Chapter 5

Batwoman reacted instantly. She stepped back, raised one arm to block the strike, the heat from the rod searing against her gauntlet. With her other hand, she landed a solid punch across his face.

Omen barely flinched. Instead, he took the hit and responded with a powerful kick to her midsection, sending Batwoman stumbling backward.

Batwoman's eyes narrowed. She hadn't expected Omen to just take the punch without reaction. But then again, why would he flinch? After all the times he'd killed himself, what was one more hit to the face?

She stepped forward, calm and focused. Omen lunged again, swinging the rod with speed and aggression—but Batwoman was faster. She slipped past the attack with ease, her movements sharp and precise.

In a blur, she countered. Omen tried to react, but he was just a step too slow. Her foot connected with his stomach in a brutal kick, launching him across the room and into the wall with a crash.

"Y-You're strong," Omen muttered, coughing as he lay sprawled on the floor. The air had been knocked clean from his lungs, but he still managed a breathless grin.

He had gotten stronger since the Joker killed him, stronger than most average women. But Batwoman? She was the peak of human capability.

Batwoman advanced toward Omen, her expression focused, but conflicted. She was holding back.

Even as her fists struck with precision, she restrained herself. At the end of the day, Omen was still a man, and despite everything, she had a soft spot for him. She could see it in his eyes, buried beneath the madness: the pain, the fear, the part of him that didn't want any of this.

And deep down, she knew… if she had taken the Joker's venom, she might not have resisted it as well as he had.

"Stand down," she ordered firmly. But Omen didn't listen.

He charged forward, taking blow after blow. Her strikes landed, rib, jaw, shoulder, but he didn't stop. He didn't even flinch. Blood ran down his face, but he kept moving like he couldn't feel a thing. She caught him in an armlock, twisting hard.

Snap.

His arm dislocated with a sickening crack. Still, he tore himself free, no scream, no hesitation, and swung the limp, broken limb like a whip, as if it were nothing more than a tool.

The room was in ruins—shattered furniture, cracked walls, broken glass scattered across the floor. Chaos trailed behind every step of their brutal clash.

Then Batwoman's fist connected hard with Omen's jaw, sending him crashing backward. He landed atop the jagged remains of the shattered window.

Glass crunched beneath him.

"No!" Batwoman cried out, rushing to his side. She rolled him onto his back and immediately saw the damage—his wrist had been slashed by a shard of glass, and blood was gushing out in violent pulses.

Without hesitation, she moved to stop the bleeding, pressing down firmly. But Omen weakly pushed her hand away. And through the pain, he gave her a soft, almost peaceful smile. As if this was exactly how he wanted things to end.

"Let me die," Omen whispered, his voice trembling, a weak smile on his face. "And hopefully… this time, I stay dead."

Batwoman didn't respond. Instead, she grabbed his dislocated arm and, without hesitation, began setting it back into place.

"Please… let me die," he murmured again, weaker now. "But if I can't… erase me." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her chest. Vulnerable. Broken.

Batwoman froze. For a moment, she thought about it, about letting go. About granting him peace. But then she tightened her grip on his arm and pressed hard against the wound, halting the bleeding.

"No," she said, firm. Omen blinked up at her, eyes glassy, barely holding on.

"Why?" he asked, barely above a breath.

"Because if you die now," Batwoman said softly, her voice steady, "then this… this is all you'll ever be. But as long as you live, there's still hope for Omen to become something more than a monster."

Omen looked up at her, eyes filled with confusion and pain.

"You're so stupid…" he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest, saddest smile.

Omen let out a shaky breath, then quietly leaned forward, resting his head against her chest, exhausted and broken.

"I don't want to be a lab rat," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I know that's what I deserve… but still…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Batwoman said nothing, only held him tighter.

"I'll make sure you get the help you need," Batwoman whispered, wrapping her arm gently around Omen's head, holding him close. "I promise."

But before Omen could respond… Bang!

The door exploded open with a loud crash, the hinges snapping as it slammed against the wall.

"He doesn't need help!" a familiar, gleefully twisted voice cackled. The Joker stood in the doorway, grinning widely, a gun in hand, and a group of armed thugs at her back.

"Let go of the kid, Bats!" she shouted, eyes lighting up with excitement the moment they landed on Omen. Like she'd just found her favorite toy.

Batwoman instinctively moved to shield Omen. But to her shock, he shielded her. In a sudden burst of strength, Omen grabbed her and hurled her backward through the shattered window.

"No!" Batwoman's reflexes kicked in mid-air. She pulled out her grappling gun and fired, the line catching just in time to break her fall. She swung outward, heart pounding, struggling to recover. Above her, at the window, Omen stood swaying in the broken frame.

"Hopefully… this is the end," he said with a weak smile, eyes locking with hers one last time.

"OMEN!" Batwoman shouted, scrambling to swing back toward the building. But she was too far. And too slow.

Omen looked down at her, eyes soft, full of pain—and gratitude. Then he stepped forward. And let himself fall.

"No!" the Joker screamed, lunging forward.

At the very last second, she managed to grab Omen's leg, her gloved fingers tightening in desperation. "Help me!" she shouted to her crew.

Several of her female henchmen rushed forward, grabbing onto her and trying to pull Omen back inside. Even Batwoman, stunned by what she was witnessing, stepped in without hesitation, trying to save the very person she was just holding in her arms.

But it was too late. Omen's body was limp. He was already gone.

"Not again!" the Joker cried, her voice cracking as she turned her face to the sky, screaming in anguish.

Anyone watching might've assumed this was just another one of her theatrics. But Batwoman could see it, the rawness in her eyes, the pain twisting her face.

Because how would you feel if you saw a cute, girl working at a fast food restaurant—someone who, in that brief moment, mirrored your own chaos? And now, that reflection was gone.

How would you feel if your stupid friend ruined your chance to get the hot girl's number? How would you feel if, just two days later, you found out that the hot girl was looking for you?

That's what the Joker was going through. The hot guy she had a crush on at first sight, who she really wanted, had just slipped through her fingers. And this time, it wasn't a game. He had wanted her too. He had come for her.

And then he died… again.

The Joker stood in silence for a moment, visibly disappointed. But what was gone… was gone. With a shrug, she turned and walked away, her usual spring missing from her step.

Batwoman watched her leave, standing still in the chaos that remained. She wanted to stop her. But she didn't. She didn't want the Joker to see what might happen next.

Quietly, Batwoman moved through the room and untied the woman Omen had left restrained. She gave her a sharp look.

"Go. Now." The woman didn't ask questions. And once she was gone, Batwoman vanished into the shadows, waiting… watching. Because she wasn't entirely convinced this was the end.