Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

GOALS AND PRIORITIES

No one truly knows me. No one on this earth at least. I'm not trying to be poetic, I mean it when I say that no one truly knows me. Some have partially gleamed into the meanings behind my actions and have used that to try and define me. But if they truly knew why I did what I did, they'd balk.

I want to go home. Simple words, an even more simple wish. Home, the place where my true family resides. I never asked to be brought into a fictional world where nothing truly matters – I had a life, a good one back in my native world, and I was going to do everything in my power to get back. I won't lie, sometimes I'm sidetracked or distracted, but they are momentary – they can never stop me from trying to achieve my goal.

*.*.*.*

Twenty – four years prior to the death of Batman.

The Pit.

I woke up in hell. How could I tell? It was dark, filthy and crowded and there was a great gnashing of teeth and pitiful moans of suffering that went to a bone grating symphony like a chainsaw on wood. The first thing I did was to Immediately close my eyes and remind myself that it was all a vivid dream. Because it was – I am dreaming, how else would I leave my king-sized bed for the ice cold pool of rusted skeletons and decaying bodies. Then the smell hit me – the eye watering kind of stench, the one that abuses and violates your senses, the one that makes you want to pour raw sanitizer down your nostrils.

I coughed and dry heaved, using whatever wet rag I had on me to cover my face. I shouldn't have, things were crawling in that rag and I had now introduced those things to my face. I yelped, coughing and spitting as some got into my mouth. I began furiously scrubbing away the disgusting hoard of slithering maggots and crawling insects that sought to explore and conquer my face, leaving painfully itchy bites as monuments to their progress. Pun not intended, but I finally found out what was bugging me out, after hours of trying to rid myself of the filth I was in. I noticed my tiny, bony fingers as they trailed over my very small face.

It was disconcerting to say the least. Going from having strength filled adult hands to those of a malnourished child's. Going from having an angular masculine jaw and full beard to that of a young oval face as smooth as a sick baby's ass. Yes, I realize my analogies are quite awesome. I also realize my use of humor to silence the absolute terror I was feeling.

But I needed to set my priorities straight, first of which was getting out of this hole if I didn't want to die...again. I used what little strength I had to try latching onto whatever I could to climb towards the silver of light. But the world decided to throw me a surprise gift. There was a grunt, and then a whoosh followed by a bam! The whoosh was the sick body of someone either willing falling, or forcefully thrown into the hole. The bam was the sound it made when it crashed on me.

Have you ever tasted shit water? Have you ever tasted shit water with loads of decaying bodies in it, some of which were still alive? Have you ever been nearly drowned in water that probably contained an astounding concentration of hepatitis A through F? I puked, and then watched my puke flood back into my mouth – it tasted better than the water.

The body on top of me was killing me. Heh! that's what she said! Right, brain. You're so fucking helpful. I pushed and prodded but the bastard wouldn't get off me. Not because he couldn't but because he wouldn't. He was using me to survive, to keep afloat while I drowned beneath him. This would be instrumental to my change in becoming the demon I grew up to be. It wasn't some life changing epiphany or such. It was an obstacle I overcame that would nudge me on the right – or wrong – path to surviving.

I was going to die if I did nothing. And with the body of what I assumed to be a four year old starving child, I barely had strength to spare. So I used technique. There's a scream a man makes when you have his gonads viciously gripped in your hands – It is loud enough that you can even hear it's piercing screech underwater. His trashing gave me the opportunity to breach the crowded surface.

The man had swallowed quite a large quantity of the putrid water, enough to leave him as weak as I was, but more vulnerable. Vulnerable enough for me to then use his body as a life buoy. The trashing of a dying person is not to be underestimated. His frail body exhibited so much strength – enough for him to even kill me. But I guess he was angry and wanted to punish me badly, and as you all know, unfocused anger makes a man irrational.

The punch was hard enough to break my jaw – it dislocated it instead. And the slap left me seeing bright spots in my vision when normally it'd be dark instead. I cried and begged for mercy. I was scared shitless and terrified. I was so weak, I pitied myself. But alas, even a dying man's strength runs out. Upon finding it easy to free the fingers that had held the rags I had for clothing tight enough to strangle me. I realized that the bastard was finding it difficult to even breath. His inhales sound like the painful wheeze of a dying cat.

I held two handfuls of his hair and pushed downwards. He trashed and kicked, his finger nails like razors as he clawed at my hands and face. I did not let up; he stopped struggling eventually. It took awhile for me to kill him, as my own strength came in periodic bursts. And he made use of the lag between the burst to grab some air from the surface. He just made it painful for himself.

Right about now, you might be wondering why I didn't dwell more on the fact that I just took a man's life, or on the implications of what I just did. Please, I was too busy not dying to truly care. And in days later I would resort to limited cannibalism to give me enough strength to even think of leaving the hole.

*.*.*.*.*

Six days. That's how long it took me to slowly make my way out of the hole – which I later found out was the graveyard of the prison I was in – only to be kicked back into the hole by a sacred man who thought as I was either a zombie or a demon sent from hell. Technically, I had done things down in the hole that would qualify me for both.

All in all, it took me another three days to climb out the shit-hole. That was the beginning of hell. Sometimes I wonder if I should have let myself die in there instead. But I had a goal, and I needed to see it through.

I stood mouth agape, jaw finally relocated and utterly stumped. I crawled out of one hole, only to find myself in a larger one. It was a wide circular pit with reinforced concrete on all sides and within the concrete were dilapidated prison cells. I saw no guards, no wardens, not even other prison facilities, unless we're counting the make-shift ones.

This place was evil. This was where hope came to die. I could not only feel it, I could see it. The people in here, they had zero morals and no qualms at all. I watched a man kill another just because he found it funny. I watched them laugh and cheer on torturers who raced to skin men alive, the fastest being the victor if they'd keep their victims alive, it was all a sport to them. As the afternoon sunlight illuminated my surroundings, so also did it give me a great epiphany; this was a place filled with two kinds of people; predators and prey. Right now, I was a delicious morsel to their eyes – I was prey for eyes that were currently all focused on me.

I'll save you too much details of what happened to me. But know that there are things done to people that leave them feeling forever unclean, even when I had fallen into a literal shit hole filled with corpses it was nothing compared to this. This was another obstacle that taught me the true cruelty of reality. A lesson burned and branded, not only to my flesh but to my soul.

*.*.*.*

Twenty – three years prior to the death of Batman.

The Pit.

The days blurred till they combined into one endless cycle. My conscious mind receded due to all the abuse and my mentality became fractured. I died, not physically at least, but I still died. I went through so much that I just went under, my very soul went on lock down for a very long time. The only thing that caused me to regain myself was my goal, I couldn't abandon it, I couldn't give up. When I did wake up, I was nailed to an X shaped cross and some inches taller – apparently I'd been used for a year.

The past me would've asked why me. I would have cried for mercy and begged as I questioned whatever it was that brought me here. I'd have asked why I had to be tortured and put through hell, when all the others I'd read about in situations like mine from fiction had gained either massive wealth, immense amazing powers, or endless charisma that made every other person bend backwards to please them. No, I wasn't given shit. All I had was a scarred soul, a broken body and my own fortitude and willpower.

Slowly and painfully, I widened the injury on my palm, using the rod stabbed through it to scrape away flesh till the metal met bone. Wide enough for me to get both my hands free with a yank –

Here another comes.

I slowed my breath and closed my eyes. Cracking them slowly open when I felt the hand of one of the bastards inch closer to my naked body – so close I could feel his disgusting stench of his breath brush against my cheek. When he cupped my face, I knew it was my time.

Pain is relative. You learn to control it.

I yanked myself free from the cross. Leaving wide gaping, bleeding holes in the center of my palms. I fell right on the fucker's face and held on like a humanoid vice, the bastard screamed in surprise. What I did next left him screaming in pain.

With fingernails left growing for close to a year and sharpened to fine tips, I dug them into his squishy eyeballs. They burst like a bag full of pus, I dug deeper, burying the entire length of my thumb up his orbital cavity. Blood showered me, washing away my filth.

The man fell backwards, spasming and still crying bloody murder, I held him down with all my strength. Killing a man by trying to stab his brain with your thumb is much harder than it seems.

I was losing too much strength to continue with that venture – but I still had enough to do what needed to be done.

I bit into his carotid artery, teeth against soft almost slippery flesh. I just took a chunk of his flesh off instead of hitting his vitals. I spat it out and took another bite – this time not missing.

My mouth was filled with the almost salty metal scented blood. I was tempted to drink, but resisted that urge. I let the vigorous spurts of blood soak me instead. I slowly and shakily rose to my feet, the tears in my eyes only recognized by myself. My body bathed in a wet crimson paint, fresh enough for me to still feel the heat off it.

The prison was eerily quiet. I realized that eyes were focused on me, I looked back, memorizing each and every one of them.

I will kill you all.

Someone shook his head and pulled out a rusted metal rod sharpened to a bladed edge, that someone then began approaching me. I barely had enough strength to stand as it was and it seemed like this was finally it, the moment I die.

"Boyo let, Gustav put you out of your misery" said the man with the weapon as he now stood a meter away from me. "I'll be quic—urrkk!" It happened in a blur, large hands wrapped around his head and folded his neck. This wasn't a break, it was a literal fold.

I stared up at this neanderthal looking man. He was massive and hairy with very sharp features.

"Child. Follow me and I will teach you your strength and how to use it to survive." His voice was as gentle as a bulldozer running through wood. Like the wet licks of a serpent before it strikes.

"Why?" I asked Why didn't you save me earlier? Why should I trust you? Why do I have to follow you? I wanted to speak more but I would end up crying, my voice was quivering as is. If I did that (cry), I'd just revert to being a victim, a prey.

The man stared down at me, maybe in fascination or maybe some other emotion I was too tired to notice. But all I know is that he stared at me and then laughed, laughed without a sound. I'd acquired the ability of recognizing how deadly or deranged a man was by his eyes. His eyes told me that this very man was a demon, a beast and a saint. It made no sense. "You, a child whose very soul has been broken, is now rebuilt stronger, stronger than anyone else's in here, by your very own hands. It is a thing that cannot be and yet is. Come, let me teach you to harness your strength, to direct your mind, body and spirit towards your ends. It would be an honor."

It sounded like cryptic bullshit and I don't know why it resonated with me, but it did. If he was going to try doing anything else other than what he stated, I'd either kill him or myself, I'll never be victimized again.

Suplaiicse Mallaffakkas Gday everyone. Hope you're taking the CORVID-19 preventive measures seriously and stayin alive.

* Thoughts?

NOT FORGETTING MY AWESOME PATRONS. Absolute CELESTIAL LEVEL shout out to you my great SUPPORTERS, (Secret lovers on the low low..hah!)

Bigtofu(the Goliath king slayer).

Kevin J Rosario(The mandalorian of durasteel).

Clinton (Titan Breaker)

David J (Celestial Devastator)

King_Reaper ( Kaiser Raiser )

Ibrahim Gueye (Fire Breaker)

PbookR (Infinity's Librarian)

Amir G (Galactic gangsta)

Simply Invincible (Onepunch Lord)