Ascension Code: Reborn in the DC Universe - Chapter 104

The Bat-jet sliced ​​through Gotham’s gray sky like a black blade, its engines roaring with restrained power as it flew low over the shattered rooftops. The city, once somber and imposing, was now a living, pulsating battlefield. Entire buildings groaned under the weight of vines as thick as redwood trunks, writhing with organic fury, crushing concrete and steel as if they were paper. The air was thick with dust, smoke, and the sweet, nauseating smell of sap mixed with blood. Distant screams echoed among the rubble, emergency sirens mingling with the crackling of fire and the damp snap of breaking branches.

From the cockpit, Batman operated the controls with surgical precision. His eyes, cold and calculating behind the mask, swept across the holographic panel displaying the chaos in real time. Without a word of fluff, he pulled the trigger. From the belly of the jet, two side cannons fired simultaneously, releasing a dense jet of viscous greenish liquid that cut through the air like sticky rain. The compound—a Batman-specific formula, developed in a laboratory for botanical emergencies—hit the monstrous plant that dominated the center of the main square.

The impact was immediate and brutal. The greenish liquid spread like a living web, clinging to the thick branches and flexible twigs that whipped through the air. Each drop acted like high-impact industrial glue: upon touching the plant’s damp cellulose, it hardened in fractions of a second, forming sticky layers that glued branch against branch, branch against branch. The red tentacles, once agile and destructive, now thrashed about in slow motion, clinging to each other as if bound by invisible chains. A huge branch, which moments before had toppled the facade of a bank, stopped mid-movement, stuck to the main trunk. The entire plant trembled, emitting a guttural, wet sound—a vegetal roar of frustration, like wood cracking under extreme pressure. Broad leaves trembled, fleshy red petals closed in agony as the sap oozed, mixing with the compost and forming sticky puddles on the cracked asphalt.

The devastation stopped there, in that block. Crushed cars ceased to be dragged away. People trapped under rubble stopped screaming for a second, looking up with wide eyes of shock and temporary relief. The Bat-jet passed a second time, releasing another layer of liquid to reinforce the containment. Batman did not celebrate. His face remained impassive, his focus entirely on the next target.

It was at that precise moment that a red blur approached the base of the restrained plant. The mass of exposed roots pulsed like living veins, but a heroic figure emerged from the chaos: Captain Marvel. The hero, his red and gold suit gleaming even in the dim Gotham light, flew low and grasped the thick base of the plant with both hands. His muscles visibly tensed, broad shoulders flexing as he planted his feet on the cracked ground. With a cry of effort that echoed like thunder, he began to lift.

The plant resisted. Deep roots, thick as reinforced steel cables, stretched and cracked one by one with sharp, metallic sounds— CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! —as if a thousand high-voltage wires were snapping at once. Earth and asphalt flew in explosions of black dust. Captain Marvel didn’t stop. His feet left the ground, his body rising slowly at first, then gaining speed. He flew upwards, pulling the entire colossal plant as if he were uprooting a giant weed from the garden of hell. Roots broke loose in waves, releasing clouds of damp earth and dark green sap that rained down on the street. The plant struggled weakly, its clinging branches trying to whip, but Batman’s liquid held everything in place.

Higher. Higher. Captain Marvel climbed relentlessly, the weight of the plant testing even his superhuman strength. Gotham shrank below him—streets becoming lines, buildings shrinking into miniatures. The air thinned, the sky darkened. He tore through the clouds, then the atmosphere, until he reached low Earth orbit. The blue and green planet spun immensely below, a perfect sphere against the black void of space. The plant, now floating inert in the vacuum, stopped moving completely. Without oxygen, without gravity, without soil to anchor itself, it was just a dead mass of alien vegetation. Captain Marvel released it with a final push, sending it into the eternal void, where it would burn up on reentry or wander forever.

Back on the ground, another plant engulfed in the same viscous liquid was the next target. Zatara hovered a few meters above, his blue cloak billowing in the dust-laden wind. His hands traced runes in the air, his eyes gleaming with arcane power. He murmured ancient words in a grave tone, and the fire responded. Pure, golden flames erupted from nowhere, controlled by his will, and he hurled them like living spears against the base of the plant. The mystical fire licked at the cellulose, burning with supernatural intensity—not ordinary fire, but one that consumed the plant’s magical essence. Branches writhed in agony, releasing black smoke and the smell of charred vegetation. Zatara swirled his hands and unleashed another wave of flames toward the neighboring plant, which was still trying to break free. The fire spread, devouring branches and roots, transforming the threat into floating ashes that fell like black snow onto the rubble.

Batman didn’t stop. The Bat-jet dove lower, passing close to a half-destroyed skyscraper. He launched another missile—a compact projectile that cut through the air with a sharp hiss. The missile exploded against the trunk of another killer plant, releasing a dense cloud of the same greenish liquid. The substance covered everything: branches that moments before had destroyed an entire building were now stuck together, clinging to each other in a motionless mass. The cracked building stopped collapsing, saving dozens of civilians who were running through the streets below. Batman flew higher, spiraling upwards for a panoramic view.

From above, the catastrophe was overwhelming. Gotham burned in green and red. Colossal plants sprouted from every corner—at least a dozen on the island alone, and the Bat-jet’s control panel showed similar numbers in Metropolis, Paris, Taipei, London. The counter flashed red: the number of killer plants increased every second. Captain Marvel had managed to contain several up to that very moment, tearing them one by one into space like a god pulling weeds. Zatara burned others with surgical precision. But the growth was exponential. New stems erupted from the cracked ground, red flowers opening like hungry mouths, releasing spores that made the air shimmer with danger.

Batman clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning the panel. The League was buying time, but not the war. The blueprints were merely the visible tip of a larger strategy. He touched the communicator, his voice low and urgent:

“Critical situation. Partial containment. Increasing number of targets.”

Gotham resisted. The League resisted. But the entire world trembled beneath the roots of the Unjust Society.

POV League of Injustice

In the hidden heart of the underground hideout, a vast, dark chamber pulsed with malevolent energy. The air was heavy, laden with plant moisture and the constant hum of hidden generators. The high ceiling, reinforced by living roots that intertwined like veins of stone, gave the impression of being inside a giant organism. At the center of it all, a colossal tree dominated the hangar’s inner courtyard, its trunk wide enough that ten men holding hands could not encircle it, its thick branches stretching to the ceiling like pillars of a profane temple. Dark green leaves and luminescent runes covered its bark, pulsing faintly with a mixture of arcane and chemical power.

High atop an elevated platform, Joker cackled. A loud, hoarse, insane laugh that echoed off the metal walls and roots, making the mirrors in front of him vibrate slightly. His hands, covered in black gloves encrusted with golden runes that gleamed with every movement, danced in the air like a maestro conducting a symphony of destruction. His long, pale fingers, with bright red painted nails, traced precise patterns—a twist of the wrist, a snap of the fingers, a slow wave. Each gesture was transmitted directly to the floating mirrors, magical and technological panels that showed, in real time, the chaos he orchestrated across the world.

In the mirrors, the genetically modified plants responded like obedient puppets. In Gotham, a colossal tentacle whipped and toppled an entire overpass, cars flying like toys and smashing against the cracked asphalt. In Metropolis, fleshy red flowers expelled clouds of spores that made civilians fall to their knees, coughing up blood before being crushed by roots that erupted from the ground. In Paris, branches coiled around the Eiffel Tower like snakes, creaking metal and making the structure groan. Each catastrophe was different, each plant responding to a specific command from the Joker’s runic gloves. He laughed louder, his thin body writhing in pleasure, white makeup cracking at the corners of his mouth as his red lips stretched into a maniacal grin.

“The snake’s venom is nothing compared to the Joker’s venom!” he exclaimed between laughs, his high-pitched, theatrical voice echoing through the hangar like an announcement for a macabre circus.

Count Vertigo, standing beside the platform, observed everything with a satisfied and calculating smile. His aristocratic face, with its fine features and cold eyes, reflected pure admiration for the spectacle of destruction. His impeccable suit contrasted with the chaos on the screen, but his relaxed posture showed that he delighted in each collapsing building. He turned slowly to the Joker, inclining his head elegantly.

“They both work well together,” he said, his voice soft and controlled, filled with genuine appreciation.

Behind the group, a little further away, Poison Ivy crouched with feline grace at the foot of the gigantic tree. Her green fingers slid across the rough, warm bark at the base of the trunk, caressing it slowly and possessively, like a mother calming a restless child. Her skin glowed slightly in the dim light of the hangar, her red hair falling like living vines over her bare shoulders. The tree responded to the touch, tiny veins pulsing beneath the bark, leaves trembling gently. The entire courtyard was dominated by that colossal vegetal presence, thick roots spreading across the concrete floor like anchored tentacles, filling every inch of space with their living, dangerous aura.

As the petting continued, Ivy turned her face to Count Vertigo and the Joker, her green eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and warning.

“They work,” she murmured, her voice husky and sensual, “but they’re too much for my baby.”

Ultra-Humanite approached the tree with heavy, deliberate steps. The gorilla, with its dirty white fur and deformed head, swollen veins visibly pulsing in its exposed skull, held an electronic device in its enormous hand. The screen flashed with vitality data, energy graphs, and toxin levels. It stopped beside Ivy, its intelligent eyes fixed on the tree as it monitored each reading, its thick fingers adjusting buttons with surprising precision for a being of its bestial appearance.

Wotan floated to the top of the colossal tree, his body suspended in the air by sheer arcane force. His imposing form, dark robes billowing like living shadows, hovered above the highest branches. He recited spells in a low, guttural voice, ancient words that made the air vibrate and the tree glow more intensely. Runes on the trunk pulsed in response, taking on a golden-reddish hue that illuminated the entire hangar. Wotan looked down at Ivy, still crouched on the ground, and his voice echoed with a protective and authoritative tone:

“Let’s try to keep her safe, Poison.”

He then turned to Atomic Skull, who occupied an elevated platform in the middle of the hideout, positioned directly in front of a massive energy collector—a metal and crystal structure that hummed with contained power.

“But she needs more strength. Atomic Skull, more power!”

Atomic Skull obeyed immediately. Standing in the center of the platform, the gray-skinned villain with his exposed skull raised his head. His eyes glowed with an intense, almost blinding, radioactive green, while green flames erupted around his head, dancing like an infernal crown. Pure energy gushed from his skull, channeled directly to the energy collector in front of him. A beam of light exploded, blazing with overwhelming force. The thick cables buried in the hangar’s earth became visible to the naked eye, emerging from the surface like living veins and glowing with a bright, pulsating green, charged with power.

The light raced along the cables at incredible speed, tracing straight and curved lines until it reached the base of the colossal tree. The impact was instantaneous and spectacular: the runes carved into the trunk ignited with fierce intensity, glowing like live embers. New leaves suddenly sprouted all over the trunk, unfurling with a damp, rapid rustling, as if the tree had gained renewed life in a matter of seconds. The air around trembled with the influx of energy, leaves dancing and sap trickling in glistening streams.

Count Vertigo smiled even more intensely, his eyes half-closed in pure delight, his body relaxed as he observed the spectacle of coordinated power.

“It’s amazing what teamwork can achieve,” he said, his voice low and satisfied, almost a purr.

However, at that precise moment, while the group contemplated the perfect execution of their plan, the base of the hideout emitted a loud, shrill electronic sound. The alarm spread throughout the hangar like a mechanical scream, echoing off the metal walls and the roots of the giant tree. Red lights flashed on the central panels, reflecting off the damp floor and the shiny surfaces of the control mirrors.

The investigator, positioned before the central computers, stared at the screens with wide, alert eyes. His fingers paused on the keyboard for a second before he turned to the rest of the group, his urgent voice cutting through the air:

“We have intruders.”

He turned directly to Black Adam, who stood imposing and silent in the background. The tall man, with defined muscles and a somber expression, nodded once, slowly and decisively, confirming the implicit command. The air in the hangar grew even heavier, the momentary satisfaction giving way to an electric, predatory tension.

The colossal tree pulsed more strongly, runes gleaming, new leaves trembling. The mirrors continued to show the world’s chaos, but now the focus shifted. The villains, united in their secret society, felt the game change. The Joker’s venom, the tree’s power, Wotan’s magic, Atomic Skull’s energy—everything was ready. Intruders meant only more fun for the chaos they had sown.

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