"Pitter-patter, pitter-patter~"
The icy rain washed mercilessly over the muddy ground of the abandoned industrial district.
The night had dyed everything in shades of gray.
Metropolis and Gotham City were separated by only a single bay, but tonight, this derelict industrial stretch between the two cities had become the battlefield where a god and a mortal were about to clash.
"It's over there!"
Jordan Kent's super hearing, like a precision instrument that had slipped beyond his control, locked every ounce of its focus onto the battle several blocks away the instant the explosion rang out.
Panicked screams, crumbling rubble, the roar of flames—all of it blurred together, yet none of it could mask the two sounds at the core. One was familiar—it belonged to his father, Clark Kent, otherwise known as Superman, a pained, bewildered grunt.
The other was like sandpaper dragged across rusted steel—low and hoarse, saturated with unconcealed hostility and a cruelty that bordered on obsession.
Batman.
Both men looked far younger than the faces Jordan knew. The scene from a distance drove into his mind like an ice pick, and in an instant, his blood ran cold.
"What's happening?!" Through layer upon layer of rain and buildings, Jordan saw exactly what was unfolding at the source of that explosion and that voice.
In truth.
The moment they had arrived was no random accident. The Weeping Angel, in its search for "sustenance," had specifically filtered for the point in time most likely to ignite a change in the timeline.
And that moment.
Was the very first time Batman and Superman had come face to face.
At the same instant the three DC kids tumbled into this era.
Far away.
The rain continued to pour without mercy over rusted steel and cracked concrete.
The ground was thick with mud, and the air carried the sharp, damp smell of iron and dust and rain. Abandoned warehouses and factory buildings loomed in the darkness like enormous black tombstones.
Bruce Wayne, in the guise of Batman, had already laid an inescapable net across that location. This was no blind challenge to a god—it was a meticulous plan drawn from his analysis of Kryptonian power and from his deep-seated dread of the truth: that if Superman ever turned to evil, humanity would have no chance whatsoever.
Kryptonite was his only trump card on the surface—and a lethal one at that.
Clark Kent descended, confused and furious. Superman dropped like a meteor, the force of his landing scattering the standing puddles in every direction.
Flecks of mud shot outward like bullets.
"Batman! This ends now! Your intimidation act is over."
"Hand over whoever you've detained to the police. And take off your mask... then turn yourself in. Think about your family... your friends. Don't let me find you on the streets at night again." He had been pushed over the edge by Batman's vigilante methods—particularly the bat brand burned into criminals. In Superman's eyes, it was the mark of something savage and dangerous.
Both of them were young men now.
Each unable to stand the other, unwilling to trust or acknowledge the other's brand of justice.
The rain was cold, drumming against rusted iron and sodden earth. Superman stood in the downpour, his red cape soaked through, his sharp gaze sweeping across the shadows where Batman stood.
"Heh."
Batman gave no response to Superman's warning. He simply kept walking forward with measured, deliberate steps, each one landing in the puddles with a heavy, dull sound.
"BOOM—"
The ambush bombs detonated around Superman.
However.
Superman was completely unharmed—just visibly annoyed.
"I won't warn you a third time."
Superman's tone grew heavier, carrying the weight of an ultimatum.
When the distance between them had shrunk to almost nothing.
Batman stopped.
The heavy, angular suit made him look even more imposing than usual, his silhouette radiating a crushing sense of threat.
The King of Gotham's gaze locked onto Superman from behind that mask. His mechanically synthesized voice broke the silence of the rainy night with icy mockery and unwavering challenge.
Rainwater ran along the sharp ears of his helmet and down the edges of his pauldrons.
Faced with Superman's demands, he showed not the slightest trace of backing down. He stepped forward instead, his voice coming through the mask, filled with contempt and absolute resolve.
"Tell me... do you bleed?"
The words rang out like a war horn.
It wasn't just a question—it was a declaration. A mortal's challenge to a god, staking everything on the right to power, to fear, and to survival.
Superman was clearly pushed well past the edge of his patience by the brazen provocation. He didn't waste another word—his body launched forward like a cannonball, trailing a sonic boom that tore through the air.
A fist slammed toward Batman!
"CRACK!!"
A deep, heavy impact.
The punch connected squarely with Batman's crossed forearms as he blocked. The suit's defense system hit its load limit in an instant, erupting in a burst of electrical sparks.
"BOOM—!" The force was beyond anything to match. Batman was sent skidding backward more than a dozen meters, his boots carving two deep furrows through the mud.
Had the suit not absorbed the overwhelming majority of that impact, the blow alone would have shattered every bone in his body. But this was part of Batman's plan.
He used the suit's cushioning and the muddy ground to shed some of the force, while sensors concealed throughout the armor frantically gathered data on Superman's speed and power output.
"You never learn when to stop, do you."
Superman didn't slow down.
He closed in again.
Moving faster than the naked eye could track.
"Crack crack crack!" The invincible Kryptonian seized Batman, tossing him around like a ragdoll, hoisting him up with effortless ease and hurling him straight into the steel framework of a nearby derelict factory building!
"CRASH! SNAP!"
Steel beams warped. Bricks exploded outward. Batman disappeared under a cascade of rubble.
In that moment, Superman hovered in the air, rain striking his face as he stared coldly at the wreckage below, perhaps believing the fight was over.
Even so—even against Batman—Superman had no intention of killing.
But he spoke again, his voice carrying the tone of a divine decree: "Next time you appear before me, you'd better understand what it means to back down and show restraint."
The young Clark was clearly a man of sharp edges and undisguised authority—but what answered him from the shadows of the rubble was a cold laugh.
And a sudden, blinding beam of searing light!
"Do you think you've won?"
Batman looked wrecked, but his expression was one of total confidence.
"Ugh!"
The unexpected flash disrupted Superman's vision.
He instinctively turned his head away.
And in that split second of vulnerability, Batman moved!
He charged out from the shadows on the opposite side, a strangely shaped, large-scale weapon now in hand—a sonic cannon!
"HMMMMM——!!"
High-frequency sound waves hammered into Superman like an invisible battering ram.
This was no physical blow—it targeted the senses and the vestibular system directly. Superman let out a pained grunt, clutching his ears, visibly overwhelmed. His body swayed in the air, his control over himself momentarily shattered.
This was the first significant blow Superman had ever suffered at Batman's hands, precisely because he'd never taken the time to properly understand him.
"Arrogance is your original sin!"
Batman seized the opening. His other hand flung several Batarangs. These were no ordinary metal—as they closed in on Superman, they detonated, releasing thick billowing clouds of white powder. Lead dust! The lead dust perfectly blocked Superman's X-ray vision, stripping away his ability to see through the battlefield and locate his enemy.
In an instant.
Superman went from a god standing above all.
To a man lost in a cloud of smoke, his senses crippled and directionless.
"Where are you?!"
His ears became the only sense he could rely on.
He hadn't yet unlocked his psychic resonance mode.
In the lead dust, Superman stumbled to the ground, trying desperately to clear the air around him, but his sight and perception were thoroughly compromised.
Batman moved like a true ghost under the cover of the lead cloud, using his grappling gun to race between the steel frameworks—appearing, vanishing, and appearing again—continuously harassing and striking Superman with the sonic cannon, electric shock devices, and small explosives.
"Damn it! Get out here!" Superman swung blindly in fury, his heat vision firing wildly, scorching nothing but walls and steel beams.
He was like a lion trapped in a cage—force in abundance, nowhere to direct it. Batman's tactical intent was clear: drain, disrupt, enrage, force mistakes.
Finally, Batman got the opening he'd been waiting for. In the brief moment that Superman's body locked up from a sonic barrage, Batman swung down from the heights, using the momentum of his descent to loop a custom alloy cable around Superman's neck, yanking him savagely down to the ground!
"UGH—!"
Superman crashed hard into the mud and standing water.
Batman landed on top of him in the same motion.
He planted his knees into Superman's chest, driving down hard enough to make breathing and any attempt at leverage nearly impossible. And then he produced that carefully crafted weapon.
The tip of a Kryptonite spear, radiating a pale, eerie green glow.
The Kryptonite had been what allowed him to close in and restrain Superman in the first place! Though the alien mineral came at extraordinary cost, he was, as yet, a man without children and with no shortage of money.
"You... are not a god."
Batman's voice was ice-cold and merciless, pronouncing his victory.
He raised the Kryptonite spear, poised to drive it home! The green light bathed Superman at close range, delivering cellular disintegration and pain that defied description.
"Ghh~"
Superman let out a desperate, agonized cry. The blood on his face blurred in the rain as he fought to resist, but his strength was bleeding out of him like a tide.
The Kryptonite's radiance was like the foulest curse imaginable, dragging him from his divine pedestal down into the dirt, forcing him to experience the extremes of helplessness and the terror of approaching death.
And it was at this moment of absolute crisis.
As a critical turning point in DC history was about to unfold.
As the famous "Martha moment" was about to arrive—
"NO!!!"
Jordan, watching from a distance, saw his father subjected to this humiliation and mortal threat—and his rage shattered straight through every wall of reason. How could it not? His father, who was like a god made flesh, was being beaten again and again across the face by a powerful, armored Batman!
The dull impact of metal-encased fists against flesh and blood was more terrifying than any thunderclap—and far more effective at triggering his already severe manic tendencies.
Ian might not be clinically diagnosed in the conventional sense.
But Jordan—Jordan had over thirty hospital records to his name.
Watching his father humiliated and brought to the edge of death played out in brutal contrast against the image burned into his memory: an all-powerful man who had always been the source of hope and safety.
Fury. Fear. The instinct to protect. Every emotion crashed together and blew the dam of his reason to pieces.
"LET HIM GO!!!"
Jordan appeared in the combat zone in what was nearly a single instant, his eyes going bloodshot in a fraction of a second, twin beams of heat vision blazing forth like volcanic magma that had lost all restraint.
"BOOM—!"
Terrifying power erupted from his eyes without any warning, slicing through the rainy night, carrying earth-shattering destructive energy that struck Batman's chest armor dead center.
"CRACK——!!!"
The impact was catastrophic.
And Jordan's arrival had completely bypassed Batman's defenses.
Batman's whole body took the hit like he'd been struck head-on by a high-speed train—his heavy suit letting out an ear-splitting screech of metal being torn and twisted!
"Crash! Crash! Crash!"
Batman was blown clean off his feet and launched backward.
Like a boulder hurled from a trebuchet.
He punched through several walls of the derelict factory in succession, and finally came to rest buried in a mound of structural debris amid a thunderous collapse of brick and mortar, dust rising in thick clouds around him.
"Jordan! You're interfering with the past! How could you act so recklessly!"
Jonathan, arriving right behind him, called out in alarm. His own pace was no slouch—even with Damian in tow, he'd only been a single step behind—after all, he was the DC universe's very first Ultraman.
"He's fine... we're just watching a piece of history."
The eldest of the Kent sons cast a quick, sharp look in the direction Batman had been launched, then immediately crouched down to check on Superman, who lay on the ground, weakened and unconscious from Kryptonite exposure.
After confirming that their young father was only temporarily drained—no life-threatening danger—Jonathan let out a breath of relief, then turned his head to look at Jordan, whose chest was still heaving heavily, the red glow in his eyes not yet fully faded.
"I remember Dad told us about this fight himself. He and Batman had it out when they first met—it got pretty brutal. Could this be that fight?"
"I remember, Dad told all of us about this part of his past. It wasn't supposed to have much lasting impact—but what you just did has clearly affected how history is supposed to unfold." There was a trace of exasperation and resignation in Jonathan's tone.
He clearly knew a great deal about this kind of thing.
No one was entirely sure how.
"All I regret is that I didn't hit him in the head!"
Jordan was still grinding his teeth.
"His head? Understood! Understood—nobody knows how to go for the head better than me!" A look crossed Damian Wayne's face, blending excitement and what could only be described as filial devotion.
He hopped nimbly over scattered bricks and located Batman with precision—the man had just hauled himself upright from the rubble, his suit badly damaged, seemingly still rattled and disoriented.
"Behold my ultimate technique!"
Then, under Jonathan and Jordan's completely stupefied stares, Damian did something that made them feel a chill below the belt—he took a running start, leapt into the air, and with every ounce of strength his body possessed, drove his tactical boot directly and precisely into Batman's most vulnerable region between his legs.
That is to say, "the little head below the belt."
A head's a head, isn't it?
The sheer force behind it looked genuinely devastating.
Batman, in designing his suit, apparently never considered the possibility that Superman might one day kick him there.
"AAAAUGH!"
His pain converted directly into a howl.
You didn't even have to experience it personally.
Just watching was enough to feel it.
"Oh HELL—!" Jordan and Jonathan said it in perfect unison, a wave of vicarious cold shooting straight from their spines to the tops of their skulls. That kick was vicious. That kick was final.
Even with soft armor protection in place, Batman had genuinely been caught off guard and failed to dodge. The body he'd barely managed to prop upright curled back down again—whatever expression was under that mask at this moment was surely spectacular beyond words.
"Alright, alright, that's enough!" After confirming that Superman's breathing had stabilized, most of Jordan's anger had drained away—and seeing that Damian looked ready to follow up with another strike, he immediately called out to stop him.
Even Jordan found Damian's level of "filial devotion" too much to bear to keep watching, which said everything about how many years' worth of technique Damian had poured into that single kick.
After all, this was Uncle Batman—the man who'd given Jonathan and Jordan Christmas Gifts as kids.
"Mm."
Damian finally stopped, with the air of someone who'd left the job unfinished, even going so far as to dust off his hands as though he'd accomplished something remarkable.
He explained his reasoning without missing a beat: "You see, I stepped in to vent your frustration on your behalf—that makes this practically saving him, doesn't it. Definitely not because I took a paid course from my idol's Twitter account."
"'A guide to ensuring you are the sole heir to Wayne Enterprises.'" Damian even seemed to genuinely consider himself a good son—though that final explanation was the thinnest veil of plausible deniability imaginable.
"Oh, right—am I born yet at this point in time?" Damian even tilted his head sideways to ponder the philosophical implications for a moment.
This entire sequence of behavior—the depth of "filial piety" on display—was the sort of thing that could make even Satan, watching from childhood, beg to see a few more episodes, just to properly study what "paternal love and filial devotion" truly looked like.
"..."
Jonathan paid no attention to Damian's ramblings. His expression was grave as he stared at the unconscious Superman and the temporarily incapacitated Batman lying in the distance, working through his memory.
"I remember Dad mentioned he and Batman had a fight when they first met—a really serious one. Is this the one?"
The three young boys, momentarily steeped in the uneasy feeling of having "rescued" their father but possibly altered history in doing so—were, this time around, the ones who had made the critical error of dropping their guard.
Since when did Batman ever fight fair?
He was only playing dead.
The moment the opening appeared.
The instant all three of them relaxed their vigilance, everything changed.
"Whoosh——!"
Several compact Bat-drones slipped silently out of the shadows like phantoms, immediately firing custom alloy cables that wrapped around Jonathan with split-second precision, binding him in an instant.
The light of his Ultraman armor flared as it tried to resist, but the cables seemed to carry some kind of energy-suppression function—they actually managed to temporarily suppress the armor's active properties.
This equipment had been developed to counter Wonder Woman's divine power.
Against Ultraman's strength.
It worked just the same.
"Let me go!" The powerful pull of the drones jerked Jonathan violently off the ground and up into the overcast sky, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break free immediately.
Almost simultaneously, a crossbow bolt screamed through the air toward Jordan! Jordan instinctively tried to intercept it with his heat vision—but the bolt detonated the moment it drew close to him.
A massive cloud of green Kryptonite dust exploded outward like a smoke grenade, swallowing him completely!
"AAAARGH——!" Jordan let out a cry of pure agony. The Kryptonite dust flooded his lungs, and an indescribable weakness and pain swept through his entire body in an instant.
His legs gave way entirely—he dropped to both knees in the mud, body shaking, without even the strength to stand. And for Damian—who had struck the hardest and had been the clearest threat—Batman's response was the heaviest of all.
"Crackle crackle crackle~"
A heavy-duty net, woven from high-strength composite material and surging with high-voltage current, dropped from above and engulfed Damian with pinpoint accuracy. Blue electric arcs snapped and crackled—Damian barely had time to react before the electricity had locked every muscle in his body, leaving him twitching as if afflicted with some uncontrollable full-body spasm.
Not only did he feel like he was about to leave his mortal coil from the current alone—the net wound itself around him so thoroughly that he was bundled up as tight as a wrapped dumpling, incapable of movement no matter how hard he tried.
It all happened in the span of a single lightning flash. The three young boys who had just been holding the upper hand were now completely neutralized.
"Thud... thud... thud..."
Heavy footsteps sounded through the rain, carrying a suffocating pressure. That dark figure rose slowly from the dispersing dust and rain.
His suit was damaged in multiple places—the bat insignia on his chest had even cracked—and his gait was stiff and pained, but he stood.
Like a soul of vengeance returned from Hell.
"A Kryptonian, and a bearer of divine power as well." Batman paid no attention to Jonathan, still dangling in the sky above, nor to Jordan, curled in agony on the ground below. That cold, masked gaze, sharp as two blades, drove directly into Damian—the one member of the trio still conscious, the one still capable of meeting his eyes.
"Tap. Tap. Tap." Batman approached one step at a time, each footfall seeming to land in sync with Damian's heartbeat, the invisible pressure thickening the air around him.
At last, he stopped before Damian, looking down from above at the boy who had just inflicted serious physical and psychological damage upon him.
"Who... are you?"
Batman's voice came through the mask colder than the rain itself. The battle rage was still there—but now something deeper had layered over it. Something like a verdict being handed down.
"Don't... don't—" Damian looked up at this Batman who regarded him as though he were a complete stranger, radiating nothing but destruction, and felt his heart hammering.
He had never felt this kind of pressure from Bruce Wayne directly—so immediate, so crushing. That feeling of being locked in a predator's sights, of his life not being his own to decide—it was the first time, in all his years, that Damian found himself experiencing something faint and utterly indescribable: a strange empathy for every villain in Gotham who had ever been hunted down and beaten by Batman.
But this was only the beginning.
Batman raised his foot. That heavy boot—caked in mud, marked by the battle—descended in Damian's horrified gaze, pressing down onto his face. Hard. Deliberately.
"Ungh!"
The force was immense. Damian's cheek twisted under the weight, his teeth tearing into the inside of his mouth, the taste of blood flooding across his tongue. Rainwater and filth mixed together.
Plastering one of his eyes shut.
"Tell me. Otherwise, I have no objection to extracting the information from your brain directly." The cold, merciless voice fell from above like a final judgment.
This was a father Damian did not recognize at all.
The crushing pressure on his face and the warped, grinding pain were not even a fraction of the shock reverberating through Damian's chest.
He was pinned face-down in the mud, and that boot felt less like it was pressing on his face and more like it was grinding to powder every understanding of the word "father" he had built across more than a decade of life.
"No! No! Please!"
Seeing Batman look perfectly capable of unscrewing the top of his skull without a second thought if he felt like it, Damian began to shake—and the boy who had seemed like something born from catastrophe itself vanished completely.
"I—I'm a Wayne too! My father is Bruce Wayne!"
Well.
The Martha moment may have been averted.
But... the arrival of the Wayne moment still managed to stop Batman cold.
"...?!?!?!?!?!"
Perhaps the shock of "my mother's name is Martha too" was, in truth, no match for the shock of Damian's "my father is Bruce Wayne"—and that could be seen very clearly from Batman's reaction: his entire body going rigid, his pupils contracting sharply.
The downpour continued without pause.