Nathaneal Cross sat at the edge of his bed, the muted light of early dawn spilling through the blinds. His eighteenth birthday had begun quietly, with the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional siren far off in the city. For most people, turning eighteen was a step into freedom, independence, and opportunity. For Nate, it was different. It was the day the past would return to him, wrapped in shadows, power, and memory.
He had grown up in a disciplined household. His father, Marcus Cross, was a man who believed in routine, strength, and the unshakable laws of right and wrong. An active captain in the NYPD, he had trained Nate from the age of six, not only in basic self-defense but in endurance, agility, and mental discipline. Nate's childhood had been a series of drills, runs through Central Park at dawn, climbing walls, and martial arts routines that his father refined for him year after year.
His mother, Eliza Cross, had been the gentler influence in his life, a doctor who had nurtured his intellect and his sense of empathy. Her death two years prior in a car accident had left a permanent void in him. Though he had buried the pain under the rigor of training and studies, there had always been a lingering emptiness, a shadow in the corners of his life.
Today, however, the emptiness shifted. He felt it in his bones, a vibration almost imperceptible at first, like the faint thrum of a distant storm.
As he lay back on his mattress, trying to will the sensation away, his eyes grew heavy. Sleep came quickly, but with it, the world changed.
The dream began in darkness. A city sprawled beneath him, jagged and forbidding, shrouded in shadows that seemed to move and writhe with intent. And then he saw himself.
A figure crouched on a gargoyle, silhouetted against the flickering light of distant fires. The mask on his face was unmistakable, bat-like, a symbol of fear and vigilance. Though he could not place it, it felt intimately familiar. He knew every movement of his body in that form, every calculated gesture. He moved with the precision of a lifetime of combat training.
And then he saw him: Darkseid. A figure immense, unstoppable, a cosmic horror made flesh. The mere sight of the being radiated a pressure that seemed to squeeze the air from his lungs. Batman leapt into the fight, reflexes honed to perfection, every punch and kick infused with strategy and intent. Fighting the Parademons with his absolute best.
He remembered.
Every detail of this life, his previous life as Bruce Wayne. Gotham. The Batcave. Villains. Allies. And now, this ultimate confrontation. Darkseid had come for him, descending from the cosmos like a living storm of destruction. He had anticipated this moment, but even he knew that the device he had painstakingly crafted a gadget designed to permanently weaken the cosmic tyrant was not something he could wield alone.
Its construction had required the finest materials, the most precise calibrations, and a synchronization of energy that only multiple hands could manage.
In the dim light of the war-torn battlefield, he called out to the Justice League. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash arrived in rapid succession, each wearing a look of grim determination. "It's our only chance," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "This device… it can weaken him permanently, but I can't do it alone."
Wonder Woman stepped forward. "You'll need our power to stabilize it. I can channel the energy flow, but we'll
have to coordinate precisely."
Superman's eyes narrowed. "I will hold Darkseid at the target point. But I can't do it for long. We only have one chance."
Flash zipped around them, adjusting circuits and energy conduits at impossible speeds, his movements a blur. "I'll handle the timing, every second counts."
Together, they enacted the plan. The device hummed with growing intensity, an almost painful brilliance radiating outward. Darkseid faltered, his massive form staggering as the gadget's energies struck true, ripping through the dark tyrant's cosmic might.
But the cost was immediate and devastating. Batman's body convulsed as the energy backlash surged through him, the force too great even for his legendary resilience. Pain lanced through him, yet his mind remained sharp.
This is it… my last stand… for them… for Gotham… for the world.
He pushed the device forward, every ounce of strength fueling it. The energy tore through him, yet through the pain came clarity.
With one final, coordinated surge, the device unleashed its full power. Darkseid collapsed, permanently weakened, his dark energy drained and fractured. And yet, in the aftermath, the battlefield was silent except for the mournful cries of heroes. Batman lay still, his body spent, his mission complete.
He awoke with a start, sweat soaking his shirt, heart hammering as if it were trying to break free from his chest. His room looked the same, the early light still filtering through the blinds, yet something fundamental had shifted. There was energy coursing through him, tingling under his skin, awakening muscles that had already been honed to their peak. His reflexes felt sharper, his senses more acute.
He tested the movement of his limbs, instinctively performing a series of jumps, rolls, and strikes he had practiced since childhood. Everything felt amplified, not in some mystical or exaggerated way, but as if his body had been refined, tuned to a level beyond ordinary human limits. He could feel his breathing, his heartbeat, the subtle flow of energy inside him. This… this was something new. Something he had never encountered before.
He sank into a meditative stance on the floor, closing his eyes, and tried to focus. He reached inward, sensing the flow, the energy moving through muscles, nerves, and sinews. With conscious thought, he guided it, feeling strength course through his legs, speed in his arms, precision in his hands. He had no name for it, no instruction manual, no precedent. Yet he knew intuitively how to manipulate it.
It was power. And it was his.
His father's voice called from downstairs, crisp and practical. "Nate! Breakfast's ready!"
He opened his eyes and smiled faintly, though the thrill of his awakening still ran in his veins. "Coming," he said, climbing to his feet with a controlled grace that had not been present before.
At the table, conversation was light, focused on mundane details, the breakfast menu, the news on the radio, the inevitable discussions of responsibilities and training schedules. His father noticed nothing extraordinary in his son's demeanor, and Nate allowed him that ignorance.
After breakfast, Marcus Cross suggested they take a run, as was tradition on birthdays. Nate followed, but every step of the way, he felt the subtle new awareness in his body, the speed, the stamina, the reflexes that had been enhanced by the awakening of this energy he now knew he could control. The jog through Central Park was no longer simply training; it was testing, calibrating, discovering the limits of what his body could now do.
Later, Nate returned home and resumed his martial arts drills. The kata, once methodical and disciplined, now flowed with an almost unnatural precision. He moved faster, struck harder, and anticipated motions with uncanny accuracy. Every movement sent ripples of energy through him, and he focused, experimenting with pacing, exertion, and the flow of his internal power.
He paused mid-drill and allowed the memories to come fully into focus. He saw himself in the Batcave, remembered the gadgets, the vehicles, the endless nights in Gotham. He remembered the faces of those he had fought to protect, and those he had lost. And above all, he remembered the fight with Darkseid, the desperation, the ingenuity, the sacrifice, and the fleeting victory that came just before death.
He whispered to himself, voice low and resolute:
"I am Bruce Wayne. I was the Bat. And yet, here I am, alive again. No fortune, no Batcave, no resources. Only the body, the mind, and this… power. If I am to become who I once was, I will have to rebuild it all from scratch. And this time… I will be smarter, faster, stronger."
Hours passed in silence. The sun climbed higher, but Nate paid no attention. He moved through exercises with precision, testing the limits of his strength, speed, reflexes, and stamina. Every sprint, every jump, every strike was enhanced by the flow he now understood was chakra, energy intrinsic to his being, waiting to be harnessed.
By evening, he felt fatigue but in a way that was productive, affirming. He had tested the body, sensed the energy, remembered the mind of his previous life, and begun the subtle integration of the two. His father called him again for dinner, but Nate barely noticed. The world felt slower, the city muted, as if he had stepped slightly outside the normal flow of life.
That night, before sleep reclaimed him, Nate climbed to the roof of his apartment building. The city lights stretched below him, a sea of human activity oblivious to the convergence of past and present happening above. He crouched on the edge, hands on knees, chest heaving gently, chakra flowing and steady. He allowed himself a brief smile, not of arrogance, but of recognition.
He was alive again. He remembered who he was. And he had power. Power that if mastered, could make him greater than before.
The memory of the final battle with Darkseid lingered, a constant reminder of what he had faced and what he had survived. The device he had created, the genius of his own mind, the sacrifice he had endured, it all returned with crystalline clarity. He did not fear it. He welcomed it.
The path ahead would be long, private, and grueling. But Nate Cross, the Bat reborn, was ready.
And with that, he let the night embrace him, eyes closed, mind sharpening, body alive with the energy of a past life fully awakened.