeat Superman.

That was stupid.

Even with prep time, even if you ignored everything else, Superman was just too fast. If he was actually trying, Batman would never truly stand a chance.

Meanwhile, The Brave and the Bold version of Batman felt far more realistic to Ashborn.

That Batman wasn't some brooding force of endless darkness—he was still human. A man who fought crime but didn't lose himself to it.

And right now, the Justice League didn't need more darkness. They had Ashborn for that.

"I'm heading to the store to buy a phone. You wanna come?" Ashborn called out to Ember, who was in her room.

There was a brief pause before Ember finally emerged, nodding. "Might as well. I wanna see if there's anything actually worth buying."

As they walked, Ember lazily twirled the card between her fingers. "So… how likely do you think Batman is to go through with your plan to fake his death?"

"100%." Ashborn said without hesitation. "Wonder Woman has no problem killing. So even if I don't act, she—or someone else I've given the green light to will."

He glanced at Ember. "Batman knows how many people want the clown dead. He's just the only one willing to put his life on the line to save him. Hell, I don't even think Superman would go that far."

Ashborn smirked. "Batman will do exactly as I said. He'll fake his death. And if the Joker doesn't disappear? That'll be his way of trying to undermine me—to show everyone that I don't know what I'm talking about."

"But once my plan is proven to work," Ashborn continued, "Batman will have no choice but to fall in line. Bit by bit, I'll make him face his trauma and conquer it. And in the end… I'll create the perfect Batman."

Ember hummed, spinning the card between her fingers. "I'm a little disappointed…" she mused.

Ashborn raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Why not just separate Batman and Bruce Wayne?" she asked lazily. "Make Batman his own entity and have him become your shadow. For a normal human, Batman is far more impressive than that one guy with a shield back home."

Ashborn paused. He hadn't considered that.

"It'd be interesting to see a fight between Iron Man and Batman," Ember mused. "From what I've seen of Batman's past, he'd hack into the suit or implant a virus—he'd win through preparation rather than direct combat. He's already secretly planted a virus in Cyborg… he's dangerous to be around."

Ashborn raised an eyebrow, considering that. That fight would be one hell of a fight to watch.

"There are infinite evil Batmen out there," he muttered, his tone shifting. "Which reminds me of the whole flaw in the Batman Who Laughs storyline."

Ember raised an eyebrow as Ashborn sighed in irritation.

"If there's a Bruce Wayne out there recreating the experiment that gave Dr. Manhattan his powers… then wouldn't that mean there are infinite versions of people across the multiverse doing the exact same thing?"

The thought annoyed him. The logic of it all was just… messy.

If that was so, then shouldn't there be countless versions of the Batman Who Laughs?

Superman Who Laughs? Wonder Woman Who Laughs?

With infinite possibilities, that would mean everything that could happen is happening—an infinite number of times, across an infinite number of realities.

Ashborn hated that logic.

He preferred it when Dr. Manhattan existed outside the multiverse—when he came from somewhere else, making him a singular being. There was supposed to be only one Dr. Manhattan. There should always be just one.

But now? Now, the possibility of there being infinite…

"Fuck." Ashborn's face paled as the horrifying thought of an infinite number of Dr. Manhattans running loose across the multiverse sank in.

But he quickly shook his head. No. That was too ridiculous. Surely something that wild wouldn't actually happen… right?

"Wait…" Ashborn turned to Ember, his mind shifting gears. "If I can gain new power… wouldn't that also mean I could recover my old strength faster?"

Ember barely spared him a glance. "That storm you fought didn't erase your recovery—it just negated it temporarily with its attacks," she said with a shrug. "It couldn't completely stop you from regaining your strength."

She tilted her head, considering it. "I'd say you've got about a billion years before you return to peak power. But the stronger you get in the meantime, the faster it'll happen."

"I'd recommend drawing power from this omniverse's source," Ember said lazily. "That's what I've been doing. I didn't just recover my strength—I surpassed it."

Ashborn blinked at her. She was telling him this now?

Meanwhile, across the multiverse… In one universe, a man who looked exactly like Clark Kent stood atop a slab of kryptonite, preparing to initiate a radioactive particle test.

In another, Deathstroke stood in a similar setup, moments away from conducting the exact same experiment.

In yet another, Lex Luthor was mere seconds from replicating the experiment that had once transformed Dr. Manhattan.

And the list went on. Infinite variations of different people, all unknowingly reaching toward the same impossible power…

Elsewhere… A Black Lantern Ring gleamed ominously on the decayed hand of a figure barely clinging to existence. His flesh had rotted away, revealing the remnants of what was once a face.

In his grip, a Death Scythe pulsed with an unnatural energy.

But his focus was on the fragment floating before him—an ever-changing weapon, shifting between forms, radiating an aura of pure darkness.

Slowly, he reached out. The moment his fingers grasped the broken weapon, an unearthly cry tore from his throat as raw power surged through him.

Darkness swarmed around him, crawling over his body like living shadows, forming a thick, unbreakable shell.

A cocoon. A pure black egg pulsed where he once stood, radiating with terrifying energy.

Inside, he slept… waiting. Waiting to hatch—far stronger than ever before.