Ascension Code: Reborn in the DC Universe - Chapter 34

I climbed into the front seat of my father’s car, feeling the worn leather give slightly under my weight. The engine purred softly, a familiar sound that cut through the silence of the cloudy Gotham morning as we drove along the winding road leading to the hills of Crestview Heights.

My father kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, but I noticed a slight tremor in his lips, as if he were fighting back a smile that insisted on appearing. In the back seat, my mother held my younger sister’s hand, who looked out the window with bright eyes, as if we were setting off on an adventure in a new world. The air inside the car was charged with a palpable energy—a mixture of relief, excitement, and that touch of disbelief that arises when life suddenly changes.

It had been two weeks since I closed the deal with Bruce Wayne. The 380 million had entered the account like a silent lightning bolt, followed by the first royalties that were already starting to trickle in—modest initial deposits, but ones that I knew would turn into a steady stream over the years.

I used a considerable portion to buy the mansion: 85 million. A sum that, on the open market, would be considered a bargain for a property like that, easily valued at double that in normal times. The Hargroves, an old Gotham family that had built its fortune in maritime trade in the 19th century, were sinking in debt—bad bets at casinos, failed investments in tech startups, and a patriarch who had lost everything in a Ponzi scheme disguised as a hedge fund.

They needed to sell quickly, before creditors seized the property through foreclosure. I discovered the opportunity through Natasha, my AI coordinator, who was scouring catalogs of declining luxury properties and found this hidden gem. “A mansion with untapped potential,” she summarized in the report.

Perfect. Large enough to be a secure fortress, far enough from Wayne Manor not to arouse suspicion, yet still in the heart of Crestview Heights — Gotham’s elite neighborhood, with its wooded hills, ornate iron gates, and private security that kept unwanted guests away.

My father broke the silence first, his voice hoarse with an emotion he rarely let show. “Erick… son, I still think about all this. You’ve always been brilliant—since you were little, taking apart everything you saw, programming things on the old computer in the basement. But to turn that into… this? A mansion? I knew you were capable of great things, but I never imagined it would be so fast, so big.”

I looked at him, noticing the wrinkles around his eyes were a little less deep that day, as if the weight of the last few months was finally dissipating. “It wasn’t quick, Dad. It was years of work in the basement, sleepless nights, prototypes exploding in my face. But after what happened with Zsasz… I sped up. I created things the world needed. Wayne saw the value and paid what it was worth. All legal, audited. No tricks.”

My mother leaned forward in the back seat, still holding my sister’s hand. Her voice was soft, but filled with a gratitude that tightened my chest. “We always knew you were different, Erick. A genius, as you yourself used to say when you were little. But this… this goes beyond any dream we ever had. You’re not just giving us a new home; you’re giving us security. After everything we’ve been through—the graffiti, the stones, the sleepless nights… this is like a fresh start we didn’t even know we needed.”

I nodded, looking out the windshield as the road began to climb the hills, the trees growing denser and older, their trunks thick as columns and seemingly guarding secrets. “That’s exactly it, Mom. A fresh start. I couldn’t bear to see you all suffering because of me anymore. The patent money will cover everything—taxes, maintenance, whatever it takes. Now you can relax.”

My sister, at 11 years old and with a curiosity that lit up any room, finally spoke, her animated voice breaking through the more serious tone of the conversation. “Erick, are we really going to have a pool? And a room of our own, with a big window to see the stars? And a garden for me to plant flowers?”

I turned around, ruffling her hair with a smile. “Yes, there will be a pool—huge, with an infinity edge overlooking the valley. And you can choose any room. There are about twenty upstairs, each one bigger than the next. You can plant flowers, play on the lawn, whatever you want. No more nosy neighbors.”

My father chuckled softly, a rare sound that warmed the entire car. “You thought of everything, huh, son? But what about maintenance? A house like this must cost a fortune. Electricity, gardening, cleaning… we’re going to need help.”

“I’ve already taken care of that,” I replied, pointing to the horizon where the gate began to appear. “I hired a service company—gardeners to tend the gardens, cleaners to keep everything spotless, and yes, a butler to coordinate the day-to-day operations. You don’t need to get your hands dirty. If you want to continue teaching, great. Dad, if you want to retire and fish in the backyard pond, go ahead. The royalties cover everything. Forever.”

The road made a sharp turn, and there stood the gate: an imposing structure three meters high, made of old wrought iron, covered in thick vines that snaked through the bars like living veins in an aged metallic body. Green leaves swayed gently in the damp wind, and wildflowers dotted the vines, giving an air of romantic mystery, as if nature were reclaiming what the Hargroves had abandoned.

The gate displayed Gothic motifs—intricate arabesques and small gargoyles atop the side columns, weathered by time and Gotham’s acid rain, but still imposing. My father stopped the car in front, the engine purring low as he stared up, gaping, as if standing before a portal to another world.

“Wow,” my sister murmured, pressing her face against the glass. “It looks like the entrance to an enchanted castle… but one of those with ghosts and hidden treasures!”

My father blinked, regaining his composure after a moment. “Erick… is this really ours? How do you open this thing? It looks like it came straight out of an old horror movie.”

I took the remote control from my pocket—a small device I had programmed myself, integrated into the mansion’s security system, with quantum cryptography to prevent intrusions. I pressed the button, and the gate creaked open, the hydraulic mechanisms humming softly beneath the vines, as if nature itself were yielding. “It’s ours, Dad. I bought it a week ago. The papers are signed, everything’s in order.”

He swallowed hard and accelerated slowly, the car passing through the gate and into the gravel driveway that snaked through the property. The surrounding trees were ancient and majestic—centuries-old oaks with trunks as thick as temple columns, their intertwined branches forming a natural canopy that filtered the sunlight in dancing patterns on the ground.

The path rose gently, gradually revealing the mansion: first the neglected gardens, with shrubs grown in wild shapes, wildflowers invading the cracked stone flowerbeds, and a dry central fountain with statues of nymphs covered in green moss; then, the imposing facade emerged like a giant that had just awakened.

The house was a Gothic monument—three stories of dark gray stone, quarried from Gotham’s own hills, with pointed spires at the corners that seemed to defy the cloudy sky. The windows were tall and pointed, with faded stained glass filtering the late morning light in subtle shades of red and blue, creating hypnotic patterns on the entrance floor. The main door was preceded by a white marble staircase, now slightly yellowed by time, with railings adorned with sculptures of winged lions—fierce animals, wings outstretched, seemed like eternal guardians, worn by erosion, but still imposing.

The roof was pitched and covered with black tiles that resembled the scales of a sleeping dragon, with tall, sculpted chimneys that evoked the towers of a medieval castle, and gargoyles on the edges, their mouths open as if ready to spew rain or curses.

My father parked the car on the gravel roundabout in front of the staircase, turning off the engine with a sigh that seemed to release years of pent-up tension. “My God, son… this is… palatial. Look at those towers… they look like they came straight out of a history book. And the garden… it needs pruning, but you can see the potential. How did you find this gem? And… how are we going to fill all this up? Furniture, decorations… it’s going to be an adventure.”

I got out of the car first, feeling the gravel crunch under my boots, the air fresher there, far from the industrial smell of downtown Gotham—a pure aroma of damp earth, fallen leaves, and a light touch of salt from the ocean beyond the hills. “It was planned, Dad. The patents yielded more than we expected. The royalties will cover everything. It’s for you—for us. A place where we can start over without looking back.”

My mother came out next, helping my sister down, her eyes shining with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude that moved me. “Erick, this is surreal. We were in a comfortable, but simple house… and now this? A mansion with towers and marble staircases? You’re not just giving us a roof over our heads; you’re giving us security. After everything we’ve been through—the graffiti, the stones, the sleepless nights… this is a fresh start we didn’t even know we needed.”

I climbed the first steps of the staircase, extending my hand for them to follow me. “That’s exactly it, Mom. A fresh start. I couldn’t bear to see you suffering because of me anymore. The patent money will cover everything—taxes, maintenance, whatever is needed. Now you can relax.”

My sister ran ahead, climbing the steps two at a time, her laughter echoing in the still air like a joyful bell. “Look, Mom! The lions on the stairs have wings! And look at that huge door! It looks like a princess’s palace, but with dragons!”

My father climbed slowly, resting his hand on the ornate railing, touching the cold stone as if testing if it was real. “The Hargroves… I remember reading about them in old newspapers. A family that dominated the maritime trade, legendary parties in the 1920s. They lost everything in the Depression and never really recovered. But now… this is ours. Erick, how did you find this gem? And… how are we going to maintain it? Taxes, maintenance… it must cost a fortune a month.”

I appeared at the top of the stairs, picking up the old key—an ornate bronze piece bearing the Hargroves coat of arms, a stylized ship in high relief, now rightfully ours. “I’d been following brokers specializing in decaying historic properties. This one showed up in their catalog—stalled for months, needing an urgent sale. As for maintenance… the patent royalties cover it. They’re lifetime percentages—every cell phone or battery sold with my technology generates money. We won’t need to work if we don’t want to. You can retire, Dad. Mom, if you want to stay in university, great. But you don’t have to worry about bills at the end of the month anymore.”

My mother reached the top, breathless but smiling, holding my sister’s hand to stop her from rushing in without waiting. “It’s beautiful, Erick. But empty, like you said. We’ll need to bring life here—furniture, rugs, maybe plants to add some color. And the echo… it sounds like an abandoned cathedral.”

Ri leaned against the door to close it behind us, the thud echoing like a period in the past. “Empty for now. The decorator arrives tomorrow—she’ll help choose everything. I want you to decide: classic, with velvet sofas and antique paintings, or modern, with clean lines and integrated technology? There are empty rooms that we can transform into a library for you, Mom, or a game room for Dad. And the backyard… the gardeners are coming next week to revitalize everything. Clean pool, trimmed lawn, even an artificial lake if you want.”

My sister rushed in, twirling down the middle of the hall with her arms outstretched, her laughter echoing off the high walls. “Wow! Look how big this is, Mom! Bigger than the school gym! And look at that chandelier—it looks like a bunch of diamonds hanging from it! Can I climb the ladder and pretend I’m a queen?”

My father entered slowly, his eyes scanning the space as if searching for ghosts of the past. “My God… this is… palatial. Look at these wood paneling—it must be imported mahogany from the last century. And the portraits… Hargrove, right? A family with history. But now it’s ours. Erick, are you sure this isn’t a dream? Because if it is, don’t wake me up.”

My mother touched the stair railing, sliding her fingers along the polished wood, her eyes brimming with tears she tried to hold back. “It’s real, darling. And beautiful. But… so empty. We’ll need to fill it with life—furniture, rugs, maybe plants to add color. And the echo… it sounds like an abandoned cathedral.”

I nodded, feeling an unexpected lump in my throat. “I’m glad you liked it. Explore more—there’s a games room on the third floor, with an old pool table and windows overlooking the artificial lake in the backyard. And an empty gym that we can equip. Choose your rooms, mark what you want to change. Tomorrow the decorator will come to help with the furniture and renovations.”

My father placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Son, this is incredible. But… what about you? What will your place be in all of this?”

He smiled, pointing vaguely downwards. “I’ll take the basement. There’s plenty of room for me—and for my ‘laboratory’.”

They laughed, thinking I was joking, but I was serious. The basement wasn’t just a room—it was my kingdom. My laboratory. My path to power. As they continued exploring—opening doors to rooms with carved marble fireplaces, auxiliary kitchens with empty pantries large enough to store food for a year, and even a music room with an antique piano covered by a dusty sheet—I went down again, feeling the mansion pulse around me as if it were alive, waiting to be transformed.

Back in the basement, I paused on the last step once more, absorbing the vastness. The space was truly cavernous—like an ancient underground wine cellar designed to store fortunes in wines and goods, extending beneath almost the entire mansion, with branches that disappeared into the shadows. The ceiling was high enough to accommodate an entire second floor, perhaps ten meters in some places, supported by ancient stone arches that intertwined like the ribs of a fossilized leviathan.

The foundations were of massive granite blocks, stacked in intricate patterns suggesting late 19th-century construction, with deep niches that once housed barrels of imported wine or crates of exotic goods brought by the family’s ships. The floor was of irregular slabs of polished stone, cold to the touch and marked by grooves where rainwater must have seeped in during storms, forming puddles that slowly evaporated in the humid air.

The walls stretched for dozens of meters in all directions — the basement covered an area equivalent to a football field, with branches extending under the gardens and even beyond the limits of the mansion, forming an underground labyrinth.

One side section had shelves of rotting wood, capable of holding tons of bottles—now empty, with cobwebs hanging like abandoned curtains, ideal for storing electronic components or alchemical flasks. Another area, further east, had an old coal furnace with chimneys rising up the walls like veins of oxidized metal, which I could convert into a backup generator or furnace for synthesizing high-temperature chemical compounds. The space was so vast that it echoed my footsteps like an underground cathedral, with hidden niches in the walls that could house servers or weapons cabinets, and even a dry well in the west corner, perhaps an old drain for spilled wine, which I could transform into an elevator to lower levels.

I walked through the center of the main area, the beam of the flashlight dancing in the shadows and revealing more details: walls of massive granite blocks, stacked in Gothic arches that supported the colossal weight above, with deep niches that could house barrels or boxes; floors of irregular polished stone slabs, with ancient grooves that channeled moisture to hidden drains, preventing flooding; supporting columns scattered like sentinels, creating natural partitions that separated the space into interconnected “rooms,” each with the potential for a specific function, such as a wing for alchemical experiments or a refrigerated server room.

The air was crisp and slightly damp, with a faint smell of earth and moss seeping through the cracks in the high walls, but nothing an industrial dehumidification system couldn’t fix. Small, tall, tilting windows in the walls allowed fresh air and diffused light in during the day, but I planned to seal them with armored panels for added security and privacy. At the back, a secondary staircase led to an even deeper level—an old bunker, perhaps used by the Hargroves during the world wars or to hide contraband, with reinforced brick walls and a cracked concrete floor, perfect for storing hazardous materials or expanding the transmutation circle for larger rituals.

My heart raced just visualizing the final layout: the transmutation circle enlarged to 6 meters in diameter, engraved directly into the granite floor with fused silver runes for greater stability and power, surrounded by containment barriers for volatile experiments; workbenches along the east and west walls, with quantum servers that I planned to build using battery patents.

Rows of high-resolution monitors, industrial 3D printers for rapid prototyping, and electric furnaces for synthesizing chemical compounds or melting exotic metals; an expanded training area in the right corner, with a reinforced pull-up bar to support extreme weights, heavy punching bags hanging from forged steel chains, rubber mats covering 50 square meters for intense sparring, and even an elevated ring with holograms projected by Sensei for simulated combat against real villains like Amygdala or Mammoth; the surgical capsule in the back, integrated into an independent power system with solar generators on the mansion’s roof and compact nuclear backups, for long nights of uninterrupted virtual immersion; and, in the lower basement, an emergency bunker stocked with freeze-dried food, customized weapons, and survival equipment, shielded against invasions, radiation, or disasters, with alternative exits to the garden or even to the Gotham underground, should I dig tunnels.

I climbed again, the creaking of the stairs echoing like a farewell to the simple past. In the hall, I heard my family’s voices echoing from the second floor—loud laughter, exclamations of surprise that filled the emptiness of the mansion like a long-forgotten song. I climbed the double staircase, the cold, smooth wooden handrail beneath my hand, feeling the ancient wood pulse with history.

The second floor opened onto a wide hallway, with faded Persian rugs covering the polished wooden floor that creaked slightly underfoot, and double carved oak doors leading to rooms that resembled five-star hotel suites. The walls were paneled in dark wood, interspersed with niches containing empty vases and rusted bronze candelabras, and tall windows that let in the filtered light of the late afternoon, creating dancing patterns on the floor.

I found them in the main hallway: my mother emerging from a room with a built-in library—empty dark mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling, an antique escalator to reach the upper levels, and a marble fireplace in the center, perfect for reading nights; my father opening the door to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, revealing a colossal bedroom with a king-size bed already furnished (a remnant of the Hargroves), an adjacent bathroom with a porcelain whirlpool tub and imported tiles, and panoramic windows overlooking the back garden: an immense, now empty, but infinity-edged pool that merged with the wooded valley beyond; and my sister rushing out of a smaller room, with a huge light-wood walk-in closet and a bay window that formed a cushioned bench, ideal for sitting and stargazing.

“Erick! Look at my room!” my sister shouted, pulling me inside by the hand. “It has a closet that fits all my dolls and clothes! And the window is like a sofa! Can I put cushions here and pretend it’s my own private castle?”

Ri ruffled her hair as she looked around—the room was spacious, with a high ceiling and Victorian-style plaster moldings, the walls painted a faded blue that begged for a makeover. “Of course you can. And if you want to paint it pink or put up fairy lights, we’ll fix it. This one’s yours now.”

My father emerged from the master suite, his eyes still wide. “Erick, the bathroom there is bigger than our entire old bedroom. It has a shower with massage jets and a bathtub that looks like a small pool. And the view… the garden down there is enormous. It requires work, but you could plant fruit trees, have barbecues on weekends…”

My mother joined us, emerging from the library with a smile that lit up the entire hallway. “I chose the room with the built-in bookshelves. There’s space for hundreds of books—I’m going to fill it with my literature and history books. And the fireplace… I imagine lighting it in winter, reading with a cup of tea. Erick, this is more than a house. It’s a dream we didn’t even know we had.”

I nodded, feeling the lump in my throat again. “I’m glad you liked it. Explore more—there’s a games room on the third floor, with an old pool table and windows overlooking the artificial lake in the backyard. And an empty gym that we can equip. Choose your rooms, mark what you want to change. Tomorrow the decorator will come to help with the furniture and the renovation.”

Advance chapters: patreon.com/cw/pararaio