The problem with the Hazard Genius Bottle, Build had realized after several days of contemplation, was that it was too chaotic.
Not in terms of control—he had managed to maintain psychological stability during the transformation, thanks to the disciplinary essences he had included in the compound. The chaos was in the structure itself. The Hazard Genius Bottle contained so many merged essences, so many layered capabilities, that using it felt less like wielding a weapon and more like trying to conduct an orchestra while riding a roller coaster during an earthquake.
The power was there. The potential was there. But the execution was messy, unfocused, difficult to direct with precision.
Build needed something better.
He needed a true fusion.
The difference between merging and fusing was subtle but important. Merging combined essences into a single container, creating a compound that retained the properties of its components but expressed them simultaneously. Fusing, by contrast, integrated essences on a deeper level—not just combining them, but synthesizing them into something genuinely new.
In Kamen Rider terms, the distinction was between using two bottles together and actually becoming both concepts at once.
Build had been thinking about this problem for days, filling notebooks with diagrams and equations, burning through the Watchtower's coffee supply at a rate that had prompted concerned comments from the Flash (who was, admittedly, responsible for approximately sixty percent of the station's caffeine consumption and therefore had standing to judge).
The breakthrough came at three in the morning on a Tuesday.
Build was sitting in his laboratory, surrounded by empty coffee cups and scattered notes, staring at the Hazard Trigger and the Genius Bottle side by side. He had been trying to figure out how to make them work together more smoothly, how to reduce the chaos of the compound form, when a thought struck him with the force of a lightning bolt.
He was approaching the problem wrong.
The Hazard Genius Bottle treated Hazard as an amplifier—an external force applied to the Genius compound. That was why the result was chaotic. The Hazard enhancement was pushing against the structure of the compound rather than integrating with it.
But what if Hazard wasn't an amplifier?
What if Hazard was an essence?
Build grabbed a fresh notebook and began writing furiously, his mind racing with implications.
The Hazard Trigger worked by destabilizing the user's psychological state, pushing them toward aggression and violence. In the show, this had been presented as a drawback—a price paid for increased power. But what if the instability itself was the source of the power? What if the Hazard system was tapping into something fundamental about the nature of conflict and chaos?
What if "Hazard" was a concept that could be bottled, just like Rabbit or Tank or Dragon?
Build looked at the Hazard Trigger with new eyes.
It wasn't just a modifier. It was a container.
The Hazard Trigger contained the essence of Hazard—the pure concept of dangerous power, of strength that came with risk, of capability that existed at the edge of control. The reason it caused psychological instability was because the essence was being applied externally, forcing itself onto the user rather than being integrated naturally.
But if Build could extract the Hazard essence and merge it properly with the Genius compound...
He could create a true fusion. Not Hazard applied to Genius, but Hazard-Genius—a single, integrated concept that balanced power and stability at the fundamental level.
"Oh my God," Build whispered. "I'm a genius. An actual, literal genius. I can't believe I didn't see this before."
He grabbed the Hazard Trigger and began disassembling it.
The extraction process took six hours.
The Hazard Trigger was not designed to be taken apart. Its components were fused together, integrated at levels that made normal disassembly impossible. Build had to use equipment borrowed from Cyborg's workshop, energy tools that could manipulate matter at the molecular level, just to separate the casing from the core mechanism.
Inside the core, he found what he was looking for.
A tiny capsule, no larger than a marble, containing a swirling black-and-purple essence that pulsed with aggressive energy. The Hazard Essence. The pure concept of dangerous power, distilled into physical form.
Build held it up to the light, watching the essence move within the capsule. It was beautiful in a terrifying way—like watching a storm cloud compressed into a space the size of a fingernail.
"Hello, gorgeous," he murmured. "You and I are going to do amazing things together."
The next step was creating a proper Hazard FullBottle.
Build constructed a specialized container—larger than standard bottles to accommodate the volatile nature of the essence, with reinforced walls and stabilization mechanisms that would prevent the contents from destabilizing during storage. Into this container, he carefully transferred the Hazard Essence, watching as the black-and-purple energy filled the new vessel and settled into a stable pattern.
The Hazard Bottle was complete.
It was larger than standard bottles—about the size of the Quad Bottles he had created—and its color was a deep, shifting black that occasionally pulsed with purple highlights. The essence inside moved with predatory patience, waiting to be used.
Now came the real experiment.
Build set up the resonance chamber—rebuilt for the fifth time after various explosive incidents—and placed the Hazard Bottle alongside the Genius Bottle. The two containers sat side by side, their essences separated by mere inches of reinforced material.
"Recording ultimate experiment," Build announced to the lab's logging systems. "Attempting true fusion of Hazard and Genius essences. This is not a merger—I'm not trying to combine the contents into a compound. I'm trying to synthesize them into a genuinely new concept."
He paused, considering how to explain what he was attempting.
"Think of it like... chemistry. Merging is like mixing chemicals together in a solution—they coexist, but they remain separate substances. Fusion is like a chemical reaction that produces a new compound—the original substances cease to exist, replaced by something that has properties neither possessed individually."
He adjusted the resonance chamber's settings, pushing the energy levels higher than he had ever attempted before.
"If this works, I'll have created something that has never existed before. Not Hazard-enhanced Genius. Not Genius with Hazard characteristics. Something new. Something that integrates the concepts of 'dangerous power' and 'complete scientific mastery' at the fundamental level."
He took a deep breath.
"If it doesn't work, the resulting explosion will probably be visible from space. So, you know. Fingers crossed."
He activated the chamber.
The fusion process was unlike anything Build had witnessed before.
Previous mergings had been violent—explosions of energy, clashing essences, chaotic combinations that eventually settled into stable compounds. This was different. This was almost peaceful.
The Hazard and Genius essences flowed toward each other like reunited lovers, their energies intertwining with a grace that suggested they had been waiting for this moment since their creation. Black merged with white. Chaos merged with order. Danger merged with mastery.
The resonance chamber hummed with a harmonic that was simultaneously discordant and beautiful—a sound that shouldn't have worked but absolutely did.
Build watched through the observation window, his breath held, as the two essences became one.
The colors shifted, blended, transformed. Black and white didn't become gray—they became something that contained both while being neither. A color that was somehow every color and no color simultaneously. A shade that existed outside normal visual perception, that could only be seen because the human brain insisted on interpreting something rather than accepting the impossibility.
When the process completed, a single bottle sat in the center of the chamber.
It was the most beautiful thing Build had ever seen.
The Genius Hazard Bottle—no, that wasn't right. This wasn't Genius modified by Hazard or Hazard enhanced by Genius. This was something new. Something that needed a new name.
Build opened the chamber and lifted the bottle reverently.
"Hazard Genius Fusion Bottle," he said, testing the name. "No, that's too long. Fusion Genius? Genius Fusion? Hazard Prime?"
He considered for a moment.
"Build Infinity," he decided. "Because this represents the infinite potential of the Build system. The ultimate expression of what the Driver can achieve."
The Build Infinity Bottle pulsed with acknowledgment, its impossible color seeming to approve of the naming.
Now he needed to test it.
The Watchtower's replacement training facility was located on the Moon.
After the destruction of the original training chamber—and the subsequent damage to three structural supports—Batman had insisted that any future high-power testing occur somewhere that couldn't result in the deaths of everyone aboard the space station. The Moon facility was essentially a reinforced crater, lined with the most durable materials the League had access to, with observation posts located several kilometers away.
Build stood in the center of the crater, the Build Infinity Bottle in his hand, the lunar landscape stretching out around him in all directions. The Earth hung in the black sky above, a blue-and-white marble against the infinite darkness of space.
"This is going to be amazing," he said to himself, his voice transmitted through his helmet's communication systems. "This is going to be so incredibly amazing."
He inserted the Build Infinity Bottle into the Build Driver.
BUILD INFINITY!
The announcement was different from anything the Driver had produced before. It wasn't just a voice naming the bottle—it was a declaration, a proclamation, a statement of absolute power delivered in a tone that suggested the universe itself was paying attention.
Build grabbed the Vortex Lever.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
The universe didn't answer, but he could feel it holding its breath.
He cranked the lever.
COMPLETE FUSION! INFINITE POSSIBILITIES! BUILD INFINITY!
The transformation was transcendent.
There was no explosion, no implosion, no chaotic surge of energy. Instead, there was a moment of perfect stillness—a fraction of a second where time itself seemed to pause, acknowledging the significance of what was about to happen.
Then the armor appeared.
It didn't materialize from mathematical formulae or scientific notation. It crystallized from reality itself, the universe donating matter and energy to construct a form worthy of the power being expressed. Each component was perfect—not just aesthetically, but fundamentally. Perfect materials. Perfect angles. Perfect integration.
The base color was the impossible shade from the bottle—a color that contained black and white simultaneously, that shifted between them depending on how you looked at it, that somehow managed to be both aggressive and serene at the same time. The armor was sleek and elegant, without the bulk of previous forms, every line serving a purpose both functional and aesthetic.
The chest plate featured a symbol that Build had never seen before—a new insignia that combined elements of the Build logo with something more universal. It looked like a mathematical formula rendered as art, a scientific principle made visible.
The helmet was a masterpiece. Compound eyes that contained multitudes—not separate lenses but a continuous surface that could see everything simultaneously. No antennae or horns or external sensors; all necessary equipment was integrated invisibly. The face plate was smooth and expressionless, somehow conveying both the wisdom of a scientist and the danger of a warrior.
And the power.
Build had felt powerful in the Hazard Genius form. He had felt unstoppable in the RabbitNinComicTank form. He had felt godlike in various Hazard-enhanced configurations.
This was beyond all of that.
This was not feeling powerful. This was being power.
The distinction was subtle but absolute. In previous forms, power had been something he possessed—a tool, a capability, a resource to be expended. In Build Infinity, power was something he was—not a tool but an identity, not a capability but a nature, not a resource but an endless wellspring that existed because he existed.
He took a step forward, and the lunar surface cracked beneath his foot—not from force, but from the sheer presence of his existence pressing against reality.
"Status report," Batman's voice came through the communication systems, tense with controlled concern.
Build tried to speak, but for a moment, words seemed insufficient. How could he describe what he was experiencing? How could he convey the sensation of containing infinity within a finite form?
"I'm okay," he managed finally. "More than okay. I'm... I'm complete. That's the only word I can think of. Previous forms felt like wearing armor or wielding weapons. This feels like being myself. The ultimate version of myself."
"Power level assessment?"
Build considered the question.
In his mind, he could feel the capabilities of the Build Infinity form spread out like a map of possibilities. Speed that exceeded anything Rabbit-based forms had offered. Strength that surpassed every Tank configuration. Every ability from every essence he had ever used, integrated and enhanced and available simultaneously.
But more than that, there was potential.
The form wasn't static. It wasn't a fixed set of capabilities. It was a framework—a structure that could adapt, evolve, generate new abilities as needed. If he encountered a situation that required a capability he didn't have, the form would develop that capability. If he faced a threat that exceeded his current power, the form would increase to meet it.
"Theoretically unlimited," Build reported. "Within practical constraints, probably just below universal-level. But I could be wrong in either direction."
There was a long pause on the communication line.
"Define 'universal-level,'" Superman requested.
"Capable of affecting reality on a cosmic scale. Manipulating fundamental forces. Potentially threatening existence itself if misused."
Another pause.
"You're saying you might be able to destroy the universe," Batman said flatly.
Build considered this.
"Probably not. Maybe a galaxy or two. But the form has built-in limitations—I can feel them. It won't let me do anything that would permanently damage reality. It's like... like having a really powerful computer that refuses to run programs that would crash its operating system."
"That's somewhat reassuring."
"Only somewhat?"
"You still just told me you could potentially destroy galaxies."
"Point taken."
The testing began.
Build moved through the lunar landscape, exploring the capabilities of the Build Infinity form with the methodical precision of a scientist conducting experiments. He tested speed by running laps around the Moon—each lap taking approximately three seconds. He tested strength by lifting a nearby boulder the size of a skyscraper and tossing it into orbit. He tested durability by having the League's orbital weapons platforms fire at him; the attacks splashed against his armor like water against stone.
He tested the adaptive capabilities by imagining abilities he had never possessed and feeling the form generate them on demand. Flight, despite never having a flight-focused form before. Teleportation, despite never having access to spatial manipulation. Energy projection in wavelengths that didn't exist in normal physics.
Whatever he could conceive, the form could achieve.
"This is ridiculous," Build announced, hovering above the lunar surface with no visible means of propulsion. "This is completely, absolutely, utterly ridiculous. I love it so much."
"Perhaps we should return to the Watchtower," Wonder Woman suggested from the observation post. "You've been testing for three hours, and we have sufficient data to begin analysis."
"Just a few more minutes," Build said. "I want to try something."
He concentrated, focusing on the form's adaptive capabilities. In his mind, he held an image—a concept, an idea that he wanted to manifest.
Could the Build Infinity form generate new FullBottles?
The answer, he discovered, was yes.
Energy flowed from his armor, coalescing in his palm. It took shape, solidified, became real. When the process completed, he was holding a new FullBottle—one that had never existed before, that he had created from pure concept.
"I just made a FullBottle," Build said, his voice filled with wonder. "I literally just created a new essence from nothing. This form is completely broken. This is the most overpowered thing in the history of overpowered things."
"What kind of bottle is it?" Cyborg asked, his scientific curiosity overriding any concern about the implications.
Build looked at the bottle. It was a deep, cosmic blue, and inside he could see swirling nebulae and distant stars.
"Space," he said. "The essence of outer space. Vacuum and radiation and cosmic scale." He created another bottle with his other hand. "And this one is... Time. The essence of temporal flow."
He held up both bottles, marveling at what he had created.
"I can make any essence. Any concept that can be imagined, I can bottle it. This is... this is..."
He trailed off, unable to find words adequate to describe what he was experiencing.
"Broken," Batman supplied. "The word you're looking for is 'broken.' As in, your power level has exceeded any reasonable metric of evaluation and is now firmly in the territory of 'things that should not be allowed to exist.'"
"I was going to say 'amazing,' but sure, 'broken' works too."
Build was about to continue his experimentation—he wanted to try combining the newly-created Space and Time bottles to see what would happen—when his helmet's communication systems crackled with an emergency alert.
"All Justice League members," the Watchtower's AI announced, its synthetic voice carrying notes of urgency that were unusual for a computer system. "Priority Alpha threat detected in Metropolis. Classification: Doomsday."
Build's heart stopped.
Doomsday.
The creature that had killed Superman.
The monster that had been engineered for one purpose: destruction. The being that could not be permanently destroyed, that adapted to overcome any threat, that represented death incarnate walking upon the Earth.
Doomsday was in Metropolis.
And Build was currently the most powerful he had ever been.
"Well," he said, a grin spreading across his face behind the perfect helmet, "looks like I found my test subject."
The Zeta Tube transportation system deposited Build in the center of Metropolis approximately forty-five seconds after the alert.
The city was already in chaos.
Doomsday had apparently been rampaging for several minutes before the League's sensors detected the threat—which meant that several blocks of downtown Metropolis were now rubble, burning rubble, or rubble that was somehow both on fire and flooded simultaneously. Buildings had been reduced to their foundations. Streets had been cratered. Cars had been thrown around like toys by an angry child.
And in the center of the destruction, surrounded by the debris of his rampage, stood Doomsday himself.
The creature was exactly as Build remembered from the comics and movies.
Massive—easily eight feet tall and proportionally broad, a mountain of muscle and bone and gray, mottled skin. Bony protrusions jutted from his body at random angles—elbows, shoulders, knuckles, knees—each one sharp enough to pierce steel and strong enough to withstand anything short of Kryptonian-level force. His face was a mask of rage, red eyes burning with mindless fury, mouth stretched in a permanent snarl that revealed teeth designed for tearing flesh.
He was not a living thing in any conventional sense. He was a weapon. A biological apocalypse given form.
And Build was going to fight him.
"Hey, ugly!"
The shout emerged from Build's helmet before he had consciously decided to make it, his voice amplified to levels that carried over the sounds of destruction and chaos. Doomsday's head turned, those burning red eyes focusing on the armored figure that had appeared in the midst of his rampage.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Doomsday roared—a sound that was less vocalization and more natural disaster, a thunderclap of rage that shattered windows for blocks in every direction—and charged.
Build didn't move.
He wanted to test something.
Doomsday closed the distance between them in seconds, his speed absurd for something so massive, his fist already cocked back for a blow that could shatter mountains. The impact was coming. The punch that had killed Superman was about to land.
Build raised one hand.
The fist connected with his palm.
And stopped.
The shockwave from the impact leveled the buildings on either side of the street, the force radiating outward in all directions. Windows shattered for miles. Car alarms triggered across the city. Seismographs registered the impact as a localized earthquake.
But Build didn't move. Didn't budge. Didn't even shift his weight.
He had caught Doomsday's punch with one hand.
"Huh," Build said conversationally. "I guess the durability upgrade was pretty significant."
Doomsday's expression—insofar as a creature of pure rage could be said to have expressions—shifted from fury to something that might have been confusion. He was used to things breaking when he hit them. He was not used to things catching his punches like they were nothing.
He tried again. His other fist came around in a haymaker that would have cratered a planet.
Build caught that one too.
Now he was holding both of Doomsday's fists, the creature straining against his grip with all the strength that had killed the Man of Steel, and Build was standing there like it was nothing. Like holding back a force of nature was just a minor inconvenience.
"Okay," Build said. "Durability and strength are both definitely Superman-tier or higher. Good to know. Now let's test something else."
He threw Doomsday.
The creature flew backward, tumbling end over end, crashing through the remains of a parking structure and continuing on through several more buildings before finally coming to rest in what had once been a shopping mall. The impact crater was impressive—at least fifty meters across, with debris scattered in all directions.
Build didn't follow immediately. He wanted to give Doomsday a moment to recover.
Because he wasn't trying to win this fight.
He was trying to test his various forms.
"Build Infinity is definitely capable of matching Doomsday," he reported to the League, who were en route but still several minutes out. "But I want to see how my other forms stack up. For science."
"For science," Superman's voice came back, slightly strained. "You're using Doomsday as a test dummy for science."
"He's the perfect test subject! Nearly indestructible, continuously adapting, with a baseline power level that killed you that one time. If I can beat him in a weaker form, I know that form is at least Superman-level. It's a perfect control for the experiment!"
There was a pause.
"That's actually... not terrible logic," Batman admitted reluctantly.
"Thank you! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have experiments to conduct."
Build detransformed from the Build Infinity form, the perfect armor dissolving back into the Driver. He pulled out the RabbitNinComicTank Quad Bottle—the first major compound form he had created—and inserted it into the Driver.
"Starting with the Quad Bottle form," he announced. "Testing RabbitNinComicTank against Doomsday."
He cranked the Vortex Lever.
ULTIMATE MATCH! RABBINCOMITANK! YEAH!
The transformation washed over him, and he felt the power of four combined essences filling his body. It was impressive—far more impressive than any standard Best Match—but after experiencing Build Infinity, it felt almost mundane.
Like going from driving a Ferrari to driving a really nice sedan. Still good. But not the same.
Doomsday had recovered from being thrown and was now charging back toward the street where Build waited. The creature was faster than before—his adaptive biology was already adjusting to the forces he had experienced, making him more resistant, more powerful.
Good. That would make the test more interesting.
Build met Doomsday's charge head-on, the two of them colliding in the center of the street with a force that registered on seismographs across the continent. They traded blows—Build's Quad Bottle-enhanced punches meeting Doomsday's apocalyptic strikes, neither one giving ground.
The fight was brutal. Beautiful. Everything Build had ever wanted from a superhero battle.
He was holding his own.
Not dominating—Doomsday was too strong, too adaptable, too relentless for that. But holding his own. The RabbitNinComicTank form was powerful enough to match a creature that had killed Superman, at least temporarily.
"Quad Bottle form is Superman-level," Build reported between dodging bone spurs and landing kidney punches. "Roughly equivalent to the big guy in a straight fight. Maybe slightly below, given Doomsday's adaptation—he's already getting stronger."
He ducked under a haymaker that would have taken his head off and retaliated with a kick that sent Doomsday sliding backward. The creature roared and charged again.
"Moving to Hazard RabbitNin," Build announced. "Testing Hazard hybrid form."
He ejected the Quad Bottle and inserted the Hazard RabbitNin combination into the Driver. The transformation shifted, the armor reconfiguring into the black-and-crimson form of the Hazard hybrid.
Immediately, he felt the psychological effects—the surge of aggression, the impulse to destroy. But the Ninja essence's discipline was there too, channeling the rage into focused fury.
And the speed.
God, the speed.
Build became a blur, moving around Doomsday so fast that the creature couldn't track him. He landed hits from every angle—face, torso, joints, wherever he could find openings. Each strike was precision-perfect, targeting weak points and pressure points and the small gaps in Doomsday's bone armor.
The creature adapted, but Build was faster than the adaptation. Every time Doomsday developed a defense against an attack pattern, Build changed patterns. Every time the creature tried to counter, Build was already somewhere else.
"Hazard RabbitNin is superior to the Quad Bottle form in terms of speed and precision," Build reported. "Not as durable, but the speed differential makes up for it. I'd rank this above Superman-level for combat against slower opponents."
He launched a finishing attack—a concentrated burst of Ninja-style assassination technique enhanced by Hazard power—that sent Doomsday crashing through another building.
"Moving to Hazard TankTank," Build announced. "Testing pure strength form."
The next transformation was massive. The Hazard TankTank form was bulky and imposing, covered in armor plating and treads, looking like someone had crossed a Kamen Rider with an actual battle tank.
The psychological effects were intense—rage burning in his chest, demanding violence—but Build had learned to channel that rage. He wasn't fighting against the Hazard impulses anymore. He was directing them.
Toward Doomsday.
The creature had recovered and was charging again, his own rage matching the fury that burned in Build's enhanced mind. They met in the center of the ruined street, and the collision was apocalyptic.
The ground cracked. The air compressed. Shockwaves leveled everything within a three-block radius that hadn't already been destroyed.
And this time, Build was winning.
Not by much. Doomsday was strong—impossibly strong, the strength of a being engineered for destruction. But Hazard TankTank was stronger. Every punch landed with force that exceeded the creature's ability to absorb. Every strike drove Doomsday backward, cratering the ground beneath his feet.
"Hazard TankTank exceeds Doomsday's base strength level," Build reported, his voice distorted by the Hazard form's aggression. "Creature is adapting, but I'm currently outpacing the adaptation. This form is definitively above Superman-level in pure physical power."
He grabbed Doomsday by the face and drove the creature into the ground, creating a crater that was visible from orbit. The impact would have killed anything that wasn't specifically designed to survive cosmically powerful attacks.
Doomsday just roared and kept fighting.
"Moving to compound Hazard forms," Build announced. "Testing Hazard GorillaDiamond."
The next transformation combined the strength of Gorilla with the hardness of Diamond, all enhanced by Hazard amplification. The result was a form that was essentially invulnerable—nothing Doomsday threw at it even registered as damage.
"Hazard GorillaDiamond provides near-perfect defense against physical attacks," Build reported, standing still while Doomsday pounded on him like a drum. "Strength is slightly below Hazard TankTank, but the durability more than compensates."
He grabbed one of Doomsday's bone spurs and snapped it off, using it as an improvised weapon to bat the creature across the street.
"Moving to Hazard PhoenixDragon. Testing mythological compound."
The transformation was beautiful—crimson and gold and flame, the armor seeming to burn with internal fire. Build felt the power of two legendary creatures merging with the Hazard enhancement, and it was intoxicating.
He breathed fire at Doomsday.
Not normal fire. Conceptual fire. Flame that burned on a level beyond physical chemistry, that attacked the very idea of "Doomsday" as well as his physical form.
The creature screamed—actually screamed, a sound of genuine pain that Build had not heard from it before.
"Hazard PhoenixDragon can damage Doomsday in ways physical attacks cannot," Build reported with satisfaction. "Mythological essence appears to bypass conventional durability. This form is extremely effective against regenerating opponents."
He pressed the advantage, surrounding Doomsday in a vortex of dragonfire and phoenix flame, burning away the creature's ability to adapt to the attack because the attack was happening on a conceptual level rather than a physical one.
But Doomsday was Doomsday. Even conceptual damage wasn't enough to stop him permanently.
The creature burst from the flames, already adapting, already developing resistance to mythological assault. His bone spurs glowed with stolen fire, and when he roared, the sound carried echoes of draconic power that he had somehow absorbed from Build's attacks.
"Oh, that's concerning," Build noted. "Doomsday is adapting to conceptual attacks. Moving to Hazard Genius compound."
He pulled out the Hazard Genius Bottle—the chaotic compound form, not the refined fusion—and transformed.
The power was immense. Overwhelming. The chaos of combined essences amplified by Hazard enhancement, every ability available simultaneously but difficult to control with precision.
Build didn't need precision. He needed overwhelming force.
He hit Doomsday with everything at once.
Speed from Rabbit. Strength from Tank. Fire from Phoenix. Claws from Dragon. Stealth from Ninja. Narrative weight from Comic. Every ability, every capability, every essence, layered on top of each other in a cascade of destruction that was beautiful in its excess.
Doomsday was driven back. Driven down. Driven into the earth itself, the ground collapsing beneath the force of Build's assault.
"Hazard Genius compound form is sufficient to overpower Doomsday's adaptation rate," Build reported. "The creature cannot adapt faster than I can generate new attack vectors. This form is definitively superior to anything Doomsday has previously encountered."
He paused his assault, allowing the creature a moment to recover.
Because he had one more form to test.
"Moving to Build Infinity," he announced. "Testing ultimate form against Doomsday."
The transformation from Hazard Genius to Build Infinity was like watching a caterpillar become a butterfly, if the caterpillar had been a hurricane and the butterfly was a god.
The chaotic armor dissolved, replaced by the perfect, impossible form of Build Infinity. The color that was both black and white. The sleek, elegant design that contained infinite potential. The power that was not a tool but an identity.
Doomsday emerged from the crater, roaring with defiance, his body already adapting to everything Build had thrown at it. He was stronger now than he had been at the start of the fight. More durable. More dangerous.
It didn't matter.
Build raised one hand.
"End test."
A beam of light emerged from his palm—not energy, but pure concept. The idea of "ending" given physical form. It struck Doomsday in the center of his chest.
The creature stopped.
Not stopped fighting. Stopped everything. Stopped adapting. Stopped raging. Stopped existing as a threat. The beam didn't damage Doomsday or kill him or even hurt him in any conventional sense. It simply... concluded him.
When the light faded, Doomsday was lying on the ground, motionless. Not dead—Build could see the creature still breathing, still alive in a biological sense. But no longer fighting. No longer dangerous. The concept of "threat" had been removed from him, at least temporarily.
"Build Infinity is capable of defeating Doomsday with a single attack," Build reported, his voice calm despite the magnitude of what he had just demonstrated. "The form allows for conceptual manipulation at levels that bypass physical or adaptive defenses. Test complete."
He detransformed, the Build Infinity armor dissolving to reveal his human form beneath.
Around him, Metropolis was devastated. Blocks of the city had been reduced to rubble during the testing. Emergency services were arriving, sirens wailing in the distance. The Justice League was touching down nearby, having arrived too late to participate in the battle but in time to witness its conclusion.
Superman was staring at Doomsday's motionless form with an expression that mixed relief with disbelief.
"You beat him," the Man of Steel said. "You actually beat him."
"I tested several form configurations against him," Build corrected. "Most of them were capable of matching him. The Build Infinity form is capable of defeating him trivially. There's a difference."
"The difference being?"
"The difference being that I now have comprehensive data on exactly where each of my forms ranks in terms of power level." Build pulled out a notebook that had somehow survived the battle and began writing. "Quad Bottle form: Superman-equivalent. Hazard hybrids: above Superman-level, with specific variations depending on the hybrid type. Hazard Genius compound: capable of outpacing Doomsday adaptation. Build Infinity: capable of conceptual manipulation that bypasses all conventional defenses."
He looked up at the assembled League, grinning despite the destruction around them.
"I'd say that was a very successful experiment."
The cleanup of Metropolis took several hours.
Build helped, of course—he felt guilty about the collateral damage, even though most of it had been caused by Doomsday before he arrived. The Build Infinity form proved useful for reconstruction as well as destruction; he could generate materials from pure concept, create tools from imagination, repair damage by simply willing things to be fixed.
By the time the sun set, most of the destroyed blocks had been restored to something approaching their original state. It wasn't perfect—you could tell that the buildings were new, that the streets had been recently repaved—but it was functional.
Doomsday had been transported to a containment facility designed specifically for beings that couldn't be killed. The creature was still in the "ended" state that Build had induced, showing no signs of aggression or threat. Build had no idea how long the effect would last, but he had offered to reinforce it periodically if necessary.
Batman had accepted the offer with a nod that was almost friendly. Coming from Batman, that was practically a hug.
Now, Build sat on the roof of the Daily Planet building, watching the sunset paint the Metropolis skyline in shades of orange and gold. His legs dangled over the edge, the Build Driver on his waist humming contentedly.
Superman landed beside him, cape settling around his shoulders.
"That was quite a fight," the Man of Steel said.
"That was quite a test," Build corrected. "The fight was incidental. What I really wanted was data."
"You could have been hurt. Killed, even. Doomsday is not something to take lightly."
Build considered this. He knew Superman was right—Doomsday had killed the Man of Steel once, and there was no guarantee that Build's forms would have been sufficient to survive a serious battle. He had been taking a risk, gambling his life on theoretical power levels that he hadn't fully tested.
But he had also been right.
"I needed to know," he said finally. "Not just theoretically. Not just based on how the forms felt. I needed real-world data against a real threat. Doomsday was the perfect test subject—strong enough to push my limits, durable enough to survive the testing, dangerous enough that the results would be meaningful."
He looked at his hands, remembering the sensation of catching Doomsday's punch in the Build Infinity form.
"I was scared," he admitted. "When I first saw him, before I engaged. I remembered the comics. I remembered what he did to you. And I was scared that I wouldn't be strong enough, that all my forms and enhancements would mean nothing against a creature designed specifically to kill people like us."
"But you fought anyway."
"But I fought anyway. Because that's what heroes do, right? We face the threats that scare us. We fight the battles that need to be fought. We put ourselves at risk because other people shouldn't have to."
Superman was quiet for a moment, processing this.
"That's a very good understanding of heroism," he said finally. "Many people who gain power use it for personal gain. Others use it to protect themselves and those close to them. But true heroes... true heroes use their power to protect everyone. Even when they're scared. Even when it might cost them everything."
He placed a hand on Build's shoulder.
"I think you're going to fit in just fine with the League."
Build smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with any Fullbottle essence.
"Thanks," he said. "That means a lot, coming from you."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the sunset, enjoying a moment of peace after the chaos of the day.
"So," Superman said eventually, "what's next for you? More experiments? More forms to test?"
Build thought about it.
He had created the Build Infinity form—the ultimate expression of the Driver's potential. He had tested it against Doomsday and proven that it was capable of defeating one of the most dangerous beings on the planet. He had comprehensive data on all his major forms and their relative power levels.
But there was more to explore. Always more.
"Fusion forms," he said. "That's the next frontier."
"Fusion forms?"
"In my original universe, Riders could sometimes fuse with each other—combining their powers into a single, more powerful entity. Build fused with Zi-O once. Cross-Z fused with Build in various configurations. The results were always stronger than either Rider individually."
He looked at Superman, a speculative gleam in his eye.
"I've been wondering what would happen if I tried to fuse with someone from this universe."
Superman's expression became cautious. "Are you suggesting...?"
"Not right now," Build said quickly. "I'd need to do a lot of theoretical work first. Figure out if the Build Driver can even interface with non-Rider power sources. Test the concept on something safer before trying it with an actual person."
He grinned.
"But eventually? Yeah. I want to see what a Build-Superman fusion would look like. Or Build-Flash. Or Build-Green Lantern. Or Build-Martian Manhunter."
"That sounds potentially dangerous."
"That sounds potentially awesome," Build corrected. "There's a difference."
Superman laughed—a genuine, warm laugh that made Build feel like he belonged.
"You really are going to fit in here," the Man of Steel said.
"Damn right I am."
The following weeks were devoted to theoretical work.
Build had proven that his forms were capable of matching and exceeding even the most dangerous threats in the DC Universe. Now he needed to understand why. The Build Infinity form's ability to manipulate concepts suggested a connection to something fundamental about reality—something that went beyond mere physical power or even exotic energy manipulation.
He spent long hours in the Watchtower's archives, reading everything available about cosmic entities, conceptual beings, and the metaphysical underpinnings of the DC Universe. He studied the Speed Force and the emotional spectrum and the various divine pantheons. He analyzed the fundamental forces that governed reality and tried to understand how the Build Driver interfaced with them.
The conclusion he eventually reached was both humbling and exhilarating.
The Build Driver was not just a transformation device. It was a reality interface.
The Fullbottles contained essences—pure concepts distilled into physical form. When Build used them, he wasn't just gaining access to their abilities. He was connecting to the underlying fabric of reality, tapping into the same conceptual layer that the Speed Force and the emotional spectrum and the divine realms operated on.
That was why the Build Infinity form could manipulate concepts directly. It wasn't magic or super-science or anything conventionally explicable. It was simply Build accessing reality at a more fundamental level than normal existence allowed.
And that meant the potential for fusion forms was even greater than he had initially imagined.
If the Build Driver could interface with fundamental concepts, it could theoretically interface with any power source that operated on the same level. The Speed Force. A Green Lantern ring. The power of a New God. Even the ambient cosmic energy that suffused beings like Superman.
The possibilities were literally infinite.
Build started designing theoretical fusion protocols, mapping out how the Driver might interface with different power sources and what the results might look like. He created simulations and models and projections, testing his theories against everything he knew about both the Kamen Rider system and the DC Universe's metaphysics.
It was the most intellectually stimulating work he had ever done.
And it was preparing him for the next phase of his evolution.
The breakthrough came three weeks after the Doomsday fight.
Build had been working on the fusion protocols for days straight, surviving on coffee and determination and the occasional protein bar that Cyborg forced him to eat. His notebooks were filled with equations and diagrams. His computer screens displayed simulations that modeled the interaction between the Build Driver and various power sources.
And finally, finally, he understood how to do it.
The key was the Build Infinity form's ability to generate new Fullbottles from pure concept. If he could create bottles containing the essence of external power sources—Speed Force essence, emotional spectrum essence, Kryptonian biology essence—he could then use the Driver's fusion capabilities to integrate those essences with his existing forms.
It wasn't quite the same as the Rider-to-Rider fusions from his original universe. It was something new. Something that combined the Build system's conceptual manipulation with the DC Universe's exotic power sources.
Something that might be even more powerful than traditional fusions.
Build grinned, staring at his completed equations with the satisfaction of a scientist who had just cracked an impossible problem.
"This is going to be amazing," he said to his empty laboratory.
Then he started planning the next series of experiments.
Because he was Kamen Rider Build.
And the laws of victory had been decided.
To Be Continued...