Blood's everywhere on Rex's hands, hissing each time it hits the metal floor. It's cinematic, right? He's gasping for air like he just ran a marathon underwater. The warehouse is a ghost town. Bodies of Lex's grotesque henchmen litter the ground. They fought hard. A nasty piece of metal is stuck in his side, burning with a mystery poison that even [V.E.R.G.I.L.] can't understand.
[WARNING: INTERNAL DAMAGE CRITICAL. REGENERATION TOO SLOW.]
And just like that, Rex's cocky smile disappears. For once, he wonders if he's done for. His knees buckle, and one hits the floor hard. The walls start to blur in his vision.
"Tch... Is that all you've got, Lex...?" he spits out. It tastes like blood and metal.
Pain? That's old news. But this feels different. It seems like he's finally hit a wall he can't break through. He presses a hand against the wound, hoping for the usual red glow, the demonic fix. Nothing. No glow.
[DEVIL TRIGGER UNUSABLE. ENERGY RESERVES DEPLETED.]
For the first time, his body refuses to respond. No healing. No devil magic. Just pain and a chilling feeling that maybe this is the end.
He grinds his teeth, his hands shaking. Whatever's in that shrapnel is working hard. His vision is a mess.
"I'm not done," he growls, slamming his fist on the ground. Not that his body cares. Blood keeps pouring out. Everything is unraveling.
Then—boom. He feels something. Not from [V.E.R.G.I.L.]. Not a rush of adrenaline or encouragement. It's deeper, raw, ugly. Like the devil inside him just woke up from a bad hangover.
Not the clean Devil Trigger. Something rougher. More primal.
His cells burn, pushing the toxin out in waves. The metal piece pulls free with a wet pop. The wound starts to close—messily. It's ugly healing, but it's still healing.
[REGENERATION LEVEL: PARTIAL ADAPTATION ACTIVATED. SYSTEMIC DAMAGE STABILIZING.]
Rex spits blood and laughs—a bitter, harsh sound. "Not done yet, huh? Nice try."
He forces himself up. His legs wobble, but they hold. He feels different. Not finished. Not defeated. Just furious and more stubborn than ever.
The wound is still open and still hurts like hell, but it's closing. Slowly, but it's closing. Because devils don't get stronger when things are easy. They get meaner when the situation gets tough.
He grabs Rebellion—his sword, his anchor—and limps into the night. Gotham is still out there, bleeding in the dark. So is he.
But the city doesn't heal. Rex does, even if it's slow. Even if it hurts.
Cut to the Watchtower. Everyone watches Rex struggle to pull himself together on the screens.
Bruce is focused, analyzing the data. "He's changing."
Diana looks serious. "Lex forced him to evolve."
Bruce frowns. "Doesn't mean he's a friend."
"Nope," Diana replies. "But he's a whole new kind of problem now."
Meanwhile, at the safehouse, Evelyn is alone. Her stitches are still fresh, but she can't stop looking at the comm-link. She knows Rex won't call. He never does. But honestly, that scares her the most. If anyone is stubborn enough to crawl back from death just to keep fighting, it's him.
Rex pulls himself up to a rooftop. Gotham's lights flicker like they might go out, but he's not ready to give up. His body's a mess, but that old spark is returning.
"Evolution is tough," he mutters.
[ADAPTATION PROGRESS: 12%.]
He groans. "Keep your numbers, [V.E.R.G.I.L.]. I know I'm still breathing."
He looks out over Gotham. Lex isn't finished. Neither is he. Now, though, the rules are completely different.
It doesn't matter if it's ugly or slow. The devil is learning. It doesn't need mercy. It just needs to keep moving. That's how you survive.