Wayne Manor - The Grand Foyer
The sun streamed through the high windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was a beautiful morning for a tragedy.
I moved with a speed that defied physics. I caught Deathstroke's sword between my palms, shattering the blade. I ducked under Lady Shiva's lethal palm strike, delivering a kick that sent her crashing into the antique vase collection.
"Out of my way!" I roared, my voice shifting into a multi-tonal demonic screech.
But David Cain was waiting. He fired a net gun—titanium weave. It wrapped around me.
I tore through it in a second, my claws extending.
"You are annoying me," I hissed.
I prepared to disembowel Cain.
Then, I heard it.
It wasn't a scream. Bruce Wayne didn't scream.
It was a sound like a dry branch stepping on a landmine. A wet, sickening CRACK that echoed off the marble walls and stopped my heart cold.
KRA-KOOM.
Time froze.
I looked past the assassins.
Bane stood near the shattered grandfather clock. His knee was raised.
Draped over that massive knee, bent backward at an unnatural, horrific angle, was Batman.
Bruce's head hung loose. His arms dangled. He wasn't moving.
Bane looked at me. His eyes behind the luchador mask were calm. Satisfied.
"It is done," Bane rumbled.
He stood up, lifting Bruce's limp body with one hand.
"Gotham has no King," Bane announced. "The Bat is broken."
He walked to the edge of the secret entrance—the hole in the floor where the clock used to be.
"No..." I whispered, the darkness erupting from my skin like black smoke.
Bane dropped him.
Bruce's body tumbled down the dark shaft, hitting the rocks below with a series of dull thuds.
"Mission complete," Deathstroke said, clutching his broken sword. "Withdraw."
The assassins threw smoke bombs.
"YOU DO NOT LEAVE!" I screamed.
I lunged through the smoke. I grabbed David Cain by the leg. I didn't just break it; I pulverized it. He screamed, firing a grappling hook to drag himself out the window.
Bane was already gone, vanishing onto the roof with a speed that belied his size.
I stood alone in the foyer. The smoke cleared.
The house was silent.
I ran to the hole in the floor.
"Master Bruce!"
I leaped. I didn't slide down the pole; I fell, turning into a shadow to increase my velocity.
The Batcave
I landed on the stone floor of the cave.
It was dark. The computer screens were still humming, displaying the chaos in the city.
Bruce lay on top of the giant penny, where he had landed.
He was twisted. His legs were splayed uselessly. His spine was clearly severed.
I scrambled up the penny. I knelt beside him.
"Sir," I whispered, my hands trembling. "Sir, can you hear me?"
Bruce's eyes fluttered open. They were glazed with shock.
"Sebastian," Bruce wheezed. Blood trickled from his mouth. "I can't... I can't feel my legs."
"Do not move, Sir. Do not try to speak."
"Did I..." Bruce choked, tears mixing with the blood on his cowl. "Did I lose?"
I looked at his broken body. I looked at the alerts flashing on the screen—Bane taking over City Hall, Joker escaping again, the city burning.
"No, Sir," I lied, my voice breaking. "You merely... stumbled."
"He broke me," Bruce whispered. "He knew. He waited."
Bruce's hand gripped my wrist. His grip was weak. Terrified.
"Don't let them see me like this," Bruce begged. "Don't let the city see the Bat broken."
"They won't, Sir. I promise."
I heard footsteps.
Tim Drake and Alfred (the human butler who handled the day shift, though he was mostly retired in this continuity) ran into the cave from the lower entrance. They had seen the alerts.
"Bruce!" Tim screamed, dropping his staff.
Tim ran to the penny. He stopped dead when he saw the angle of Bruce's back.
"Oh my god," Tim covered his mouth. "Oh my god."
"Prepare the medical bay," I ordered. My voice was cold. Dead. "Prepare the spinal stabilizers. Prepare the traction unit."
"Sebastian," Tim cried. "Is he..."
"He is alive," I stood up, lifting Bruce gently in my arms. He was heavy. He was dead weight.
"But the Batman," I said, looking at the limp cape dragging on the floor. "The Batman is dead."
Wayne Manor - That Night
The surgery took twelve hours. Dr. Leslie Thompkins was brought in blindfolded. She did what she could.
Bruce lay in the master bedroom. He was strapped to a bed, a halo brace screwed into his skull to keep his neck straight. He was in a medically induced coma.
I stood by the window. The rain lashed against the glass.
Tim sat in the chair, staring at the floor. Conner Kent floated in the corner, arms crossed, looking guilty that he hadn't been there.
"Bane is on TV," Tim whispered. "He's claiming victory. He says Gotham belongs to him now."
"Let him talk," I said, staring at the lightning.
"We have to do something," Conner said. "I can go down there. I can squish him."
"No," I turned. "Bane has an army. And he has Venom. If you go alone, he will break you too. He is a tactician, not a brawler."
"So what do we do?" Tim asked. "We can't just leave the city to him."
"We need a Batman," I said.
"Bruce can't walk, Sebastian! He might never walk again!"
"I know."
I walked over to the fireplace. I looked at the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne.
"The symbol must survive," I murmured. "Even if the man does not."
I turned to the boys.
"We need a replacement. Someone who can wear the cowl. Someone who can fight Bane."
"Dick?" Tim suggested. "Nightwing?"
"Master Dick is a acrobat," I shook my head. "He fights with grace. To beat Bane... we do not need grace. We need a weapon."
I thought of the files I had seen in Bruce's computer. The secret contingency plans. There was a name. A man trained by the Order of St. Dumas. A man who was programmed to be a killer, but who sought redemption.
Jean-Paul Valley. Also known as Azrael.
"I have an idea," I said, my eyes glowing in the dark room. "But you are not going to like it."
"Who?" Tim asked.
"An angel," I sneered. "Of the avenging variety."
I walked to the door.
"Stay with the Master. If Bane sends anyone to finish the job... kill them."
"Where are you going?" Conner asked.
I put on my top hat. I buttoned my gloves.
"To church."
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