In DC universe as Batman

The Cheshire Cat and Killer Croc were both alive.

Bruce couldn't help but feel disappointed...

Cough—overjoyed.

Along with the Ventriloquist, who had appeared from who-knows-where, he dragged all three survivors out of the rubble.

---

[...Anchor prop "Broken Scales of Killer Croc"]

[Broken Scales of Killer Croc: Killer Croc's scales, torn off after a brutal beating and the shame of watching his enemy flee. His skin cracked—just like his spirit. These can be used to summon a Batman from a parallel universe.]

Bruce raised an eyebrow and looked at Killer Croc—who was very much alive.

[But can a non-human's remains ever summon a normal human?]

Croc groaned beside him, muttering:

"Bane escaped. Escaped?! There's magic in this world that lets you survive without fighting? Then what the hell was the point of me trying so hard before?!"

---

[Crisis Energy Converted: 50]

[Current Crisis Energy: 60]

[Warning! Downloading Batman File...]

[Target: Vampire Batman]

[Danger Level: E]

[From the world of Gods and Monsters, where Bruce Wayne never existed. Kirk Langstrom became Batman after injecting himself with a bat serum.]

[Inject serum (stored in utility belt) and consume 20 Crisis Energy to synchronize?]

[Note: Serum regenerates when no one's watching.]

Bruce grimaced. He wasn't about to sync right here, in front of these three half-dead lunatics.

"Later," he muttered.

He helped Deadshot up.

The mercenary groaned, blood on his lips: "Am I going back to Arkham Asylum?"

"I don't want to go to Arkham," Killer Croc mumbled, dazed. His pupils didn't focus, and he barely noticed the towering Batman beside him.

"I'm hungry... got anything to eat? My arm's broken."

Then his gaze snapped into clarity. He saw who was standing above him—and tried to scramble upright, only to fall flat again, totally drained.

The Cheshire Cat, still wearing her mask, was the only one physically capable of standing. She took one limping step—

Thwack.

Bruce struck her on the back of the head. She dropped like a sack of flour.

Bruce noted, not without a bit of pride,

Huh. I'm getting better at knocking people out.

Everything was finally under control. He would take the survivors back, keep manipulating from the shadows, recruit more muscle, and hire more fighters…

And yet—

He kept thinking about Bane.

Had he really escaped?

Bruce's brow furrowed. He slowly stepped back, putting himself behind the three injured, one old man, and three corpses.

He had a bad feeling.

In the comics, Bane was bold and patient, cautious and cruel. He didn't attack head-on until he was sure Batman was weakened.

Running away? That wasn't Bane's style.

If Bruce were Bane, he'd pretend to flee—only to attack the moment Batman let his guard down.

He had just thought this when his expression darkened.

Goddamn crow mouth. I jinxed it, didn't I?

---

Elsewhere…

"Alfred?"

No answer.

"Alfred? Hello?"

"Ah—sorry, Tim. I got distracted. What were we talking about?"

"We were discussing tying up Batman and beating him with a whip and a crowbar," Tim Drake said, arms crossed, chains rattling on his wrists.

When Alfred didn't answer, Tim pressed him: "Don't you believe me? He's not the Batman we know—"

"He's not the Batman you know," Alfred said calmly. "He's Bruce."

"No, he's pretending to be Bruce—"

"You don't understand…" Alfred's voice grew distant. "You don't understand at all, Tim. Gotham... Gotham gave him back to me."

"…What?"

"He's alive. That little boy who died in Crime Alley with his parents… my Bruce. He came back. He was so small back then. Not Batman. Just... Bruce."

"But—"

"This cursed city... I've hated it for so long. It took Thomas and Martha, my best friends. But now... it showed mercy."

"Alfred, he's not—"

"No, no, I know him. He's my little Bruce!" Alfred's voice cracked. "We talked. We're going to retire. We'll go to Fiji. Just the two of us."

Alfred rambled on, his usually sharp mind dulled by emotion. Tim had almost forgotten: Alfred was over 60. And old men get nostalgic... sentimental... stubborn.

"Jason Todd(2nd generation robin, beaten to dearh by joker with a crowbar) . Jean-Paul(Azrael-Angel of death). Bruce has lost too many. Let him go, Tim. Gotham isn't his burden anymore."

He sighed.

"My poor little Bruce... You know, he has no cartilage in his knuckles. Every punch he throws grinds bone against bone. And when it rains? The old wounds rot. The Joker, Riddler, Two-Face... they never go away."

"But what about Gotham?" Tim asked.

Alfred was quiet for a moment. Then:

"Bruce said he'd find a successor."

"The one he asked you to look for—Clark Kent. I don't know why he picked him. But…"

Alfred smiled weakly.

"My Bruce will be free. And so should we."

He pulled Tim into a hug.

"Let's leave this city behind. Your parents… Gotham… Let's start over. Okay?"

Tim embraced him. Hugged his skinny body with the smell of an old man who was no longer young.

He couldn't say no.

"If Clark Kent can really protect Gotham..."

He whispered, "Then I will."

---

Back to Bruce…

He had a bad feeling.

And when the muscle freak stepped out from behind a ruined wall—he knew.

Bane.

Every drop of blood in his body surged—from his guts straight up to his skull.

Deadshot tried to rise, fumbling for his weapon. The Ventriloquist hid behind him. Cheshire Cat was still unconscious, and Killer Croc… got up.

He stood beside Bruce like a bodyguard.

'It's safer next to the superhero.' Croc thought.

He remembered the civilians Batman had saved. He understood them now.

"This world's insane," Croc muttered. "Never thought I'd fight beside Batman."

Nobody was listening.

Everyone was preparing to die.

Batman slowly rose.

Even that simple motion made Bane's heart skip a beat.

The venom burned in his veins. Muscles bulged. His body was ready to destroy.

But for the first time... he wasn't sure he could break this man.

"I knew you before I ever saw you," Bane growled.

"I met you in a dream, in a prison halfway around the world. I clawed my way out of hell for one reason—to find you. And take your Gotham."

Batman stared.

"So you crawled into my city... and then hid like a rat? You released Arkham's freaks just to watch me tire. You didn't dare face me until I was broken."

Bane didn't take the bait.

"You're not the first pompous bastard I've met. You caused so much death, just for this ridiculous reason?"

His muscles stretched and cracked. His voice grew deeper:

"I will kill for any reason. I'll kill to stop annoying noises. I'll kill just to snuff the light in someone's eyes"

"And I'll kill you." Bane answered.

Then he saw the rage in Batman's eyes.

This was it. A real fight.

Not a tired, dying Dark Knight.

This was Batman—unbroken.

It was thrilling.

A grin spread across Bane's face.

"So be it, Bane."

Batman didn't flinch. He pounded his chest—once.

"Let's finish this."

Batman put his hand in his belt and injected the serum through the belt.

Batman takes out a bunch of smoke bombs and throws it at Bane.

Bane's grin twitched.

"Another trick."

Smoke bombs burst around them.

"Useless!" Bane roared, sweeping the smoke aside.

Then he froze.

Batman's lips peeled back, revealing fangs. Huge, leathery bat wings tore from his back with a sickening crack.

"What—"

Before Bane could move, the monster lunged.

Batman grabbed Deadshot and Cheshire, slinging them over his shoulders.

Killer Croc—scooped up one-handed like a sack of meat.

Ventriloquist—dragged under another hand like a stuffed toy.

And then—he was gone.

Wings thundered. Air howled.

Batman vanished into the night.

Smoke curled around Bane.

His fists were still raised.

His breath steamed in the cold.

He blinked.

"Fight me, you son of a bitch!" he roared.

But the dark had already swallowed him.