Ascension Code: Reborn in the DC Universe - Chapter 102

October 1st. Metropolis shone under a perfect sun, the kind of day that made the city seem like a living advertisement of hope. The sky was an impossible blue, without a single cloud. People strolled through the central parks, couples holding hands, children chasing frisbees, dog owners throwing colorful balls for their pets to bark happily. The smell of fresh coffee wafted from the outdoor cafes, mingling with the sweet scent of fresh flowers decorating the sidewalks. Cars glided smoothly along the wide avenues, occasional horns sounding like distant laughter. Everything seemed perfect. Everything seemed safe.

Then the ground shook.

It wasn’t a slight tremor, the kind that makes glasses clink. It was a deep roar, coming from the bowels of the earth, as if the planet itself were coughing up something trapped for millennia. People stopped in their tracks. Dogs whined, identification collars jingled. Windowpanes vibrated in the steel and glass towers that defined Metropolis’s skyline. The epicenter emerged right in the center of the city, in the main square in front of the Daily Planet.

An abyss opened up.

The asphalt cracked like an eggshell. Irregular fissures tore across the street in a zigzag pattern, swallowing park benches, lampposts, and two parked cars. Shouts began to rise. People ran, tripping over each other. But the worst was yet to come.

From the deep, black hole, something began to rise.

A colossal stem, as thick as the trunk of a centuries-old sequoia, erupted from the earth with a damp, organic sound, like flesh being torn. The plant rose slowly at first, then accelerated, shooting up into the sky like a hungry tentacle. Secondary branches sprouted from the sides, thick and flexible, covered in shiny black thorns that dripped a dark green sap. Broad, almost black leaves unfurled with a wet rustling sound. The higher it climbed, the more the structure branched out, transforming into a monstrous tree that moved as if it had a will of its own.

At the very top, sixty meters high, the main branches opened like the fingers of a giant hand. Swollen red buds exploded into fleshy flowers, petals as thick as carpets, exuding a sweet, nauseating perfume that carried on the wind. The flowers thrashed violently, whipping the air. A heavy branch struck the side of the LexCorp Tower, tearing off an entire chunk of concrete and steel that plummeted onto the street, crushing three cars and a family trying to escape.

Chaos ensued.

Buildings groaned. Glass shattered in cascades, raining down like lethal diamonds. People screamed names, ran in any direction that seemed safe, but there was no safety. Another vegetal tentacle swept through a row of shops, tearing down entire facades. A school bus was lifted from the ground by roots that sprouted from the asphalt, spun in the air, and hurled against the facade of a bank. The impact produced a roar that echoed for blocks. Bodies fell, some buried under rubble, others swallowed by fissures that opened and closed like hungry mouths. The air thickened with dust, smoke, and the metallic smell of blood mixed with the sweet sap of the plant.

Metropolis, the City of Hope, was being devoured alive.

In a secluded hiding place, Poison Ivy watched everything.

She sat on a makeshift throne woven from intertwined living roots, her legs crossed with feline elegance. Her pale green skin glowed under the dim light of luminescent fungi growing on the walls. Red hair cascaded like fiery waterfalls over her bare shoulders, intertwined with tiny white flowers that pulsed in sync with her heartbeat. Her green eyes, intense as poisonous emeralds, were fixed on the magical image floating in the air before her—an oval mirror created from runes of earth and blood that she herself had traced on the ground.

The view was perfect. Every detail came to her with crystal clarity.

She saw a main tentacle crush the side of a residential skyscraper, causing entire floors to collapse like dominoes. People fell from shattered windows, screams cut off abruptly as they hit the concrete below. Another branch whipped across a pedestrian bridge, splitting it in two; pedestrians slid across the gap, some managing to cling to the edges, others plummeting to their deaths. A giant red flower opened directly above a crowded plaza and expelled a cloud of red spores that caused those who inhaled them to fall to their knees, coughing up blood before being crushed by roots erupting from the ground.

Ivy couldn’t contain her smile.

Her full lips curved slowly, revealing perfect white teeth. A satisfied sigh escaped her throat as she tilted her head, savoring the spectacle. Each collapsing building, each life extinguished under the weight of her creation, sent a wave of almost erotic pleasure through her body. The plant was not merely a weapon. It was an extension of herself—a wild, perfect, relentless offspring.

“Just look at yourselves…” she murmured, her voice hoarse and sensual, almost a purr. “So fragile. So full of pride with your towers of steel… and now you’re just fertilizer.”

The magical image rotated slightly, revealing another angle. A car was swallowed by a crevice that closed on it like a jaw. Muffled screams echoed for a second before falling silent. Ivy bit her lower lip, her eyes half-closed in delight.

She glanced back over her shoulder.

The other members of his organization were there, each fulfilling their role with precision.

Ivy couldn’t help but smile, pleased.

Everything was going exactly as planned. The emerald plant—which she had christened “Devouring Emerald” in a moment of vanity—responded perfectly to her mental commands. Every movement of its tentacles, every flick of its branches, every release of spores was a symphony she conducted from afar. Metropolis, the ultimate symbol of human strength and Superman’s protection, was being reduced to green ruins in a matter of minutes.

The cards had been dealt.

POV ERICK

Erick Smith — Forge — stood in the center of the circle, his pale green skin glistening slightly beneath the sweat, his torso bare, wearing only tight black tracksuit bottoms. No armor. No Cloak. No Venom. No equipment. Just him, the elemental fire pulsing low in his chest and the new Martian abilities coursing through his veins.

He faced the two opponents who were slowly approaching, circling him like predators.

To the right, Aqualad—taller, stronger, defined muscles glistening with a thin layer of sweat. To the left, Robin—shorter, more agile, movements as precise as a ghost’s. The two moved in perfect sync, beginning to flank him, each coming from a different side to divide his attention and force an opening.

Forge gave a slow smile, his white teeth contrasting with his green skin.

“Clever.”

He raised his fists, adopting a low, fluid stance—a technique he had perfected in recent months in his Sensei’s virtual dojo. Feet slightly apart, weight balanced, knees bent, arms semi-extended. The position allowed for quick entry, base switching, or lateral evasion in any direction. He knew he was facing two extremely skilled opponents: one with brute strength and latent aquatic control, the other with refined ninja technique and explosive speed.

The first move came from the right.

Aqualad leaped. An absurdly high jump—at least four meters—his body spinning in the air with athletic grace. He came down like a hammer, his right leg extended in a powerful downward kick that cut through the air with an audible whistle.

At the same time, Robin crouched low, gliding across the mat like a shadow. His leg swept in a perfect sweep, aiming directly at Forge’s base to take him down and clear the way for Aqualad’s kick.

Forge kept smiling.

Some things had definitely changed since the last time they fought.

He raised his left arm in a swift, precise arc. The green hand closed like a vise around Aqualad’s ankle just as the kick landed. The impact was powerful—Aqualad’s weight and speed would have shattered ordinary bones—but the new Martian density and elemental reinforcement absorbed almost everything. Robin’s sweep landed squarely on Forge’s right leg. The sound was dry, like wood against stone, but his base didn’t budge an inch. The green leg remained planted, solid as an ancient root.

Forge looked at the two of them, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“My turn.”

Using Aqualad’s leg as leverage, he spun his body with superhuman strength. The movement was clean, fluid, charged with power. Aqualad was hurled like a living projectile, his body flying in an arc straight toward Robin, who was still crouching. The two collided in mid-air with a dull thud. Robin tried to wriggle at the last instant, but the impact sent them sliding several meters across the mat, rolling together before separating.

Forge stood still, breathing calmly, listening to every detail.

His senses were now much sharper since the Martian transfusion. He could hear their faint voices, even from a distance.

“He’s much stronger than before,” Aqualad murmured, rising slowly.

“More resilient too,” Robin added, already standing and wiping the sweat from his chin. “He didn’t even feel my trip.”

Aqualad flexed his shoulders, the black tattoos on his arms beginning to glow with a milky white light.

“Enough of going easy on them.”

They both stood up at the same time. Aqualad ran first, his feet slamming hard on the mat. His hands rose, arms flexed, and his tattoos glowed intensely. Tiny electric sparks danced across his skin, making the air around him crackle. He was charged—any direct contact now would cause paralysis or severe electrical damage.

Robin disappeared behind him, using Aqualad’s larger body as cover. Perfect ninja movements: silent steps, low body, trying to completely hide from Forge’s sight while waiting for the exact moment to attack.

Forge knew he could no longer touch Aqualad without consequences. He began to dodge.

Aqualad unleashed a brutal flurry of blows. First a straight punch with his electrified right hand, then a left hook, followed by a high roundhouse kick that sent sparks flying through the air. Forge dodged each one by millimeters—head tilting back, body twisting at the waist, feet dancing in short, precise steps. The air hissed where the blows landed. A spark almost grazed his shoulder, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

While he was focused on not touching Aqualad, Robin took advantage of his vulnerability.

The younger boy burst through Forge’s guard like a lightning bolt. A short, precise punch landed squarely on the green solar plexus. The impact was surprising—even as a normal human, Robin possessed enough trained technique and strength to knock Forge out of his breath for a second. The next blow followed in quick succession: an elbow to the flank, a knee strike attempting to reach the ribs.

Forge took two steps back, absorbing the impacts. Each punch from the little guy was like a precise hammer blow. He blocked the third blow with his forearm, feeling the shock reverberate to the bone, then twisted his body to avoid a high kick that almost hit his temple.

The dance continued, choreographed and brutal.

Forge dodged Aqualad by arching his back in an impossible arc, his back almost touching the mat, while the electrified kick passed inches above his chest. In the same movement, he brought his body forward and blocked two quick punches from Robin with his forearms, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing dryly. He countered with a short left jab that Robin narrowly dodged, then spun in a half-moon attempting a side kick to Aqualad’s hip—but stopped the movement at the last instant upon seeing the sparks, switching to an open-palm shove that forced Aqualad to recoil without direct contact.

Robin gave no quarter. He crouched, rolled between Forge’s legs in a fluid motion, and attempted another sweep combined with an uppercut from below. Forge jumped at the exact moment, legs tucked in, and came down with a dropping elbow that Robin blocked with both arms crossed. The impact sent them both staggering back.

Aqualad returned to the attack, now with a sequence of alternating low and high kicks, sparks tracing bright lines in the air. Forge danced backward, light feet, deflecting each kick by inches. A low kick nearly swept away his ankle—he leaped, spun in the air, and attempted a spinning kick in mid-air against Robin, who ducked and countered with a series of rapid punches to the body.

Forge blocked, dodged, counterattacked. A straight punch that Robin dodged, a front kick that Aqualad narrowly avoided, a body spin that allowed Forge to pass under Aqualad’s electrified arm and attempt a strike to Robin’s back. The ninja boy rolled to the side, stood up, and landed two quick punches to Forge’s ribs before backing away again.

The pace was fierce. Sweat flew. Breaths were heavy. The mat creaked underfoot. Forge felt every blow he managed to block reverberate in his reinforced bones, but he also felt how his body responded better—faster, more resilient, more precise thanks to his Martian blood.

He counterattacked with more force. He grabbed Robin’s wrist mid-punch, spun his body, and tried to throw him at Aqualad. Robin twisted in the air like a cat, landing on his feet and immediately returning to the attack. Aqualad seized the opportunity to launch an electrified high kick. Forge leaned to the side, feeling the heat of the sparks brushing against his ear, and responded with a low kick that forced Aqualad to jump.

The sequence continued for long minutes—millimeter-precise dodges, hard blocks, precise counterattacks. Forge would evade a blow from Aqualad by bending his torso, then spin to block a sequence from Robin with his forearms, then attempt a punch that both narrowly avoided. He landed an open-palm strike on Robin’s shoulder, causing the boy to spin, but Aqualad moved into the space and forced Forge to retreat with a barrage of crackling kicks.

Sweat trickled down Forge’s green chest. His muscles burned pleasantly. His heightened senses picked up every breath, every step, every crackle of electricity.

He was about to grab Robin again to throw him at Aqualad when a loud sound echoed through the room—a shrill, clear, and piercing siren.

Training stopped immediately.

Forge smiled, carefully placed Robin on the ground, and gave the boy a light pat on the shoulder.

“Good fight.”

Robin, still on the ground for a second, stood up and gave Forge a firm pat on the shoulder, smiling beneath his mask.

“Dude, you’re much stronger than before.”

Aqualad approached, his tattoos still glowing faintly, and gave a genuine smile.

“Your technique has improved too. I almost couldn’t hit you.”

Forge returned the smile, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

“Yeah, but nothing compared to Robin.”

When he looked to where Robin should have been, the boy had already disappeared. Turning his head, Forge saw him on the other side of the room, already wiping the sweat from his brow with a white towel, drinking water from a bottle in long gulps, as if he had never left the place.

Forge could only think: Truly, those ninja skills are impressive.

He walked to the side bench where Superboy, Miss Martian, Artemis, and Starfire were sitting watching. The four girls—his growing network of connections—watched with varying expressions: Superboy with a defiant smile, Megan with concern mixed with pride, Artemis with a warm, possessive look, Starfire with eyes shining with admiration.

“So, guys, what did you think?”

Superboy stood up immediately, his smile widening as he flexed his broad shoulders.

“Well, I prefer to do my own test.”

He approached Forge with heavy steps. The two walked together to the center of the mat, positioning themselves face to face. Forge felt the energy shift—Superboy was another level of brute force, and he knew the Superman clone wouldn’t hold back.

As they stared at each other, adjusting their posture, the sound of a gust of wind announced the arrival of someone else.

The training room still vibrated with the residual energy of the fight. Forge was in the center of the mat, his green muscles tensed, his breathing controlled, ready to face Superboy. The Superman clone had already stepped forward, fists clenched, a defiant smile on his lips.

Then the double doors of the room swung open with an urgent hiss.

Batman entered first, his black cape billowing like living shadows. Beside him, Zatara walked with quick steps, his blue and white cape contrasting with the seriousness of his face. The urgency was palpable: Batman’s movements were more restrained than usual, his shoulders rigid, his jaw clenched. There was no time for greetings. Forge and Superboy exchanged a quick glance and, along with the rest of the group—Artemis, Starfire, Miss Martian, Aqualad, Robin, and Kid Flash—approached immediately.

“Follow me,” said Batman, his voice deep and leaving no room for discussion.

No one questioned it. They followed the Dark Knight through the corridors of Mount Justice. The sound of his boots echoed on the metal floor. Batman kept talking into the communicator strapped to his ear, his voice low and urgent, giving short orders to someone on the other end. “Containment in sector 7… priority evacuation… do not approach the main roots…” Each word carried weight. He didn’t look to the sides, he didn’t slow down. The urgency was so intense that the air seemed heavier.

They arrived at the main meeting room. The lights automatically switched on, revealing the circular table and the large holographic screens on the walls. Batman wasted no time. He positioned himself at the head of the table, fingers flying over the console. The screens flashed and came to life simultaneously.

Images of destruction filled all the monitors.

Metropolis—the glittering city—was being swallowed by a hellish forest. Thick, vegetative tentacles, like the trunks of centuries-old trees, erupted from the asphalt, whipping entire buildings. A colossal stem brought down the facade of the Daily Planet, glass and steel falling like deadly rain. People ran in panic, some buried under roots that writhed like living snakes. On another screen, Gotham suffered the same fate: the giant plant towered near the center, its flowering red branches crashing against skyscrapers, crushing cars like tin cans.

Forge felt the elemental fire pulse harder in his chest. He recognized the pattern. This wasn’t a simple plant invasion. It was coordinated. Calculated.

The team focused on the front screen. A blonde reporter, clearly in shock, was broadcasting live from atop a building in Gotham. Behind her, miles away, the monstrous plant loomed like an ancient god, its branches whipping through the air and toppling entire towers. Her voice trembled, but she tried to maintain her professionalism.

“The initial attack was very short-lived, but it seems we are only experiencing a brief lull. Despite the swift intervention of Superman and several members of the Justice League, the end does not seem to be near.”

The broadcast cut to live images: Hawkman flying in circles, his mace spinning as he cut through thick branches; Green Lantern creating emerald light constructs to contain tentacles; Superman himself using heat vision to burn roots that regenerated almost instantly. People were crushed by vines that closed like fists. Bodies disappeared under churning earth. Screams echoed even through the loudspeakers.

Robin stepped forward, his voice tense.

Should we help them?

Batman never took his eyes off the screen.

“No. The League will have the situation under control soon. That’s not why I came.”

He placed a small cylindrical device on the table. A blue hologram immediately projected, showing the cold and calculating face of the Master of Sports.

“The Master of Sports provided Kobra with the formula for the blockbuster.”

As Batman spoke, the hologram slowly rotated, displaying complex chemical data alongside the image.

Flash, who had entered silently moments before, completed the thought as if he already knew where Batman was going with this.

“Combined with Bane’s venom to create Kobra Venom.”

Robin continued, his fingers dancing across the handheld console itself.

“Which Brain used to create his army of animals.”

Superboy, his large hand stroking the head of the giant white wolf beside him, nodded.

“He also used it to improve the wolf.” He turned to Forge, his eyes sincere. “Thank you for analyzing him.”

Forge shook his head, his expression neutral, as if it didn’t matter.

“It was nothing.”

Artemis crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed.

“Brain also used collars to control the animals. Just like the ones used at Belle Reve.”

She turned directly to Batman.

“Is it possible that this plant also contains Kobra’s formula?”

Batman held her gaze for a second, then activated another command. The hologram shifted. A hard bar of green light—courtesy of Green Lantern—appeared in the projection, isolating a section of the plant’s vine. The image zoomed in, revealing the layered cellular composition.

“The cellulose in the vine contains levels derived from Kobra venom.”

Aqualad observed all the evidence floating in the air—formulas, images of destruction, connections between villains. His voice came out deep, heavy with worry.

“This can’t be a coincidence. Different criminals are cooperating with each other.”

Batman nodded once, his voice as solid as stone.

“Exactly. It seems our enemies have formed some kind of secret society of supervillains. The attack on Metropolis was just the beginning.”

As he spoke, Robin had already pulled out his laptop. Fingers flew across the holographic screen. He began interacting with the transmissions showing the calamities. Images of Paris appeared—the Eiffel Tower being enveloped by thick vines pulling it down. Taipei: entire streets transformed into a deadly jungle. London: Big Ben cracking as roots erupted from the Thames. City after city, the same pattern—colossal plants sprouting from nowhere, destroying everything with organic fury.

Suddenly, all the screens started to hiss. Strong static, horizontal lines cutting across the images. The signal was failing on all satellites at the same time.

Everyone looked at Robin.

“It wasn’t me,” he said quickly, still typing. “Something is interfering with the satellite signal. All of them.”

The static lasted for a few more agonizing seconds. Then it stopped abruptly.

A new image filled all the screens simultaneously.

A pale man, skin as white as chalk, exaggerated red lips as if he’d angrily applied lipstick, disheveled green hair, and sickly yellow eyes. He grinned at the camera like a complete maniac. He tapped the “glass” twice, as if hitting the lens, and flashed a smile full of crooked teeth.

“Ladies and gentlemen… and what are we interrupting now? Only the chaotic programming to bring you this important announcement…”

He pulled out a pocketknife with a loud click, activated the blade, and turned the camera with a sharp movement. The image changed to six figures lined up behind him.

The camera zoomed in slowly on each one.

First, a tall woman, with vibrant green skin and wild red hair falling like living vines. Her green eyes gleamed with a mixture of serenity and predatory hunger.

Beside her was a creature very similar to a gorilla, with dirty white fur and swollen, pulsating veins on its head, as if its brain were trying to escape from its skull.

Next, a man with a zombie-like appearance, completely gray skin, empty and dead eyes, wearing a torn and dirty soldier’s uniform.

On the zombie’s side, a tall man, at least six feet three inches, with bright red eyes, pointed ears, wearing gleaming red armor with a flowing black cape draped over his shoulders.

Next to this man in red armor stood an even taller man, at least two meters and five centimeters tall, with an immense build, wearing a tight black suit with a bright yellow lightning bolt on his chest.

And in the center of this group, a pale man with blond hair, noble green robes, an aristocratic and cold gaze.

The blond-haired man looked directly at the camera and spoke in a calm, controlled voice, full of authority.

“We are responsible for the attacks on your cities. If you wish to save them, we need a ransom payment of ten billion US dollars. Delivery instructions have been sent to the United Nations. There is no deadline. But the longer your governments delay…”

At that moment, the pale man with green hair pulled the camera back towards him with a brusque movement. His macabre smile widened, his yellow, uneven teeth gleaming.

“…we’ll have more time to have fun.”

His laughter exploded—loud, insane, echoing like shattering glass. A laugh that promised endless pain, chaos, and death.

The transmission ended abruptly, reverting to white static.

The meeting room fell into absolute silence.

Forge felt the elemental fire roar within his chest, hot and furious. His green eyes swept over every face around him. Artemis gripped her bow tightly, Starfire’s hands glowed with solar energy, Megan floated with a worried expression, Superboy growled softly, the white wolf bristling its fur. Aqualad was motionless, but his fists were clenched. Robin still stared at the screen, his fingers resting on the keyboard.

Everyone realized the level of danger posed by this threat.

A secret society of supervillains. An alliance that united brilliant minds and destructive powers on a global scale. The coordinated plant attack. The rescue demanded. And the insane laughter still echoing in everyone’s memory.

The silence weighed like lead. No one moved. The weight of what had just been revealed hung over the room like a living shadow.

Forge took a deep breath, his mind already working on cold calculations.

Read the chapters in advance: patreon.com/cw/pararaio