The drive to GCPD headquarters took seventeen minutes—three minutes less than standard route calculations due to the decreased civilian traffic as the storm intensified. Rain lashed the Batmobile's armored exterior, visibility reduced to a blur of street lights and neon signs through sheets of water. Perfect conditions for the covert approach Batman had planned.
He parked the vehicle in a predetermined location two blocks from GCPD headquarters, concealed within an abandoned construction site that provided both cover from casual observation and multiple exit routes if rapid departure became necessary. The final approach would be on foot, utilizing the rooftop pathway that had become his standard method for meeting with Gordon.
"Alfred," Batman subvocalized as he exited the vehicle, the cowl's communication system picking up even this whispered activation. "Status update on GCPD deployment."
"Gordon has implemented all suggested security measures," Alfred's voice replied through the cowl's integrated earpiece. "Additional officers positioned at critical access points, plainclothes teams monitoring the evidence lockup, tactical units on standby. No unusual activity reported thus far, though Officer Chen noted potential concerns about water seepage in the sublevel maintenance areas."
Batman processed this information as he fired his grapnel toward the nearest building, the line going taut as he ascended through the driving rain. The storm's intensity had increased even in the short time since he'd left the cave, wind now driving the rainfall horizontally against Gotham's architecture. Lighting periodically illuminated the city skyline in stark relief before plunging it back into storm-shrouded darkness.
"Water seepage could indicate attempted breach through the old prohibition tunnels," Batman noted, landing on the rooftop and immediately moving toward the next building in his pathway. "Has Gordon checked the sublevel access points?"
"Twice, according to communications logs," Alfred confirmed. "Nothing unusual reported beyond what might be expected during severe weather. However, given Bane's methodical approach and known intelligence on GCPD infrastructure..."
"It could be preparation for infiltration rather than natural seepage," Batman finished the thought, continuing his efficient movement across Gotham's rooftops. "Alert Gordon to increase surveillance on sublevel access points and implement communication protocols that don't rely on GCPD's internal systems."
"Already done, sir. Commissioner Gordon has positioned additional officers at key junctions and established radio communication separate from the building's primary network."
Batman reached the building adjacent to GCPD headquarters, pausing to survey the situation. From this vantage point, he could observe the police building's exterior in detail despite the storm. Security appeared normal—regular patrol patterns, standard lighting configurations, nothing to suggest imminent threat or heightened alert status. Precisely as planned with Gordon, who understood the value of maintaining normal appearances when expecting potential infiltration.
As Batman watched, a subtle change occurred in the lighting pattern of the sublevel windows—a brief fluctuation that would have been imperceptible to anyone not specifically monitoring for such anomalies. The power grid supplying GCPD was experiencing microsecond interruptions, too brief to trigger backup systems but indicative of deliberate electromagnetic interference.
"They're already inside," Batman realized, immediately firing his grapnel toward GCPD's roof. "Alfred, alert Gordon. Infiltration in progress, likely targeting sublevel access points. Bane's team is using the storm as cover for electronic countermeasures."
"Understood, sir. Alerting Commissioner Gordon now."
Batman landed on GCPD's roof mere seconds later, his boots hitting wet concrete as rain pelted his armor. He moved straight for the access door, skipping the Bat-signal entirely. No time for symbols when Bane's team was already inside. As he reached for the handle, he felt the suit's augmentation system kick in—and something else. The Lazarus water still in his system seemed to sync with the technology, creating a feedback loop that sent waves of unnatural strength through his muscles. It wasn't painful, but it felt wrong—like power that didn't belong to him.
"Sir, your biometrics are all over the place," Alfred's voice crackled through the comms, worry barely hidden. "Adrenaline's spiking way beyond normal, and I'm seeing some kind of interaction between the suit's strength augmentation and whatever's still in your bloodstream."
"I'm handling it," Batman growled, pushing forward despite the strange sensation. "The water's boosting the suit's output. I can use that."
"Bruce, I really think you should—"
An explosion cut Alfred off, the blast reverberating through the building's structure. The floor shook beneath Batman's feet, dust and debris raining from the ceiling. Alarms screamed to life as emergency lighting kicked in, washing everything in angry red.
"System's compensating," Batman noted grimly as he moved forward, the enhanced strength making each step feel oddly light despite his armored bulk. The feedback loop between the Lazarus water and the suit's augmentation was growing stronger, making his movements almost unnaturally fluid.
At the edge of his vision, a shadow detached from the wall—the massive form of the bat-demon, its red eyes gleaming in the emergency lighting.
"Yes," it hissed, wings spreading to fill the corridor. "Feel that power coursing through you. This is what you were meant to be. Not just a man in a suit, but something more. Something unstoppable."
Batman ignored the hallucination, reaching a maintenance hatch that led to the lower levels. Gunfire erupted below—GCPD officers engaging Bane's team. Another explosion, closer this time, followed by the distinctive hydraulic hiss of security doors being forced open.
The bat-demon moved alongside him, claws scraping against walls that only existed in his mind. "They're destroying everything you've worked for. Your evidence. Your witnesses. Your careful plans. But with this power, you could stop them permanently. No more half-measures."
"Building schematic overlay with heat signatures," Batman subvocalized, pushing past the demon's whispers.
The cowl's display lit up with a 3D map of the building, thermal readings showing human movement throughout. The sublevel tunnels were crawling with coordinated heat signatures—Bane's team, already deep in their operation.
"Multiple bogeys converging on high-security detention," Alfred reported through the comm. "Gordon's men are setting up defensive positions, but they're seriously outgunned."
As Batman descended through service shafts, the resonance between the Lazarus water and the suit intensified. His vision sharpened beyond normal limits, picking out individual dust motes in the air. For a split second, his reflection in a metal panel showed eyes that glowed toxic green before fading back to blue.
"Beautiful," a new voice giggled from the shadows. The Joker's painted face materialized in the darkness, that eternal grin stretching impossibly wide. "Oh, Batsy, you're becoming something special! The line between hero and monster is getting so deliciously blurry!"
"Not real," Batman muttered, focusing on his descent.
"Real enough to see what you're becoming!" Joker cackled, keeping pace effortlessly. "All that power, all that lovely rage bubbling under the surface. One little push and—POP!—no more rules, no more limits!"
The Joker danced along the walls, his purple suit somehow pristine despite the grime of the maintenance shaft. "You know what's funny? And I mean really, truly hilarious? You're already more like me than you want to admit. We both wear masks, we both dance with madness, and now—" he pointed at Batman's reflection where green briefly flashed in his eyes again, "—you're even getting a makeover!"
Through a maintenance hatch, Batman could see the detention level corridor below. It looked like a war zone—emergency lights casting harsh shadows over walls pockmarked with bullet holes and scorch marks. Two officers were down but alive, a third trying to treat their wounds. The reinforced doors to the high-security wing had been blown apart, twisted metal and sparking control panels telling the story of forced entry.
The bat-demon reappeared, perching above the hatch. "Look at them. Weak. Unprepared. They can't stop what's coming. But you could. If you embraced what the pit's water offers. What I offer."
Batman's hands tightened on the hatch release, knuckles white inside his gauntlets. The power coursing through him was intoxicating, whispering promises of easy victory, of ending threats permanently.
"That's it!" Joker appeared beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. "I can see it in your eyes—literally! They're doing that fun green flashy thing again. You're one step away from being the best version of yourself. The version that doesn't hold back!"
Through the chaos below, Batman heard Gordon's voice—steady, professional, trying to negotiate despite being massively outgunned. The sound cut through the hallucinations like a blade, reminding him who he was, what he stood for.
He dropped silently through the hatch, the enhanced strength making the landing feel like stepping off a curb instead of dropping fifteen feet. The impact should have been jarring, but his body absorbed it with ease that felt alien.
"Show off," Joker commented, appearing to sit cross-legged on a damaged pipe. "But I like it! This new you has style!"
Moving through shadows, Batman approached the detention hub, staying out of sight while assessing the tactical situation. Each step felt too light, too powerful, as if gravity itself had less hold on him.
The bat-demon kept pace, its massive form somehow fitting in the confined space. "Every second you hesitate; they destroy more evidence. Every moment of restraint costs you ground in this war. Stop holding back."
The hub was designed like a wheel—cells radiating out from a central area, each one isolated to prevent prisoner communication. Now it was a battlefield. GCPD tactical officers had flipped desks and equipment for cover, exchanging fire with what looked like professional military operators. Gordon was behind a reinforced desk, directing the defense with his service weapon ready but not firing.
"Look at them scrambling," the bat-demon growled. "Your allies, overwhelmed. Your carefully built case crumbling. All because you refuse to use the power you've been given."
And there, commanding the opposite end of the hub, was Bane.
The man was even more imposing than the intelligence photos suggested. He towered over his own men, muscles straining against tactical gear that looked more like armor than standard equipment. The mask covering the lower half of his face was connected to his suit by tubes pulsing with green Venom.
"Oh, now this is interesting!" Joker appeared to lean against a pillar, examining Bane with theatrical interest. "He's got his own special juice! But yours is better, Batsy. Older. More refined. Like a fine wine versus bathtub gin!"
"Commissioner Gordon," Bane called out, his voice distorted by the mask into something mechanical, barely human. "Your officers have fought admirably, but this confrontation is unnecessary. My business here is specific and limited. Allow us to depart with the prisoners, and further casualties can be avoided."
Gordon rose slightly, keeping most of his body protected by the desk. "That's not how this works. Those prisoners are in GCPD custody pending trial. You're currently committing multiple felonies, including assaulting police officers. Drop your weapons and surrender."
Something like amusement seemed to flicker in Bane's eyes, visible even across the distance separating them. "An admirable response, if predictable. Your dedication to protocol despite overwhelming tactical disadvantage speaks to your character, Commissioner. However..."
He gestured, and one of his men stepped forward, hauling a familiar figure with him—Chief Gillian Loeb, looking considerably less composed than usual with a tactical operator holding him at gunpoint.
"I believe this complicates your position," Bane continued. "Your Chief of Police was attempting to access certain evidence files when my men intercepted him. His security codes have proven quite useful, though his direct cooperation was not part of our operational plan."
Gordon's blood visibly ran cold. Loeb's expression contained no fear, only cold calculation and perhaps a hint of embarrassment at being caught. This wasn't a hostage situation—it was revelation of complicity.
"You son of a bitch," Gordon breathed, the pieces falling into place. Loeb hadn't just been on Falcone's payroll—he'd been actively facilitating tonight's operation. The security redeployments, the system failures—all preparing the way for Bane's team.
Batman observed the exchange, strategically positioning himself for intervention. The four assassins they'd captured—Deadshot, Copperhead, Taskmaster, and Kraven—were already secured by Bane's team, being moved toward an exit breach they'd created in the detention level's outer wall.
Another explosion rocked the building, this one from several floors above—the direction of the evidence lockup. Gordon's radio immediately erupted with frantic reports that Batman could hear through the cowl's enhanced audio receptors.
"Evidence storage breached—"
"Multiple hostiles, heavily armed—"
"Officer down, repeat, officer down—"
Bane tilted his head, listening to what must have been communication through an earpiece. "It seems my secondary team has accessed your evidence storage facility, Commissioner. The digital records pertaining to Carmine Falcone's case are being purged as we speak. The physical evidence will be destroyed before we depart."
Gordon's expression hardened with controlled fury. "Fall back to secondary positions," he ordered the tactical officers around him. "Secure the wounded and establish defensive perimeter at exit points." He turned to a female detective at his side. "Get to the evidence lockup. Save what you can."
"Sir—"
"That's an order, Detective. Go!"
The detective hesitated only a second before moving toward the rear exit, taking two officers with her. Gordon turned back to face Bane, who seemed to be watching the proceedings with clinical interest.
"Your strategic adaptability is impressive, Commissioner," he observed. "Most would attempt desperate resistance in your position. Instead, you prioritize preservation of both personnel and critical evidence. A logical approach, if ultimately futile in this instance."
"Nothing about this is futile," Gordon replied, fingers tightening on his service weapon. "You might destroy evidence; you might even escape with your prisoners tonight. But this isn't over. Not by a long shot."
"A perspective I respect, though disagree with," Bane replied flatly. "By morning, the Falcone case will be irreparably compromised. The primary witnesses removed, the documentary evidence destroyed, the physical samples eliminated. The trial will collapse, and Carmine Falcone will return to his position of influence—though perhaps with a more cautious approach to delegation of authority."
The pointed glance Bane directed at Loeb spoke volumes about Alberto's likely standing with his father after tonight. The Chief of Police seemed to register this, a flicker of unease crossing his previously composed features.
Batman saw Gordon's officers completing their tactical withdrawal as ordered, evacuating wounded personnel while maintaining covering fire. It was time to act. Using the distraction of Gordon and Bane's exchange, he moved silently across the ceiling supports, positioning himself directly above the mercenary leader.
As the last of Gordon's officers withdrew, Batman dropped into position, landing silently behind Bane.
The mercenary sensed his presence immediately, turning with remarkable speed for someone of his size. Bane's eyes registered no surprise, only what appeared to be satisfaction at Batman's arrival.
"I've been expecting you, Detective," Bane said, his voice distorted through the mask. "Though I confess, I anticipated our encounter would occur at the evidence storage rather than here."
"Let the prisoners go," Batman replied, his voice carrying that unique quality that somehow cut through chaos and background noise. "Your business is with me."
"My business," Bane corrected, "is with the evidence against Carmine Falcone and the retrieval of these assets." He gestured toward the captured assassins. "You are merely an anticipated complication—albeit one I've looked forward to addressing personally."
Batman noted Gordon using the distraction to move toward the rear exit where his officers had withdrawn. Good. The commissioner understood that this confrontation required space—the kind of battle that couldn't be fought while protecting civilians or officers. Gordon caught his eye briefly, a silent communication passing between them—get out, regroup, protect the wounded. Batman nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Commissioner," Bane called, not turning from his standoff with Batman. "I would suggest you depart promptly. What follows will be historically significant—the night Batman was broken. You might wish to preserve your men from witnessing it."
Gordon hesitated at the exit, clearly torn between duty to his officers and reluctance to leave Batman facing Bane alone. Batman sensed his conflict.
"Go, Jim," Batman ordered, not taking his eyes off Bane. "Secure what evidence remains. Protect your people."
Bane made no move to prevent Gordon's departure. "By all means, Commissioner. Attend to your wounded officers. Assess the damage to your facilities. Perhaps even begin contemplating how you'll explain tonight's catastrophic security failure to the media tomorrow morning."
Gordon's jaw tightened, but he recognized the tactical necessity. "This isn't over," he promised as he backed through the exit.
"Indeed not," Bane agreed amicably. "Though what follows will reshape your understanding of possible outcomes, Commissioner."
As the security door sealed behind Gordon, Batman and Bane circled each other in the detention hub—two apex predators preparing for a confrontation years in the making. Bane's men had already withdrawn with their prisoners, leaving the two of them alone in the ruined detention center.
The emergency lighting cast everything in crimson shadows, turning the detention hub into an arena painted in blood-red hues. Water dripped from damaged pipes above, each drop echoing in the tense silence between the two combatants.
"I've been watching you for a long time," Bane said, his voice oddly conversational despite the mask distortion. "Your fighting style, your gadgets, how you handle yourself under pressure. I know you better than anyone you've ever fought."
Batman stayed quiet, using the moment to size Bane up. The way he planted his feet with perfect balance despite his massive frame. How his weight shifted subtly, ready to explode into motion. The pulsing green tubes feeding into his mask weren't just connected—they were actively pumping, the Venom flowing in carefully regulated doses. The mask itself had multiple adjustment controls, suggesting it could modify the dosage on demand.
"Usually I prefer to skip the talking part," Bane continued, circling slowly. "But you... you've got me curious. Deadshot couldn't put a bullet in you. Kraven couldn't hunt you down. Taskmaster couldn't copy your moves. Copperhead's poison couldn't stop you. What makes you so hard to kill, Batman?"
As Bane spoke, Batman's enhanced senses detected a subtle shift in his stance—weight transferring slightly to his rear foot, shoulders rotating almost imperceptibly to generate maximum torque. The micro-movements were nearly invisible, but the Lazarus water in Batman's system had sharpened his perception to supernatural levels.
The bat-demon materialized at the edge of his vision, its massive wings spreading across the detention hub. "He's testing you," it growled. "Measuring your reactions. Strike first. Use the power we offer."
Batman ignored the hallucination, focusing on Bane's movement patterns. The mercenary was setting up for an attack, but trying to disguise which direction it would come from.
When Bane finally lunged, Batman was already moving—not in direct counter but in calculated evasion. He twisted aside at the last possible moment, letting Bane's momentum carry him past while striking at the tubes connected to the mask.
His armored gauntlet connected solidly with the delivery system. The tubes were reinforced with some kind of metallic mesh, designed to prevent exactly this kind of attack.
"Predictable, if tactically sound," Bane commented, recovering his position with remarkable fluidity. "Target the delivery system, neutralize the enhancement. A logical approach."
Bane countered with a combination that shouldn't have been possible for someone his size—a lightning-fast sequence of jabs followed by a devastating hook. Batman blocked the jabs, but the hook caught him in the ribs, lifting him off his feet. He crashed into a concrete pillar, the impact sending spiderweb cracks through the reinforced concrete.
"Is that all you've got?" the Joker's voice cackled in his ear. "Come on, Batsy! You're holding back! Let the green-eyed monster out to play!"
Batman pushed off the pillar, using the momentum to launch himself at Bane. He needed to test the limits of the man's enhanced strength, find the breaking point of the Venom system. He unleashed a rapid combination—strikes aimed at joints, nerve clusters, and the few exposed areas not covered by armor.
Bane absorbed most of the hits, his enhanced physiology turning what should have been crippling blows into mere inconveniences. But Batman noticed something—a slight delay between impact and Bane's counter-movements, as if the Venom was interfering with his natural reflexes.
"Interesting," Bane observed, studying Batman with clinical detachment. "Your movements are enhanced beyond normal human capability. Not simply training or technology." His eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Something chemical. Something like the Lazarus water, perhaps?"
The reference sent a shock through Batman. How could Bane know about the Pit's sacred waters?
"Surprised?" Bane asked, clearly enjoying Batman's reaction. "I trained with the League too, Detective. Though I didn't leave with Ra's blessing like you did. Even the Demon's Head thought I went too far. Imagine that."
As if summoned by the mention of the League, shadowy figures appeared around the detention hub—phantom assassins in League garb, their movements perfect mirrors of the training forms Batman had learned in the mountains.
"He knows our secrets," one of the shadows hissed. "He knows our weaknesses."
Batman shook his head, trying to clear the hallucinations. But the Lazarus water was making them more vivid, more insistent. His eyes flashed green for a moment as he struggled to separate reality from illusion.
Bane didn't wait. He pressed his attack, using techniques that were hauntingly familiar—League combat forms, but modified for his enhanced strength. A sweep that could shatter concrete, a palm strike that could cave in a chest cavity, a throw that could break every bone in a normal human's body.
Batman found himself giving ground, each exchange costing him. The suit's systems were compensating for the damage, but warning indicators were lighting up across his HUD. Structural integrity compromised in the left gauntlet. Micro-fractures detected in the chest plate. Power efficiency dropping.
"You need to embrace what you've become," the bat-demon urged, landing beside him with a sound like breaking stone. "The water has given you power beyond human limits. Use it!"
For a moment, Batman considered it. The Lazarus water was singing in his veins, promising strength enough to match Bane, to exceed him. All he had to do was stop fighting it, stop holding back.
His eyes flashed green again, brighter this time, as he launched himself at Bane with renewed fury. His strikes came faster, harder, driven by something beyond training or technology. For a few seconds, he actually drove Bane back, landing hits that made the giant stumble.
But Bane adapted quickly. His hand moved to a control on his wrist, adjusting the Venom flow. The tubes pulsed brighter, and his muscles swelled visibly.
"Impressive adaptation," Bane growled, his voice deeper now. "But adaptation works both ways."
He caught Batman's next punch in one massive hand, fingers closing around the armored gauntlet with crushing force. Metal groaned and servos whined in protest. Then Bane pivoted, using Batman's own momentum to hurl him across the hub.
Batman hit the wall hard enough to leave an impression in the reinforced concrete. Stars exploded across his vision, but through the haze, he saw Bane approaching with methodical steps.
"Your technology is admirable," Bane said, flexing his fingers. "But ultimately insufficient against what I've become."
The Joker appeared beside Batman, leaning against the damaged wall. "He's got you figured out, Bats! Time to show him something new. Remember what the kid taught you?"
Dick. His training session with Dick that morning. The way the boy moved without the rigid structure of formal martial arts, flowing between positions like a circus performer.
When Bane attacked again, Batman didn't meet it with League techniques or standard combat forms. Instead, he moved like Dick had shown him—unpredictable, fluid, using momentum and misdirection rather than direct force.
The change caught Bane off-guard. Batman slipped past his guard, landing three solid hits in succession—elbow joint, mask regulator, and a nerve cluster just above the knee. Each strike was delivered with precision, but without the telegraphing that made traditional techniques readable.
Bane's eyes narrowed. "The circus boy's moves," he said, sounding almost impressed. "The Grayson kid's teaching you his tricks."
Before Batman could press the advantage, Bane's hand went to his wrist control again. With a mechanical click, the Venom flow increased. The tubes pulsed with a more vivid green, and Bane's already massive form swelled further.
"But tricks won't save you," Bane continued, his voice distorting as the increased dosage took effect.
He moved with shocking speed, crossing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His fist connected with Batman's chest plate dead center. The impact was catastrophic—metal buckled, systems sparked, and Batman found himself airborne, crashing through what remained of the security console.
Warning klaxons blared in Batman's cowl. Major structural damage to the torso armor. Multiple system failures. The suit's enhancement matrix was struggling to compensate.
"Get up," the bat-demon commanded. "Use the power the water gives you. Stop holding back!"
Batman rolled to his feet, spitting blood inside his cowl. The Lazarus water was reacting to his injuries, accelerating healing but also amplifying his aggression. His eyes flashed green again, staying that color longer this time.
He launched himself at Bane with renewed ferocity, abandoning defense for pure offense. His strikes came like a storm—fists, elbows, knees, using every part of his body as a weapon. For a moment, he actually had Bane on the defensive.
But the mercenary was adapting, learning. He weathered the assault, studying Batman's new rhythm. Then, in a moment of overextension, he struck back with devastating precision.
A hammer fist caught Batman in the shoulder, driving him to one knee. Before he could recover, Bane's other hand clamped around his throat, lifting him off the ground.
"You interest me, Detective," Bane said, holding Batman at arm's length. "This rage inside you—it's not natural. Not to you. You're fighting yourself as much as you're fighting me."
Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, Batman could see the hallucinations multiplying. His parents stood behind Bane, their disappointed faces a stark contrast to the Joker's gleeful grin. The bat-demon perched atop a ruined cell, wings spread wide.
"Let go," the demon urged. "Stop being Bruce Wayne. Become what you were meant to be."
Batman's hand found a smoke pellet on his belt. He crushed it against Bane's mask, filling the air with thick, acrid smoke. Bane's grip loosened just enough for Batman to break free.
Using the smoke as cover, Batman circled around, looking for any weakness. The Lazarus water was making everything sharper—he could track Bane's movement through the smoke by sound alone, could feel the air displacement as the giant moved.
But Bane wasn't waiting. With a roar, he swept his arms in a wide arc, dispersing the smoke through sheer force. Batman was already moving, coming in low with a leg sweep that actually managed to unbalance the giant.
As Bane caught himself, Batman grabbed his wrist—the one with the Venom controls. For a moment, they grappled for control of the device.
"Clever," Bane acknowledged. "But insufficient."
He twisted with surprising flexibility, breaking Batman's grip and catching him with a brutal knee to the midsection. Batman felt ribs crack despite the armor's protection.
"You're losing," the Joker observed, sitting cross-legged on some debris. "Maybe it's time to play dirty? I would!"
Batman's eyes were solid green now as pain and rage mixed with the Lazarus effects. He drove his forehead into Bane's face, the reinforced cowl connecting with the metal mask in a ringing impact. Both men staggered back.
"Better," Bane said, wiping blood from a cut above his eye. "Show me the real you, Detective. The one hiding behind all that control."
They clashed again, trading blows that would have killed normal humans. Batman's enhanced strength was keeping him in the fight, but Bane's Venom-fueled power was overwhelming. Each exchange left Batman more battered, his suit's systems failing one by one.
A particularly vicious combination sent Batman stumbling back against a support pillar. Bane followed, driving punches into his torso with mechanical precision. The armor held, but barely.
"This is what you feared, isn't it?" Bane asked between strikes. "Not defeat. Not death. But the loss of control. The beast inside finally breaking free."
Batman's vision was tinting green at the edges. The Lazarus water was fully active now, healing damage almost as fast as Bane could inflict it, but at the cost of his rational control.
"Yes," the bat-demon hissed. "Let me out. Let me END him!"
With a roar that didn't sound entirely human, Batman exploded forward. His fighting style completely changed—no longer the precise, controlled movements of the Dark Knight, but something savage, primal. He clawed at Bane's mask, drove elbows into joints, even tried to bite through the tubes feeding Venom into the giant's system.
For a few seconds, he actually had Bane backing up, caught off-guard by the sheer ferocity of the assault.
But Bane recovered quickly, catching both of Batman's wrists in his massive hands.
"There it is," he said with something like satisfaction. "The monster under the mask. But you haven't fully embraced it, have you? You're still fighting yourself."
He headbutted Batman with tremendous force. The impact sent Batman reeling, his vision swimming. Before he could recover, Bane grabbed him by the throat again, this time slamming him into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete.
"That's your weakness," Bane continued, increasing the pressure. "You're at war with yourself. Torn between the man you were and the creature you're becoming."
Batman's hands scrabbled at Bane's iron grip. His vision was starting to tunnel, but the hallucinations were more vivid than ever. The bat-demon loomed over them both, wings spread from wall to wall.
"Accept what you are," it commanded. "Or die as what you were."
With the last of his strength, Batman triggered the shock system in his gauntlets. Electricity coursed through both their bodies. Bane's grip loosened, and Batman rolled free, gasping for air.
Both combatants were showing damage now. Bane's exposed skin was marked with burns and bruises. Batman's suit was failing, sparks flying from damaged systems, armor plates cracked or missing entirely.
"You can't beat him like this," the Joker said, skipping around the debris. "But maybe you don't have to beat him. Maybe you just have to outlast him. His juice can't last forever, right?"
Batman's eyes narrowed. The Joker—or rather, his own subconscious speaking through the hallucination—had a point. The Venom system had to have limits.
When Bane charged again, Batman didn't meet him head-on. Instead, he used the debris-strewn environment, forcing Bane to expend energy chasing him, making him work for every attack.
"Running now?" Bane taunted. "I expected better."
Batman didn't answer. He was watching the tubes, noting how the Venom flow increased with each burst of activity. Bane was pushing his system harder to maintain his advantage.
They exchanged another flurry of blows, Batman giving ground but making Bane work for every inch. The giant's breathing was getting heavier, the mechanical sound of his mask more labored.
"You're observant," Bane acknowledged. "Yes, the Venom has limits. But so does your endurance. And unlike you, I've trained my entire life for this kind of prolonged combat."
He proved his point with a devastating combination that broke through Batman's guard. A straight punch to the solar plexus folded Batman in half, and a following uppercut sent him crashing into the ceiling before falling back to earth.
Batman landed hard, barely managing to roll with the impact. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body. The suit was more hindrance than help now, its damaged systems weighing him down.
"Stand up," the bat-demon commanded. "You're stronger than this. The water makes you more than human. USE IT!"
Batman's eyes flashed brilliant green as he pushed himself upright. The Lazarus water was the only thing keeping him conscious now, healing damage and flooding his system with unnatural vitality.
But even that had limits. And Bane seemed to sense it.
"You're burning yourself out," the giant observed. "The enhancement you're using—it's consuming you. I can see it in your eyes."
He was right. Batman could feel it—the Lazarus water was keeping him in the fight, but at a terrible cost. His thoughts were becoming less coherent, the line between reality and hallucination blurring.
"Then let's finish this," Batman growled, his voice distorted by damage to the cowl's voice modulator.
They came together in a final, brutal exchange. No science now, no strategy—just raw violence, each trying to break the other through sheer force. The impacts echoed through the detention hub like thunderclaps.
Batman landed a perfect strike to Bane's mask regulator, actually cracking the reinforced casing. But Bane countered with a haymaker that sent Batman spinning across the floor.
"Impressive," Bane said, touching the damaged regulator. "But insufficient."
He adjusted the controls, manually increasing the Venom flow to compensate. His muscles swelled even further, veins standing out like cables under his skin.
Batman struggled to his feet one more time. His eyes were solid green now, the Lazarus water in full control of his system. The hallucinations had merged with reality—he could no longer tell what was real and what was in his mind.
"One of us falls here," Bane declared, advancing with the inevitability of an avalanche.
They clashed one final time. Batman threw everything he had left into the assault, drawing on reserves he didn't know he possessed. For a moment—just a moment—it seemed like it might be enough.
Then Bane's hand closed around his throat for the third time. This time, Batman had nothing left to break the hold.
"You fought well," Bane said, lifting Batman off the ground. "Better than any opponent I've faced. But in the end, you're still just a man trying to be something more."
Through his fading vision, Batman saw the bat-demon one last time, its red eyes blazing with frustration.
"We could have won," it snarled. "If you'd just let go of your precious control."
Bane's free hand went to the controls on his wrist. "Let me show you what happens when someone fully embraces what they've become."
He cranked the Venom flow to maximum. The tubes pulsed so brightly they cast their own shadows. His muscles expanded to almost grotesque proportions.
Then he slammed Batman through the floor.
The impact created a crater in the reinforced concrete. Batman felt something give way inside his chest—broken ribs, punctured lung, maybe worse. The suit's medical systems were screaming warnings he could barely process.
As Bane reached down to grab him again, Batman managed to slap an explosive gel capsule against the giant's chest. The detonation sent Bane staggering back, but he remained standing.
"Desperate," Bane commented, brushing off the residue. "But creative."
Batman used the momentary reprieve to activate his grapnel gun, firing it at the exposed ventilation shaft above. Even as he ascended, he knew this was only delaying the inevitable.
"Run if you must," Bane called after him, already moving to pursue. "It changes nothing. Your city falls tonight, beginning with this building."
Batman pulled himself into the ventilation system, every movement agony. Behind him, he could hear Bane tearing into the shaft with his bare hands.
"Alfred," he managed to subvocalize. "Status update on GCPD evacuation."
"Proceeding with reasonable efficiency, sir," Alfred's voice came through the damaged comm system. "Commissioner Gordon has established a triage area across the street. Approximately sixty-two percent of personnel have been evacuated. Detective Montoya is attempting to secure whatever evidence remains intact."
"And Bane's team?"
"Master Richard reports they appear to be finishing their operation. Multiple breach points are being sealed with demolition charges. They seem to be preparing for building-wide structural failure."
Batman processed this grimly. Bane wasn't just after the evidence and prisoners—he intended to destroy GCPD headquarters entirely, a devastating symbolic blow to Gotham's already fragile justice system.