Gotham has seen a lot: freak storms, clowns in purple suits, the occasional bat. But this was different. The sky practically exploded with jagged spears of energy tearing through the clouds, lighting everything up in sick neon—red on purple, as if the city was bleeding disco. Not aliens, not demons, for once. Just Project Ordinance, coming in with one clear goal: bring Rex to his knees.
Above, the Covenant's dreadnought hovered, massive, ugly, and brimming with weapons. Picture a steel whale with a mean streak, its belly shimmering with energy conductors ready to zap, crush, and restrain anything that moved. This wasn't about precision. This was a show of force, sheer intimidation. Civilians screamed as the first suppression field hit, gravity flattened entire blocks, communication systems went dead, cameras blew up. Total chaos, but oddly organized.
Rex? He just watched from the roof, leaning on Rebellion like he was waiting for a bus, his eyes cold. Evelyn's voice crackled through his earpiece, barely cutting through the static.
"They're dropping a suppression net. Everything's going dark."
Rex grinned. "Good thing I don't need permission."
"They aren't just after you, Rex. They want the whole city."
That froze him for a moment. The Covenant wasn't looking for a fight—they wanted control. If they had to burn Gotham to get it, so be it.
Boom. No warning. A kinetic pulse hit the East Sector—roads torn open, buildings collapsing, but fortunately, no deaths. Not yet.
"They're herding me," Rex muttered, watching the destruction unfold like a twisted chess game.
Evelyn got straight to the point. "You need to take that dreadnought out."
He shrugged. "Was planning on it."
"You're outgunned."
"When am I not?"
Then he was gone, leaping across rooftops, D.A.N.T.E. surging through his veins, his senses sharp.
Down below? Covenant troops were everywhere. Armor, drones, suppression squads moving like they practiced this in a lab. Not chasing. Just boxing him in. The problem is—you can't cage the devil. Rex dove into the fight, Rebellion cutting through the first squad like butter. Bullets? Useless. Drones? Just target practice. Every swing and dodge—brutal, messy, deliberate.
[D.A.N.T.E. SYNC RATE — 76%. COMBAT EFFICIENCY: OPTIMAL.]
But optimal wasn't enough. That gigantic ship was still hovering, choking the city.
He needed in. They knew he'd try.
Inside the dreadnought, a woman in grey watched the chaos unfold on her screens, her expression like stone.
"He's adapting too fast," her assistant said.
She simply smirked. "Let him come. Ordinance isn't about keeping him in. It's about making him submit."
Rex blasted his way to the uplink tower, a huge structure channeling the dreadnought's suppression field across Gotham. Evelyn's voice kept him focused.
"You have to overload the core, Rex. Quickly. The next pulse will wipe out half the city."
"Guess I'll hurry then."
Turrets. Elites. Sentry bots. The full works. But Rex wasn't just fighting to survive—he was fighting to win. Each blow said: You can't chain the devil. You don't dictate his story. Got it?
He reached the core. Rebellion spun, shredding the stabilizers. Evelyn started counting down.
"Thirty seconds, Rex!"
"That's more than enough."
The core went wild—energy flaring, systems crashing down. The tower exploded in a brilliant wave of light, shattering the suppression field like glass. But Rex? He was not done.
The dreadnought flickered, the net gone. He didn't hesitate. D.A.N.T.E. powered him up, propelling him skyward, racing up the wreckage as debris rained down. Minutes later, he crashed through the dreadnought's hull, stomping past defenses like a demon on a rampage.
[D.A.N.T.E. SYNC RATE — 81%.]
Every time they pushed him, he pushed back harder.
The Command doors blew open. Rex walked in, Rebellion dripping with what was left of the guards. The woman in grey barely acknowledged him.
"You're so predictable, Rex," she said.
He sneered. "That's rich coming from someone who thought parking a warship over my city would work."
"We offered you a seat."
"I don't sit. I stand."
Unfazed, she activated the failsafe. The ship began to self-destruct, city-wide.
But she didn't understand. You don't threaten what Rex protects. You don't corner the devil.
He moved. Rebellion sliced through the console—sliced, not just severed. Sparks flew, alarms blared, and Rex pressed on as if he owned the place.
"You love these power trips, don't you?" His voice could probably cut steel. "But you overlooked something."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? What?"
"I don't play games."
She reached for a pistol, trying to be sneaky—except, surprise! It didn't budge. Rex's fist struck her, fast as lightning. She hit the floor hard.
"Stay down," he snapped.
Amid the chaos, Evelyn's voice shot through, frantic. "Rex, the core's about to blow. Shut it down or say goodbye to the city."
"On it, doc." He didn't blink.
He drove Rebellion into the core, D.A.N.T.E. interfacing with the chaotic energy. The whole setup was a disaster waiting to happen. But honestly? So was Rex. And that's why it would work.
[D.A.N.T.E. — EMERGENCY SYNC. RISK: CATASTROPHIC.]
He smirked. "Wouldn't be a party otherwise."
He forced the core's feedback into himself, channeling the surge—painful as hell—through his body and out in controlled bursts. It was messy. It was reckless. It did the job.
The dreadnought's insides finally gave up, the core stabilizing under his determined grip.
A few minutes later, the dreadnought crashed into Gotham's bay—hard, but not catastrophic. Powerless. Rex stood on top, Rebellion slung over his shoulder, city lights flickering in his gold eyes like he'd just averted an apocalypse.
Evelyn approached, looking like she wanted to strangle him and hug him all at once.
"You're such an idiot," she grumbled.
"Always have been."
"You should've died in there."
"Didn't happen."
She rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to say, "Don't get cocky."
"You can't keep pulling this stuff, Rex."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I know."
Right. As if he would stop. Devils don't run.
Meanwhile, the Covenant's PR machine went into panic mode, scrambling to spin the narrative. Too late. Rex's stunt was already everywhere. He wasn't just a problem anymore—he was a symbol. And you can't spin that away, no matter how much lipstick you slap on it.
Up in the Watchtower, the League watched the fallout. Bruce maintained his poker face. Shocker.
"He's painted a target on his back," he said.
Diana's eyes narrowed, full of fire. "He's more than a man now. He's an idea."
Good luck trying to kill that.
Back at the safehouse, Rex and Evelyn sat in silence, the tension aroused.
She finally broke it. "You're changing."
He nodded. "Yeah. I know."
"You sure you're ready for whatever comes next?"
He smiled—not cocky, not smug. Just sure. "Was born ready."
The Covenant tried to bind him with fear. Now the devil's out, and the world's watching. Let them.