Bruce Wayne was not born to be a legend.
He was born wounded.
Fractured.
Carrying on his back a silence that no one could hear.
It wasn't fear that shaped Bruce.
That's what he did with fear.
While othersburied it, he wore it like armor.
While the trauma paralyzed, he transformed it into discipline.
While the world cried out for help, he chose silence.
And in that silence, he built a legacy.
Bruce never needed glory.
He never wanted applause.
He didn't believe in happy endings.
Just work to be done.
While heroes flew above the clouds, he walked alone in the shadows.
As the gods threw lightning, he bled.
And yet, he went.
He always went.
Because Bruce didn't want to win.
He wanted to stop.
Make it stop.
To break the cycle of pain that began in that alley, in that shot, in that second that turned a child into a ghost.
And maybe, deep down, he knew it would never be enough.
But he did it anyway.
Because the world needs hope,
but also needed someone to stay awake when everyone else is asleep.
Someone who faces the worst, not to be worshipped,
but so that others don't have to see it.
That was Bruce Wayne.
Not Batman.
Not the myth.
The man.
Stubborn.
Hard.
Imperfect.
But unbreakable.
No, because he didn't feel pain.
But because he felt everything… and yet he continued.
But Bruce never knew.
He never knew that the moment he fell…
…something in the world gave way.
It wasn't just the death of one man.
It was the breaking of an invisible axis, something no one noticed until it was no longer there.
Hope did not explode with him.
It emptied herself slowly.
It disappeared from the alleys, from the stations, from the lit windows at night.
It died in the eyes of those who followed him, and finally, no one looked at the sky anymore.
Because now they knew:
not even he was eternal.
The legacy that seemed immortal…
…disintegrated into silent ruins.
Without Bruce, the days became longer.
The nights, more cruel.
The criminals started walking upright again.
The allies hesitated.
And the symbols, once sacred, became memories.
Some tried to continue.
They put on the cloak.
They wielded the symbol.
But it wasn't him.
Because Bruce wasn't just technique, nor just intellect.
It was the limit.
The point where the line was drawn and the world was contained.
Without him…
…that line has been crossed.
And the world followed, of course.
But continued without direction. Without brakes. Without light.
Those who survived wondered, at night, in silence:
"What if he was here?"
But he wasn't.
And maybe never would be again.
Because sometimes, not even the biggest ones can resist forever.
And when they fall…
…the universe forgets how to get up.
----
Bruce Wayne was an unshakable man most of the time, few things could surprise or shock him.
He'd dealt with a lot in his life, some of it downright bizarre. His town was weird, his world even weirder…
And the universe? A hole of weirdness.
Bruce fought daily with a humanoid crocodile over 7 feet tall, a man made of clay who could transform into anyone, a woman capable of controlling plants, a humanoid bat, and a clown.
Believe it or not, this was just a fraction of Gotham City's total number of supervillains and psychopathic criminals. And the rest of the world was just as crazy.
Meta Humans.
Aliens.
Monsters.
Gods.
Cosmic Beings.
It was a huge mix of chaos and madness. But where he was at the moment, It could have taken the podium.
Bruce was in some sort of cosmic courtroom, sitting at a table that looked eerily similar to the Justice League's round table meeting.
Sitting beside him around the table were alternate versions of himself. Each had their own Batman costume, all similar yet different.
Bruce in his universe had never directly dealt with issues involving the Multiverse, so this was all a surprise to him.
Meeting a cosmic version of Hal Jordan, a "White Lantern," whatever that was, was shocking enough for Bruce.
But other versions of himself? Not even in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that.
One thing Bruce quickly noticed was how unfazed these other "hims" were by the situation. Moreover, whether through instinct or knowledge, Bruce could sense that these other versions of himself could defeat him in an instant.
They were significantly more experienced than he was.
And if all that wasn't enough, there were several cosmic beings above them, some familiar and some not.
Each one more insane than the last. When they appeared, they introduced themselves and then proceeded to discuss something that was impossible to hear.
----
The first one came silently, like a mistake in reality.
On the distorted horizon of that dimension outside of time, where even logic seemed to falter, a small figure floated in the void, but its presence was like a shard cutting through the fabric of existence. A tiny being, but one that could not be ignored.
There was no telling where he came from; he simply was. As if the very concept of "Batman" had dreamed him up, and the universe had decided he was real enough to exist.
Bat-Mite stood just over three feet tall, but he was no joke. There was something unsettling about him. His eyes glowed pure white, pupil-less, reflecting not light but obsession. An intense light, almost uncomfortable to look into, like that of a fan contemplating divinity itself.
The costume he wore imitated the classic Batman uniform, but in a... incorrect way.
The mask was stiffer, almost skin-tight, with slightly exaggerated, backward-curving ears. The lines were imperfect, and the bat symbol on the chest was crooked, as if drawn with childish yet passionate reverence.
The cloak was too long for his body, trailing behind him as if made from fragments of space itself. It seemed to float in a lag, moving independently of the wind, and sometimes it flickered like an unstable hologram.
The gloves and boots had strange stitching, as if they had been molded by someone who knew the original but didn't understand its limitations. A perfect cosplay, made by an insane god.
And yet… there was something majestic about him. As if, somehow, that little creature was an essential part of the myth. As if Batman had left such a powerful shadow on existence that even cosmic entities needed an avatar to worship him.
His voice, when it spoke, was high-pitched, but layered, as if a hundred versions of him were speaking at once, some childish, some old, some insane.
His energy made the air tremble. It wasn't magic, nor technology, nor mutation. It was pure fanaticism elevated to the level of cosmic force. He didn't obey the rules of physics.
The laws of the universe bent to his presence because he refused to accept them.
Bat-Mite didn't walk. He hovered, as if he didn't even remember how feet touched the ground.
And when he looked at Bruce, his white eyes burned with an emotion impossible to name, veneration, longing, ecstasy, and something else... something not even Bruce could comprehend.
----
The next one didn't arrive.
She was always there.
In the void where past, present, and future collide like cosmic dust, she hovered over reality like a constant note in a song only the gods could hear. Her presence was marked not by light or sound, but by sensation, as if the universe breathed differently when she became conscious.
Her skin was blue, yes, but not the blue of sky or sea. It was the blue of absolute emptiness, the hue of silence between galaxies. It shone softly, like a distant sun shrouded in mist.
Her body was slender, feminine, but without exaggerated features. There was no vanity there, just essential form. Every line, every curve, seemed to have been shaped by universal symmetry itself.
The eyes were completely white, deep, empty, and yet they seemed to contain every star that had ever existed. Looking into them for too long was like being stared at by all of time at once.
She wore no clothes, but there was no vulgarity in her nudity. Around her swirled a living aura, a membrane of translucent energy that conformed to her form like floating veils of condensed time. In some versions of time, she wore a seamless cloak of liquid light. In others, nothing but her gleaming body. And in all of them... she was perfect.
On her forehead glowed the symbol of the hydrogen atom, its electrons slowly orbiting, as a constant reminder: she was not just consciousness, she was science made flesh, she was time made form.
Being near her was like being faced with the truth. Words seemed superfluous, the space around her bent, as if the laws of physics were mere suggestions. Sound ceased, gravity faltered, and the perception of time shattered like broken glass.
She didn't walk. She just moved, with inhuman grace, each gesture measured with timeless precision. And as she moved, reality whispered around her, strings of time trembled, and galaxies flickered as if responding to her attention.
His voice was a contradiction: soft and emotionless, yet charged with a calm so absolute it bordered on destruction. It was the voice of one who had seen the end of all things… and was unmoved.
When Bruce first saw her...
He didn't know what she was.
But instinctively, he knew she was not like the gods, monsters, or any entity he had met before.
She was the space between chaos and order.
The silence between the last breath and the first memory.
And when she spoke his name, the universe around her obeyed, as if hearing Bruce Wayne being called by her was a cosmic event recorded in the foundations of eternity.
----
He came down with the dawn of a thousand suns.
No light preceded him, because he was the light.
No cosmic trumpet announced his arrival, for silence fell in respect as he approached.
In the courtroom, where the greatest forces of the multiverse converged, even the strings of time themselves seemed to bow in reverence. For he had returned.
And with it came the weight of ages.
Superman One Million didn't look like a man.
He looked like a concept carved from living matter.
His body was of a perfection beyond biology.
His skin radiated a steady, solar gold, not metallic, but organic, as if every cell carried the energy of an ancient star. There was warmth in his presence, but also balance, as if the life around him flourished simply by existing within reach of his aura.
His uniform was a part of him. The symbol on his chest, the eternal "S" of hope, was made of pure white sunlight, bound by ever-moving golden lines, like living circuits. It pulsed slowly, like a stellar heart.
The cloak was made of crystallized solar plasma, rippling even where there was no wind. It flowed like fabric, but to the touch, it revealed itself to be condensed energy.
Red and gold eyes that saw more than light, they saw intention, possibility, truth. And yet, they never lost their humanity.
His hair was black, but with silvery highlights that shimmered with every step, as if each strand carried memories of the time he spent isolated within the Sun.
When he stepped into the courtroom, realities fell silent.
The trembling timelines stopped vibrating. Warring universes calmed, alternate realities stayed at bay.
Superman One Million was no longer just a physical being, he was a cosmic constant.
It was the symbol of what it should be.
He had spent 15 millennia inside the Sun, meditating, absorbing knowledge, transcending Clark Kent himself until there was no longer the man left... only the ideal.
And when he returned, he carried the power of an empire of stars.
But even so, when he approached, he did not impose.
He inspired.
Gravity obeyed him, but he floated gently. Each step on the celestial soil was not a command, but an invitation.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was low, deep, vibrant, like gentle thunder piercing eternity.
He didn't need to shout. The universe listened.
The other entities knew: this was no ordinary Superman.
It was the last and greatest of all.
The fusion of Kal-El's virtues with the knowledge of extinct civilizations.
The soul of Krypton honed by millennia of solar silence.
The body forged under stellar pressure.
And the heart... the same heart that once loved Lois Lane and believed that good could win.
When Bruce saw him, for an instant, the primal fear he had always carried disappeared.
Not because he was safe.
But because, faced with that being, he remembered why he fought.
And for the first time since he died… Bruce Wayne felt small,
But not humiliated.
Only human, faced with something greater than any vigilante could dream of.
----
Under the threads of fate, the hand of God descended.
Within the dark folds of the courtroom, where even the concepts of time and identity tremble, a black cloak tore through the veil of reality, advancing with the inevitable slowness of a sentence. And when that figure emerged, the threads of fate trembled as if they had been violently tugged.
Martha Wayne.
But not Thomas's wife.
Not the mother who fell in Crime Alley.
What materialized before them was something else. Something greater. Something beyond.
She was Batwoman, from a forgotten universe, where grief didn't destroy her, it transformed her.
And beyond the legend, beyond the vengeance… she became the Spectre.
Her silhouette was shrouded in a flowing black cloak, but the fabric seemed woven from the night itself. There were no sharp edges, just liquid shadows seeping through, as if the darkness was alive, feeding on her presence.
Batwoman's face, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden by her conical mask, was a mosaic of expressions, sometimes maternal, sometimes implacable. A face that loved, suffered, and judged.
The eyes, glowing a spectral green, reflected no light; they reflected guilt, sin, intent. Looking directly into them brought back memories of past mistakes and failures, as if the soul feared being weighed down.
In some passages of time, her costume resembled Batwoman's: black, with the green symbol on the chest, but deformed, almost corroded by the ethereal energy that now composed her.
In others, her form was abstract, a woman made of green smoke, silent lightning, and fragments of memories.
The hands, when visible, were pale, marked by cracks of emerald light, as if a divine fury burned within, ready to escape.
She didn't speak. At least, not like the others. As she approached, the voices stopped. The echoes fell silent. And even that courtroom, a place beyond reason, seemed to hold its breath.
If she wanted to be heard, reality spoke for her.
Green flames danced around her, silent, cold, yet sharp. Fragments of memories, forgotten judgments, unexpiated crimes, broken promises, floated like ash in her aura.
Her presence made even the most powerful beings there stand in awe.
She was Justice without appeal. The wounded mother. The voice of silence.
She did not punish for pleasure.
She didn't seek chaos.
She judged.
And when the verdict was given, not even the gods escaped.
She was impartial as death.
Cold as forgotten justice.
And yet, there were, in the most hidden folds of her essence, traces of love, of silent compassion.
She was not the end.
She was the final answer.
When Bruce saw her...
His chest tightened.
Not out of fear.
Of something ancestral.
Because even though she is a stranger from another world, from another timeline…
her eyes were still those of a mother.
And for a brief moment, Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight, felt like a son again.
----
Now, Hal Jordan, The Supreme White Lantern, Emissary of Life.
The one who accompanied Bruce to that cosmic place.
He came not with an explosion.
But with rebirth.
In that space, a new light emerged, white, pure, incomprehensible, but not cold. It was the glow of the first breath, the spark that precedes thought.
It was life in its primordial form.
And in the center of that… Hal Jordan.
Hal was no longer the same man who wielded the green ring of will.
His form had been purified, sublimated.
The body was tall, perfectly proportioned, radiating an intense white light, but never blinding, as if human eyes could only see what it allowed.
The uniform was a fusion of all the colors of the emotional spectrum, condensed into a vivid silvery white. The emblem on the chest, a circle with rays of light radiating out in all directions, pulsed like a cosmic heart.
The arms seemed carved from crystal, through which veins of multicolored energy ran.
The legs and torso resembled ceremonial armor, but made of solid light, an armor that protected not only the body, but the very concept of "existence."
The eyes had no irises or pupils. They were two white suns, and looking into them, one felt the weight of eternity and the lightness of birth.
On his back, a long band of energy floated like a cape, but it expanded in moments of power, taking on abstract shapes, galaxies, flowers, DNA spirals, voices.
It was the very expression of life dancing around him.
Being near Hal Jordan, now a White Lantern, was like breathing deeper, feeling your blood flow faster, your thoughts clearing, your memories becoming clearer. He wasn't just an emissary of life, he was its catalyst.
Gravity softened in his presence. The pain lessened. Even time seemed to hesitate, as if it felt respect for someone who dared to return so many times from the impossible.
When he spoke, his voice was firm, warm, yet filled with vibrant echo, as if a thousand versions of him were speaking in unison. His authority was natural, born not of fear, but of the certainty that he would always return to protect what he loved.
He didn't need a ring. The white light was now a part of him. It was in his bones, in his soul, in every step.
As a White Lantern, Hal commanded not only will, but all emotions. He could heal with a touch, soothe a broken mind with a look, or bring back the spark of life to dead worlds.
He was the opposite of entropy.
The remedy against emptiness.
The eternal fire that burns so that everything continues to flourish.
Many called it the Infinite Return.
Others, the Final Guardian.
Some believed he was chosen by Life itself as its incarnation when the White Light, lost among the emotional spectrums, needed a bearer who would not break.
And It chose Hal Jordan.
The man who fell.
The man who was Parallax.
The man who was Specter.
And despite everything… the man who returned.
When he arrived…
Superman One Million smiled in recognition.
Dr. Manhattan tilted her head.
Bat-Mite, in rare silence, floated back.
Martha Wayne, the Spectre, felt the weight of life against the weight of death.
And Bruce…
Bruce just watched.
And he thought:
"It's always him. When everything falls apart, when there's nothing left… Hal Jordan is there to rekindle the flame."
----
Finally, after a long discussion between these eternal entities, the legendary Superman One Million arose.
Every Batman was on high alert, prepared for what was to come from these divine beings.
With an echo echoing through the Multiverse, the voice of a thousand suns began to speak.
"Many believe that time is a line. Others, that time is a river. But for us, those who walk among eternity, time is a field ravaged by storms...
Storms called Crises.
For countless ages, I have watched worlds rise in splendor... and crumble in silence.
I saw entire realities bleed at the hands of madmen with too much power and too little vision.
Each universe, a jewel.
Each death, a scream that echoed through a thousand dimensions.
And no matter how hard we fought... it was always too late.
Then, in a time beyond time, I departed.
I crossed the Fountain Wall.
I traveled through Fractured Eternity.
I entered the Mind of Morpheus and heard the laments of worlds that were never born.
And there it was…
Between the dawn of creation and the last breath of destiny, I found others like me.
Doctor Manhattan, who saw the structure of the universe as a symphony of particles... and felt regret for every discordant note.
Hal Jordan, now a White Lantern, bearer of the spark of life, tired of witnessing civilizations turn to dust for no reason.
Martha Wayne, lost and reborn as the Spectre of Vengeance, whose gaze burns injustices beyond mortal comprehension.
And... Bat-Mite.
A fifth-dimensional being, somewhere between whim and genius, who could destroy the cosmos with a snap of his fingers, but chose to help.
Because, in his immortal and chaotic heart... there still beat admiration for a symbol: Batman.
And together... we erect the Court of Infinity.
A place beyond Creation, between the rhythms of the Multiverse.
There, where justice is not blind, but cosmic.
There, where fate is challenged not with arrogance, but with purpose.
We are not Gods.
We are the echoes of what heroes represent in their purest form.
And when a universe cries out for help…
When a world is about to be erased from the tapestry of existence…
We listen.
And we decided to act.
Not to control destiny.
But to ensure that it continues to exist."
The weight of those words resonated throughout the courtroom, each Batman couldn't help but let out a slight smile.
No matter the power, the universe, or the depth, Clark remained a pillar of hope, always with others in mind.
However, the Bruce who came with Hal, who died sacrificing himself against Superman/Brainiac, couldn't help but frown.
By understanding the function of this court and realizing how different he was from the other Batmans in the place, he connected all the facts.
"This is all about my universe, isn't it?"
Bruce asked coldly, but with evident tension.
Martha Wayne, The Spectre, speaks before the Court of Infinity.
"I watched what happened in your world.
The universe where… The Dark Knight fell… Much sooner than he should have…
And where Superman died with him.
You both fell in a war no one asked for.
Kal-El, a symbol of hope, was corrupted into an avatar of destruction.
Possessed by Brainiac.
And you Bruce, faithful to the end, did what you always did: the impossible.
You sacrificed youself to stop him.
And took Kal with you.
And together, you two died as guardians of a world you could no longer protect.
With your death... the world stopped.
People tried to move on. But how can they move on when day and night disappear at the same time? When courage and hope are ripped from the universe's chest?
Without you, everything fell apart.
The heroes split up.
The alliances were broken.
Faith has been lost.
And the enemies felt it.
Not just the insiders, not just the dictators, twisted gods, monsters and machines.
Other realities, other dimensions, began to touch that fracture.
That world began to shine like a lighthouse…
Not of light, but of weakness.
And Weakness... is an invitation.
An invitation that attracts predators…
And the things, the beings that responded to this invitation, do not wish to govern.
They want to devour.
This universe, Bruce's universe that you see here...
It is doomed to total destruction.
Not for revenge.
Not as punishment.
But why is there no longer a foundation to support it.
And that's why we're here.
This court was created to prevent stories like this from becoming the norm.
To judge.
To intervene.
And, when necessary…
To offer a last chance to those who never had one."
Bruce felt a mixture of despair and relief, despair at what would happen to his universe and relief that this court would bring a solution.
The other Batmans sympathized with the situation, wondering what would become of their universes if they didn't have their successors.
"What will be the solution to save this universe? And what is our role in all of this?"
Batman (DCAU) asked seriously.
Dr. Manhattan stands, her blue eyes serene. Time swirls around her like a river without banks. When she speaks, her voice echoes like the whisper of the universe, calm, infinite, unquestionable.
"Existence is not a thread... it is a tapestry, where each thread is a life. Each knot, a choice. And some threads... shine brighter than others.
Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Knight, fell in a final battle against a corrupted god, a Superman possessed by his brain, not his heart. Both were consumed by the light and darkness they embodied. And with it, the hope of their universe faltered.
But it wasn't the end. Because the end... is never absolute.
In the recesses of the Multiverse, there exist four echoes. Four entire lives. Four Bruce Waynes... each with a soul tempered by pain, duty, and, in the end, understanding.
The first, the Guardian of Tomorrow, the Batman of the 1612 universe (DCAU - Alternative), who aged like a faithful shadow, standing tall even when time tried to bend him. He died silently, in his bed, his heart still alert to justice.
The second, the Relentless Knight, from Earth 1200 (The Batman [2004] - Alternative), who faced chaos incarnated in the Joker for the last time. Poisoned by madness, he chose sacrifice to avoid becoming what he always fought. A gesture of supreme honor.
The third, the Protector of a broken future, of Kingdom Come, who fell not in war, but saving an innocent from a landslide. A final act that summed up a lifetime of redemption.
And the fourth, the old soldier from the 3100 universe (The Dark Knight [Frank Miller] - Alternative), hardened by a cynical world. He fought to the end, defying time and death. And finally, he rested.
Four lives. Four Batmans.
Today, these fragments will be sewn onto the thread of Bruce's soul, which fell in sacrifice. They will not be substitutes. They will not be controllers. They will be echoes. Foundations. Wisdom and legacy. Every memory, every mistake, every victory... will serve as the foundation for his return.
The new Batman will be reborn not only with youth, but with the weight of ages. He will be the perfect synthesis. A symbol forged in sacrifice and duty, tempered by time and redemption.
And so, balance will be restored. The Age of Heroes will be reborn. And that universe, the universe that mourned the loss of its guardian, will have not only a new Dark Knight...
You will have the most complete of all."
Now, every Batman was surprised by the solution that the court of infinity came up with.
The merging of souls was a concept even they couldn't have expected… Reviving was one thing, but having their souls united into a single body? That was insanity.
But maybe it was something insane that a universe needed to save itself.
"I've already done everything I could, everything a mortal could hope to achieve in their time. So if I can keep fighting for what I've always fought for, and in some ways even do better than I did, I have no complaints."
Said the Batman. (The Dark Knight - Frank Miller)
"I was hoping for some kind of eternal rest, but saving an entire universe doesn't sound bad."
Batman (Kingdom Come) replied ironically.
The others also agreed with the situation; after all, each of them was Batman. Given the opportunity, they wouldn't give up fighting, even if it wasn't for their own universe.
The Bruce Wayne of the universe in question could only succinctly thank his other versions.
"So, let's begin."
Superman One Million smiled with hope for the future of this universe.
The stellar void surrounding the courtroom trembled with an ancient and powerful energy. In the center of the immense cosmic chamber, the four souls of the Batmans, fragments of lives lived in distinct eras and realities, floated as shadowy silhouettes, imposing even in their ethereal form. Before them, the restored body of Bruce Wayne, slain against the Brainiac-possessed Superman, lay motionless, sustained by the white energy of Life.
The moment had arrived.
Dr. Manhattan walked away silently as the convergence began.
Superman One Million stepped forward, his calm voice carrying the weight of millions of years:
"Bruce... you are more than flesh and shadow. Today, you will become the sum of the greatest versions of yourself. Remember... courage is not the absence of fear. It is carrying on even when it is present. The universe needs you more than ever."
Hal Jordan, the White Lantern, raised his hand, radiating living light:
"There is no night that can withstand the dawn. Take life with you, Bruce. True justice is served by those who believe in it. And we believe in you."
Bat-Mite, floating with a mischievous grin, winked at the Batmans:
"Four old versions of the Bat merged into one body restored by the highest cosmic union? Heh... this is going to be the best episode ever! See you soon, Bats!"
Martha Wayne, the Spectre, shrouded in her spectral cloak, looked at Bruce with eyes that carried the weight of ages:
"You were the shield between darkness and innocence. Now you will be the beacon that illuminates the end of the night. Do not fear what is to come. You have already been through more than any soul could bear."
Dr. Manhattan, though silent, watched intently, her eyes shining with understanding of what was about to occur. She simply murmured, with an echo impossible to decipher:
"We'll see each other again... sooner than you think."
The four souls began to swirl around Bruce's body like gravitational satellites of pure will. Each emitted a distinct glow, dark blue, metallic gray, scarlet red, and deep black. The fusion had begun.
Energy reverberated throughout the courtroom, every memory, every pain, every triumph of these Batmans being channeled, merged, transcended.
Silence fell over the court.
And then, with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, Bat-Mite muttered:
"Let the next act begin."