Chapter 246: As Expected, The Big Crisis Relies On That Man
Cold rainwater mixed with muddy water, smearing half of Damian Wayne’s face.
Batman’s incredibly heavy battle boot, covered in traces of battle, pressed down on his cheek like a boulder, the immense pressure making his cheekbone groan under the strain.
His facial muscles twisted and deformed, breathing becoming extremely difficult.
Humiliation, anger, and an uncontrollable instinctual fear when facing a completely unfamiliar father constantly intertwined, ultimately driving him to shout the one sentence he least wanted to say.
His dad was Bruce Wayne.
Damian, who always sneered at pulling rank via family connections and was full of disapproval toward Batman as a father, was still just a child after all, even if one of the most reckless kids in the DC universe. Yet he couldn’t escape the instinctual longing for survival, not wanting his life to simply fade away in this era belonging to the past.
“I… my dad is Bruce Wayne!!”
This sentence was like hurling a thunderbolt into the storm.
After Damian’s roar, the foot pressing on his face suddenly hesitated in its force, followed by a silence and stillness that made the air feel somewhat frozen.
But ultimately, Batman stopped applying pressure. Regardless of his inner thoughts, he clearly took significant interest in Damian’s outburst.
“Huff huff huff~”
Due to the sudden reduction in pressure, Damian gasped for air in big gulps. Cold air mixed with the scent of blood surged into his lungs, bringing a stinging pain. He could still feel the oppressive gaze from Batman.
“It’s true, everything I said is true.”
Damian struggled, trying to strike while the iron was hot and prove his “value.”
“If you don’t believe me, ask me! I know where the Batcave is! I know Alfred! I know you have nightmares at night, about that alley, about the pearls…” What it means to disco dance on the edge of danger—Damian demonstrated with his actions exactly whose brains he inherited.
Like mother when the son grows up.
“Shut up!”
What responded to Damian was not the safety of father-son recognition, but a straightforward iron fist containing pure strength, without any flair or hint of fatherly love!
“Bang~”
This punch accurately struck the side of Damian’s head, with perfectly controlled force—enough to instantly deprive him of consciousness without causing permanent brain damage.
Batman was always professional when it comes to controlling his strength.
“Ugh!” Damian didn’t even finish speaking before his vision went black. All sounds and light instantly faded away. A large bump swelled visibly on his head, and his entire body went limp in the mud, passing out completely. Poor young master of the Wayne family—he encountered only Batman’s absolute calm and efficient handling of potential threats.
Jonathan, suspended in the sky by a drone, saw this scene and his eyes nearly split with rage. He struggled wildly: “Let him go! You have no idea what you’ve done!”
“Oh, is Damian dead?” Jordan, kneeling on the ground, was also tormented by the weakness from kryptonite, unable to speak complete sentences, only staring at Batman with eyes full of horror.
“You guys…”
Batman straightened up, not even glancing at the unconscious Damian again, as calm as if that earth-shattering declaration had never happened.
Of course.
The brows under his mask were surely tightly furrowed.
His brain was racing.
No matter the reason these opponents shouted Bruce Wayne’s name in front of him, Batman realized that the situation and origins of these three suddenly appearing kids were far more complex than he had imagined.
“What a… surprise.”
He quickly operated on the controller on his wrist.
In the distance, the roar of engines grew from far to near.
That sleek, powerful black Batmobile charged through the rain curtain like a specter of the night, executing a precise drift to stop at the edge of the battlefield. It might be an antique from the Batcave in the future, but in this era, it was synonymous with cutting-edge technology.
Batman deftly placed the unconscious Damian inside.
As well as Jordan, still weakened and kneeling from the kryptonite’s effects, and Jonathan, who had been lowered by the drone and temporarily restrained—both received the “stranger iron fist” from Uncle Batman.
Then, Batman successively stuffed all the unconscious kids into the narrow but sturdy rear containment compartment of the Batmobile. He himself agilely climbed onto the vehicle and grabbed the specially designed handholds.
“Vroom vroom vroom~”
Blue plasma streams erupted from the underside of the Batmobile.
The heavy vehicle slowly lifted off the ground and began to ascend.
At that moment.
In the mud below.
The young Superman, briefly unconscious from the kryptonite’s effects, slowly awoke. The green curse still lingered in his body, bringing waves of weakness and nausea.
“I’m not dead?”
He struggled to his feet, clutching his still-painful chest, and happened to see the black figure hanging on the Batmobile, rising into the air with the vehicle.
Their gazes met in the air once more, the hostility not dissipated by the unexpected interlude.
“You’re only temporarily not dead. We’re not done yet.” Batman’s low voice came through the rain curtain, less a threat and more a cold statement.
The Batmobile carried him toward Gotham.
On the spot, Superman watched the direction of Batman’s Batmobile disappearing, his expression complex, but he still responded firmly in a low voice, his words carrying absolute coldness.
“I think so too.”
A chilling demeanor unique to ancestors appeared in Superman’s eyes.
“Clark! Clark!”
Salvation always arrived at the perfect moment by Clark’s side.
As if everything was mysteriously arranged, in the distance came Lois Lane’s anxious calls. She ran over through the rain, stepping deep and shallow.
“Lois!”
The ferocity in Superman’s eyes quickly melted away. His attention was immediately drawn; he turned and welcomed Lois, who was excitedly running toward him through the storm.
“I’m fine.”
Clark softly comforted her, embracing the worried reporter.
“That guy… why did he suddenly leave?”
Lois looked toward the direction where the Batmobile disappeared on the horizon, still shaken and full of doubts. She had already vaguely sensed Batman’s scheme against Superman.
And facts proved her unease was correct.
Batman’s earlier stance of fighting to the death.
She had seen it clearly from afar.
“Only temporary.” Superman’s gaze turned back to Gotham’s gloomy silhouette, shaking his head: “He seems to have encountered something more tricky for him than dealing with me.”
As Superman responded.
Underground in Gotham City.
Meanwhile, the young Batman had returned to his Batcave, equipped with the most devices. The damp air was filled with the scents of motor oil, electronic devices, and rock.
Many devices that would be antiques in the future were operating.
Due to the lack of cutting-edge chips, the computers here weren’t as small as in later years. The massive computer banks emitted a low hum, with data streams refreshing like waterfalls on the screens.
“Huff huff huff~”
This was the breathing sound Ian was most familiar with.
More familiar than those from the Euro-American or Japan-Korea regions.
Fortunately, Ian wasn’t here.
Batman wouldn’t completely lose his composure.
He was only slightly uneasy now.
Bruce Wayne, wearing the Batsuit, stood at the main console. The man had removed his helmet, but his face still bore the gravity and fatigue from battle.
And a trace of… indescribable irritation.
“What could this be?”
He stared intently at the massive screen in front of him, divided into three images clearly showing Jonathan, Jordan, and Damian locked in specially designed reinforced glass stasis pods.
The three youths were in forced stasis to ensure safety and analysis.
“Young master.”
Alfred appeared. Though elderly, he stood straight-backed and spirited, far from the state in later years when he worried more about Bruce’s personal life.
The absolute gentleman carried a silver tray with clear water and a towel, but his expression was more vivid than the ripples in the water.
Shock, confusion, a barely perceptible… perhaps delight?
Various emotions flashed across the old man’s face.
“The results are in, master.” Alfred’s voice maintained the butler’s restraint, but a slight tremble betrayed his agitation.
“Based on the final confirmation of the DNA test results… Boy A, the one you’ve been staring at, the boy who seems to have a bad temper…”
He paused, as if organizing his words, then said in an extremely certain tone: “He definitely shares a very close and direct blood relation with you.”
“The probability that he is your biological descendant is… 99.98%.” This number hit like a heavy hammer in the silent Batcave.
“…”
Bruce’s jawline instantly tightened. He was silent for a few seconds, his gaze locked on Damian’s face on the screen—even unconscious, it carried defiance.
“So.” Bruce’s voice was dry.
“There’s still a 0.02% probability it’s not, right?” He was clutching that negligible statistical possibility for a final struggle.
Alfred’s expression showed slight helplessness. He gently set down the tray and asked in an extremely tactful, even probing tone.
“Young master, forgive my impertinence. But in your… um, younger years, say in your teens or early twenties, is it possible that in certain… er, ‘impulsive’ moments, you left behind some… possibilities you yourself weren’t aware of?”
The old gentleman had tried his best to make his words sound less rude.
At this, Bruce’s mind uncontrollably flashed with vague fragments from his wild “Gotham Prince” days—those parties, those models, those… But he quickly suppressed the images, frowning deeper: “I’m certain I couldn’t have a child.”
His tone carried near-obsessive certainty.
“Oh? My dear young master, how can you be so sure?”
Alfred slightly raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but his words cutting to the core: “As far as I know, you haven’t… lost your fertility, have you?”
This struck like an invisible blow, precisely hitting one of Bruce’s sore spots. His face instantly darkened, and he subconsciously felt a faint ache in a certain area that had been “specially tended” earlier.
“…”
Only Batman knew how speechless he was right now.
Fertile?
He could confirm that “before,” he definitely was.
But after that precise and ruthless “crotch strike” earlier, he couldn’t be 100% sure without a full checkup!
“This kid…”
Bruce stared at Damian on the screen, grinding out the words through clenched teeth, the complex emotions in his eyes enough for an actor’s final reading comprehension exam.
Alfred’s expression was the complete opposite of Bruce’s.
A softening fondness, like loving the house for the sake of the crow, began to show in his gaze toward Damian.
“I must say, young master.” Alfred even leaned in slightly, carefully examining Damian’s facial contours on the screen, his tone carrying a faint nostalgia.
“Look, setting aside everything else, this child… his eyebrows, his demeanor, especially that arrogant flair even in unconsciousness… he looks just like you as a boy. I’d bet his personality is as… memorable as yours was back then.”
This was perhaps generational fondness.
Alfred was practically half a dad to Bruce Wayne.
Having spent more time with him than his own father.
He was quite emotional.
But this made the black lines on Bruce’s face deepen further.
He turned silently.
No longer watching the boy on the screen whom he’d love to lock in Arkham, he headed deeper into the Batcave toward a more hidden warehouse with stricter defenses.
The warehouse stored many unclassified or extremely dangerous items.
As Bruce walked, he spoke in a low voice, both explaining to Alfred and convincing himself.
“The enemy might have used my discarded hair, blood, or other biological samples. This could be Joker’s scheme—you know he can do it if he wants.”
“Of course, it could also be the League of Assassins’ trick, or even enemies from the future trying to disrupt my judgment by planting a pawn by my side. Gene technology, cloning, time interference… there are too many possibilities to explain this ‘son’s’ appearance.”
Batman Bruce Wayne listed various conspiracy theories fitting his paranoid nature, each sounding logically consistent and full of Batman’s vigilance.
To this.
Alfred did not respond.
He just gave an auntie smile.
Bruce Wayne didn’t dare look at his butler. Finally, he stopped in front of an alloy safe requiring multi-biometric verification and dynamic passwords.
As he performed the complex operations, he added.
“Of course… I’m not afraid of possibly having a child…” Batman didn’t finish. He had considered the possibility that Damian and the other two kids had accidentally traveled from the future—many clues on the three pointed to that.
However.
So what? Batman simply didn’t want to admit, or rather, didn’t want to believe, that his future son was a little devil.
“I need a more accurate way to verify his origins and those of the other two kids.” As his voice fell, the safe hissed softly, its heavy door slowly opening.
Inside were no Superman potions or nuke codes—just a few items, each emanating unusual energy fluctuations.
“A more scientific way.”
Bruce’s gaze fell on a sealed test tube among them.
“How do you plan to verify further, young master?”
Alfred’s voice came from behind.
Batman didn’t turn around. He carefully took out the test tube, golden electric light reflecting in his deep blue eyes, making them appear mysteriously profound.
“Time will tell us the answer.” He held up the strictly sealed Speed Force sample, his voice returning to its usual calm certainty. Inside the test tube was no liquid, but a mass of energy flowing like it had life, bursting with tiny golden lightning.
Almost at the same moment past Bruce Wayne raised the Speed Force test tube.
In the future, amid a chaotic timeline. On the streets outside Star Labs, surrounding buildings flickered like a TV with bad reception, constantly distorting and flashing, trying to stabilize but changing slightly slower than in Metropolis and Gotham.
Crackle—!
A reverse crimson lightning tore through the air. Reverse-Flash, Eobard Thawne, appeared somewhat unsteadily in the street center—clearly affected by the time changes.
“Damn it!” Reverse-Flash knew he had little time, his expression worried. As soon as he appeared, he felt that sun-like scorching gaze.
At this time, in this place.
Superman was already hovering in mid-air, awaiting his arrival.
In his hand, he still dangled Ian Kent like a chick, while Ian hugged a box of boneless chicken feet, munching contentedly with an expectant expression.
“As expected, your power is abnormally strong.” Reverse-Flash eyed Superman warily—that speed beyond his comprehension and history textbooks.
This instinctively filled him with fear.
At that moment.
Accompanied by figures streaking by, The Flash, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Cyborg arrived one after another, subtly surrounding Reverse-Flash.
“How are you going to make me a speedster?”
Ian swallowed the chicken in his mouth and asked indistinctly yet expectantly, eyes sparkling. This wasn’t just his curiosity—it was the question all the heroes present cared about.
“There are only a few ways to become a speedster.” Barry stared intently at Reverse-Flash, offering his guess: “Looks like you plan to use Star Labs’ particle accelerator to recreate that accident, replaying what happened to you and me on Ian?”
Star Labs made The Flash overthink; his tone was full of disapproval and vigilance, knowing how unstable and dangerous such an accident was.
“Heh.”
Reverse-Flash let out a contemptuous chuckle.
Only when looking at The Flash Barry did the momentum suppressed by Superman show signs of revival; his tone carried near-pathological arrogance.
“Barry Allen… I told you, you’re that irreplicable miracle. Your birth is a convergence of countless coincidences and cosmic boons. And precisely to understand you, to study your unique ‘miracle,’ I glimpsed some truths… about time, about the essence of the universe.”
His tone was rambling, like a philosopher lost in his own theories.
“Don’t play Riddler here.” Superman hated this mystifying talk most; he furrowed his brows, his powerful pressure substantially enveloping Reverse-Flash.
“Thawne! What exactly are you going to do? Now, tell us immediately!”
Under Superman’s steel-melting gaze, Reverse-Flash’s pressure surged. He swallowed, finally dropping the philosopher act.
He honestly pointed to a key figure.
“We need to borrow someone… weighty enough. Like, Batman.”
He stated his idea.
“Batman?”
Everyone was stunned.
Wonder Woman stepped forward, brows furrowed, tone revealing displeasure: “Bruce has already vanished due to the timeline changes!”
She seemed to think Reverse-Flash was toying with them.
“We can’t have someone who’s disappeared and can’t reappear help us… Ian just said Batman’s soul isn’t in Hell or Heaven.”
Aquaman Arthur gravely agreed.
Superman said nothing, but his expression showed displeasure. To this, Reverse-Flash just slightly raised his chin, a speedster’s smug smile on his face.
“Already disappeared? No no no… that’s not how speedsters perceive the world.” Reverse-Flash looked at The Flash; Barry Allen was slightly stunned.
“You mean we can find past Batman to help us?” The Flash had speedster thinking, though his brain had been dulled by Star Labs folks—not great at thinking.
“But you and Reverse-Flash can’t time travel anymore—how do we get past Batman to help?” Superman, without Batman, still knew how to think.
He immediately spotted the irresolvable contradiction in The Flash’s plan.
“Maybe we can… burn this Reverse-Flash with a cigarette butt, make him invent a cross-temporal communication telephone! Trust me! A burn and his brain will work!”
“He’s a future man! Knows more than aliens!”
Ian raised his hand with the suggestion.
The innocent—no, seemingly innately mischievous—proposal chilled Reverse-Flash’s spine. Seeing Superman thoughtful, he truly feared Superman would adopt Ian’s idea.
“No! We don’t need to time travel! Or any communication telephone!”
“You should trust Bruce Wayne!”
“He will help us create a new speedster. In fact, you may not realize that before his ‘disappearance,’ he already planned for you.”
Hard to say if Reverse-Flash trusted Batman’s brain so much just to avoid the cigarette butt burn. His tone became exceptionally certain, with a destiny-insight calm.
“Yes, Bruce Wayne knows his own character well, so he knows you’ll have a chance—a chance for Ian Kent to become a speedster and reach that wrong time node.”
Reverse-Flash spoke.
In his eyes.
Reverse Speed Force’s crimson glow flickered intensely.
This power.
Seemed to carry his gaze, piercing layers of time’s fog, seeing Batman in that past node, just raising the Speed Force test tube to observe the future.
