Chapter 32: Batman vs Plant Master
The Bat
Model: Custom Armored Aircraft.
This was the bomber variant of the Batplane. Though it had lost some of its stealth capabilities, it now carried an overwhelming payload of napalm, herbicides, and energy weapons.
Alfred Pennyworth sat alone in the cockpit.
In his hand, a photo.
His eyes lingered on it — Thomas and Martha Wayne on the sunlit grass of Robinson Park. A young Bruce lay smiling in front of them, arms spread wide. His parents squatted beside him with quiet joy.
Alfred stood at a distance, watching.
He still remembered the sound of Bruce's excited voice that day, calling to him:
"Alfred! Are the chocolate pies and sandwiches ready? "
"Ding ding ding... Batman calling Penny-One."
(Note: Penny-one is Alfred's code name while his daughter Julia Pennyworth is Penny-two)
Penny-One. The call sign snapped Alfred out of memory.
He sat up straighter and pulled the microphone closer.
"Received, Batman."
"What can I do for you, Sir?"
The voice was colder than memory.
"Are the M77 napalm bombs, powerful herbicides, and cluster ammunitions ready?"
Alfred fell into a daze again. That question — so familiar, yet so terrifying.
"Penny-One?"
Alfred snapped back.
"...It's ready, sir. Always ready."
His voice was calm. Quiet. Willing.
"As long as you give the order, I can drop them all."
"..."
Alfred sat still, lost in the weight of memory.
He could hear him, even now:
"Alfred...Alfred, Are the chocolate pie and chicken sandwiches ready?"
Alfred smiled faintly. His lips trembled.
"All ready, young master. Hot and waiting. Just say the word, and it's yours."
"Wow, that's great! Thank you, Alfred---"
And then Bruce's present voice, heavy with burden bought him to the present:
"I don't want the worst to happen. But we need to be prepared. Thank you for everything."
"It's nothing. This is what I should do, Batman..."
What I've always done... little Bruce.
His eyes flicked to the red launch button.
No matter the cost, he thought — better ruined lamd and death than Bruce coming home covered in blood.
---
Below the clouds, on the battlefield—
Bruce's face was grim.
So this was it? He had gone to absurd lengths to find Harley Quinn, certain she could change Poison Ivy's mind. With her, and his own mercenaries, victory should have been easy.
Unexpectedly, Poison Ivy's powers had outstripped all expectations. She had nearly crushed the enemy's control over the Green — but she was too reckless and walked straight into Woodrue's trap range and got taken out by a devastating punch.
Now Harley was at her side, trying to wake her up.
Ivy's body — for all her strength — was still human. Just like most of the DC Universe's magicians, her body was the weak link.
The Joker once nearly drowned Zatanna in a water tank before she could say a single spell. That was the reality of magic users of this world — powerful, yet fragile.
"Pamela! Are you okay?" Bruce knelt beside her.
Bruce admitted part of him — a foolish part — had hoped that the Alfred Protocol would activate, that this moment would trigger some god-tier version of Batman from a parallel universe arriving to save the day.
That something would break through this situation and end the nightmare.
But unfortunately reality isnt a fantasy and nothing happened.
'Pamela... you idiot.'
Across the field, the Plant Master was rambling over Ivy's unconscious body.
Tim leaned close and whispered, "Batman... should I call the Ventriloquist?"
"No." Bruce's voice was cold.
"Not yet. We haven't hit the worst...yet."
He added, quieter, "Get the protective suits. Now."
Tim's eyes widened. That herbicide was highly toxic — to both plant and humans alike — and Bruce clearly had no time to wear armor himself.
"What about you, Batman? And what about the Plant master." Tim asked.
"I'll take care of the Plant Master."
"You won't have time—"
"I'll help." The Cheshire Cat stepped forward, gripping her blade.
Behind her, Dog Welder hobbled up, limbs crooked like twisted metal. He should be dead but he was still moving, normally.
Deadshot eyed the Dog welder warily. "That's... not right. How is he still moving?"
"Anyone have water?!" Harley shouted, holding Ivy. "She needs water!"
"Get the suits on, now!" Count Vertigo snapped. "Or we will all be dead!"
"Do you think I don't exist? Batman" Jason Woodrue's voice bellowed from the trees, the Green boiling around him. "Do you think your dark and dirty schemes can hide from the Green?!"
Batman didn't answer.
He just exhaled.
"Don't worry about me, Tim. Put the suits on. All of you."
Batman injected the Man-Bat serum again.
His spine cracked, stretching grotesquely. Veins bulged. Skin tore open to make room for leathery wings. His face lengthened into a snout of snarling bone and sinew and with this the Beast returned.
The forest fell silent.
Dust hung motionless in the air.
---
"It's no use, Batman!" Woodrue screamed, his voice carried by the wind. "The Green is all around us. This is my world now!"
The Beast growled.
"Your world—" he snarled, "—burns just like mine."
Their eyes met. One pair, vertical and feral. The other, golden and monstrous.
"CHIIIIIIIIII!"
The beast let out a screech, and pounched at Woodrue — his fangs bared, shockwaves rippling behind him.
BOOM!
Woodrue reacted fast—his arms outstretched, summoning a wall of thorned vines.
But the Beast slammed into it headfirst, tearing through layers of wood and thorn with monstrous force. Shards of bark and vine exploded outward like shrapnel.
Woodrue grunted as he was lifted and slammed through a massive tree, the trunk snapping in half, raining splinters and leaves.
The Green monster retaliated—WHIP!
A storm of vines erupted from the soil, coiling around the Beast's limbs. Razor-thorns trying to dug deep into his flesh and draw blood, but all it gave was scratches he only snarled, stretching his wings wide—
SNAP!
He ripped free, muscles pulsing, wings flaring like torn flags.
Woodrue gritted his teeth. "You think rage will save you?!"
He drove a fist into the Beast's chest — WHAM!
Batman was sent flying backwards, skidding across dirt and moss, wings crumpling against trees, rocks and bone. He coughed blood.
Bruce realized it — another tuber. Woodrue had juiced himself again.
---
From the tree canopy, Woodrue emerged, taller now. Bark covered his torso like armor, eyes glowing brighter. Steam hissed from his breath. The Green was feeding him.
The Plant Master turned, eyes narrowing.
Deadshot. Count Vertigo. The Cheshire Cat. All suited up in toxin-resistant gear.
Even Dogwelder stood still—head tilted—wearing a dog shaped mask that didn't belong to him..
His eyes narrowed.
"What are you planning...? Don't tell me..."
From the mud, Bruce's voice roared:
"PENNY-ONE!"
"START."
(Note: This is pre crisis version of Julia Pennyworth who is a Photojournalist and not some CIA of M17 agent. She helped batman on numerous occasions before while substituting for Alfred. Now works to help the Teen Titans. And yeah Teen titans formed before Justice league.)