Marvel: I am the bastard son of stark (Remade)

The night sky loomed over Gotham, thick with smog and the eerie glow of neon lights reflecting off the damp streets. Harry Wayne adjusted his black tactical gloves, stepping out of his high-performance Aston Martin. His butler, Sebastian, stood at his side, scanning the nearby alleyway where reports indicated a gang of super powered criminals were terrorizing local businesses.

"Shall I call for backup, sir?" Sebastian asked, his deep voice calm and composed.

Harry smirked, rolling his shoulders. "No need. This is my city. Time to remind these lowlifes why Gotham doesn't bow to thugs."

He moved like a shadow through the alley, his long coat billowing behind him. Up ahead, he could hear the distinct sounds of destruction—glass shattering, metal crunching, and the occasional maniacal laughter. The gang in question, a group of rogue metahumans calling themselves the 'Crimson Order,' had been causing mayhem across Gotham, and Harry was done letting them run unchecked.

A sudden explosion sent debris flying, and from the smoke emerged three figures. The first was a hulking brute with stone-like skin, his muscles seemingly carved from granite. The second was a woman with crackling energy flowing from her fingertips, her eyes glowing an unnatural violet. The third was a man in a sleek red-and-black suit, moving with a blur of speed, his smirk reflecting under the streetlights.

"Well, well," the speedster sneered, "if it isn't Gotham's rich boy out for a midnight stroll."

Harry didn't respond. Instead, he moved, fast and precise, pulling a small device from his belt and activating it. The streetlamps flickered, and suddenly, the area was engulfed in darkness.

"Tch! He's trying to blind us!" the energy-wielding woman snarled, her hands sparking.

The speedster attempted to dash at Harry, but his trajectory was suddenly disrupted as shadows seemed to extend unnaturally, grasping at his legs. Harry emerged from the darkness, his fist colliding with the speedster's jaw, sending him spinning into a nearby wall. He groaned, dazed from the impact.

"Lesson one: Overconfidence kills," Harry muttered.

The stone-skinned brute roared, charging forward with a ground-shaking stomp. Harry pivoted, using the momentum to sidestep just as the behemoth swung a tree-trunk-sized fist. As the fist sailed past him, Harry leapt up, delivering a precise strike to the brute's temple—one of the few vulnerable spots. The impact caused the criminal to stagger back, momentarily stunned.

The energy-wielder was next, hurling bolts of concentrated electricity. Harry twisted, his coat sizzling as a few stray sparks brushed past. Using the metal of a nearby fire escape, he redirected one of the bolts with a flick of his wrist, sending it back at her. She screamed as her own attack struck her, causing her body to convulse.

The speedster, now recovered, tried again, moving in rapid zigzags. But Harry anticipated his movements, using his mastery of shadow manipulation to create momentary illusions, causing the speedster to misstep. In a split second, Harry lunged forward, using a modified combat baton to strike the speedster's knee, sending him tumbling mid-dash.

The stone brute was back on his feet, angrier than ever. He grabbed a street pole, ripping it from the ground and swinging it like a club. Harry ducked, rolling forward and unsheathing a blade laced with vibranium. With one clean strike, he severed the pole in half before spinning and slashing a deep wound across the brute's leg. The monster howled in pain, dropping to one knee.

The energy-wielder tried one last attack, summoning all her power. The air crackled, and an orb of concentrated electricity formed above her, growing in intensity. Harry narrowed his eyes and made his move—rushing forward with inhuman speed, his shadow-infused fist striking her abdomen before she could release the energy. The impact sent her crashing into a dumpster, knocking her unconscious.

The battlefield fell silent. The speedster groaned, clutching his dislocated knee. The stone-skinned brute was barely conscious, bleeding from the deep cut on his leg. The energy-wielder lay limp, sparks fizzling from her hands.

Harry adjusted his coat, exhaling as he surveyed the damage. "And lesson two: Know when to stay down."

A slow clap echoed through the alley. From the shadows, a figure in a crimson suit and top hat stepped forward, his golden cane tapping against the pavement. His grin was unsettling, his sharp eyes studying Harry with amusement.

"Impressive," the stranger mused. "Gotham's elite has more bite than I expected."

Harry tensed. "Who are you?"

"Call me the Ringmaster," the man replied. "And consider this an invitation to the greatest show Gotham has yet to see."

Before Harry could respond, the Ringmaster snapped his fingers, and the unconscious villains were suddenly engulfed in a blinding flash of light. When the light faded, they were gone—vanished without a trace.

Harry clenched his fists, his mind already working through possible theories. Whoever this Ringmaster was, he had just escalated Gotham's chaos to a new level.

Sebastian's voice crackled through his earpiece. "Sir, shall I prepare the armoury?"

Harry smirked, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, absolutely. It's time Gotham got a real show."