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"I have no choice but to do this… okay, Alfred…" Bruce muttered, his hands moving across the computer console with a precision that trembled just slightly at the edges.
Behind him, Alfred hovered like a shadow, his voice calm but strained. "Master Wayne… I am well aware we are at a disadvantage right now. But this could make things worse. You're going in blind. No testing has been done. We don't even know if you'll survive the passage. And if you do… what if what you find there is worse than what we already face?"
Bruce turned, the glow of the monitors reflecting off eyes sunken from sleepless nights. "I don't care, Alfred. People I've cared about… are dead. A son of mine… is dead. I'm running a group of dysfunctional, unorganized rebels—half criminals, half broken heroes. How can I not take this risk?"
Alfred lowered his gaze. "Master Wayne… I don't think Master Dick would have—"
"DON'T, Alfred! NO!" Bruce's voice cracked like a whip across the cavern. His hands slammed against the console. "Don't you dare tell me he wouldn't have wanted me to risk my life! Had I done more, he would still be alive!"
His voice dropped, low and guttural. "I'm a failure, Alfred. Dick is dead. Jason is dead. Tim is dead. Barbara's in a wheelchair. And…" He hesitated, the words burning his throat. "…My own flesh and blood turned on me."
Silence. Even the hum of the Batcomputer felt distant. Alfred simply stood there, hands clasped, eyes heavy with grief he'd been forced to watch accumulate for decades.
Bruce straightened, his decision carved into his face like stone. "I either come back with a solution that can save our world…" He activated the machine—its coils hissed and sparked, the dimensional gate pulsing like a living thing. "…Or I die."
He stared at the shimmering portal. This wasn't a mission. It wasn't a crusade. It was a gamble born from despair.
And without another word, Batman stepped inside.
....
The broadcast played over a hundred million screens at once.
"It's been two months since the formation of the Pantheon, and its reach has already gone global," the anchor declared, calm and practiced. "Jason Anderson has led a series of international operations—seven notorious killers captured outside United States jurisdiction. Ra's al Ghul has been executed; his daughter, Talia al Ghul, was detained after investigators concluded her actions were coerced. The Pantheon warns: any further extreme offenses from her will place her squarely on the kill list.
"Meanwhile, Green Lanterns John Stewart and Hal Jordan—working alongside the Justice League and the Pantheon—neutralized a gigantic mutant threat in Bludhaven. And reports confirm the newest Pantheon recruit, Supergirl, intervened in a hostage situation with the Toyman. Authorities say Toyman held a middle-school class hostage; three children were killed before the takedown. Police reports suggest many more would have died without Supergirl's swift action."
The anchor's controlled cadence couldn't hide the tremor underneath—this was a world shifting under its feet.
Aiden clicked off the television. The screen died to black. Supergirl stood by the window, posture hollowed by the weight of the headlines. Jason watched her like a surgeon watching a wound.
"You hesitated," he said simply.
Kara's shoulders dropped. "Yes."
Jason didn't move. "When you came to me and asked to join the team—what did I tell you?"
She bristled, anger rising. "Don't start."
"Don't start?" Jason's voice snapped, hard as steel. "What do you think this is, Kara? You are a hero. You chose this. Not a girl in a cape, not someone playing at justice—you made a decision with consequences. When I tell you to kill, you kill. When I tell you to spare, you spare. Understand?" His tone wasn't cruelty. It was a hammer, shaping something fragile into something that would not break.
She flinched, wounded. "I know, goddamn it. I know. I should've finished him. I should've been faster. But—"
"But you failed to follow orders," Jason interrupted. "That man had a file a mile long—children among his victims. You saw it last year. How do you justify hesitation when the price is kids' lives?"
Her eyes filled. She hated herself for it. "I'm sorry. I couldn't— it felt wrong."
Jason stepped closer, voice low and cold. "And after he killed the children—what did you feel? Tell me."
She stared at him as if he'd asked too much. Then the answer ripped out of her: "Anger. I wanted to kill him. I needed to."
Jason's face didn't soften; it accepted the truth. "Good. Remember that feeling. Burn it into yourself. The moment you hesitate again, remember those kids." He paused, letting the severity sink in. "Now go. Take a goddamn break."
Kara turned to leave, shoulders trembling. Jason called after her, quieter this time.
"Kara."
She stopped, half-turned. "Yes?"
"You know I don't hate you," he said, and for the first time the edge in his voice gave way. "I'm harsh because I want what's best for you. If I push you, it's to keep you alive—and to keep others alive. Do what I ask. Learn. Grow."
She nodded, small and exhausted, and left without another word.
Jason exhaled, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and poured himself a measure of whiskey. The amber liquid seemed to do little to warm him. He thumbed his communicator.
"Nia," he said. "Tell the team I'm coming. Training Hall Eight. Now."
The line clicked as the Pantheon answered. Outside, the world reshaped itself around the new order—their order. Inside, in the quiet burn of the Warworld's belly, a leader prepared to train a new generation to survive without mercy.
....
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of broken neon bleeding through the shattered window.Dust hung in the air like a fog of regret.
A man sat in the center of that darkness—cape torn, armor cracked, mask shadowing a face that hadn't slept in days. The world outside no longer called him Batman. They called him the last mistake of Gotham.
Before him, old monitors flickered weakly, scavenged together from forgotten tech. They showed a face he'd never seen before—Jason Anderson. The new name to him
"Another world… where heroes choose to kill villains," he muttered, voice gravelly, worn. "And somehow, it still looks cleaner than mine."
He scrolled through report after report. Mongul killed.Ra's executed.Pantheon established.Every act—a decisive strike. Every decision—final.No Arkham, no second chances. Just order. Ruthless, unflinching order.
Batman leaned back against the cold wall, the weight of his own armor digging into him. "Jason Anderson… Whoever you are," he whispered, "you're either the cure I've been searching for… or another disease wrapped in steel and good intentions."
His eyes closed for a moment, and the ghosts came flooding back.
Metropolis—gone in a single explosion of madness and laughter.The Joker's final act.Superman's scream echoing across the globe.And then the silence that followed… when Clark stopped screaming and started killing.
He remembered the look in Clark's eyes the day he tore through the Hall of Justice. "No more criminals," he'd said. "No more chaos."And with those words, hope had died.
Now Batman was a fugitive in his own timeline. No Batcave. No family. No allies.Just a broken man, watching another world where someone else had taken his path before he ever dared to.
He leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath the dim flicker of the screen."If you're the man I think you are, Jason…" his tone grew dark, low, dangerous, "then we're going to meet soon. Because if your world's Superman can't stop you—maybe I can."
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If you Like this story! Check out my other storys ! Lord of Chaos In Dc! and Dragon Slayer in Marvel!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !