In DC universe as Batman

Tanks rumbled into position on both sides of the shattered road.

Behind them, rows of soldiers in formation , raised their weapons—confident, but tense. Fingers hovered over triggers.

From the bunker, Bane stepped out.

He had no armor. No weapons. Nothing.

Just a towering wall of muscle.

Venom hissed through the tubes along his back, inflating his body with each breath.

His face, hidden behind that cold black mask.

Everyone watching the 5 meter tall monster with grotesque green veins had the same thought:

'What the hell is that thing?'

Silence.

Then one order shattered it—

"FIRE!"

A tank shell shot out and hit Bane straight in the chest.

BOOM!

Smoke exploded around him.

But when it cleared, Bane was still standing. Still walking.

The commander lowered his binoculars with trembling hands.

"Are we fighting a man… or something else?"

"Doesn't matter. If one shell doesn't work—try a dozen."

But Bane was already moving.

He charged forward, fist crashing into a tank's armour like a hammer from hell.

Metal bent, then folded.

He climbed the wreck, ripped off the hatch, and reached in.

"HELP! HELP ME! THIS GUY- HE'S LIFTING MY TANK UP, AND HE'S ABOUT TO THROW ME -NOOOOoooo...."

CRUNCH

The tank screeched as Bane tore it apart, flipping it overhead like a toy. A second later:

BOOM!

The tank flew and exploded mid-air, raining debris and flaming shrapnel across the area.

The burning debris rained down on screaming soldiers. Killing dozens injuring hundreds.

Panic spread like wildfire.

Some opened fire.

Others ran.

Most just froze.

The commander's voice cracked through the megaphone:

"Hold your ground! Let this freak taste our might!"

The escaping army stopped and got into formation with their guns aimed at the monster.

"FIRE!!"

Thousands of bullets filled the air.

Sniper rounds. Pellets. RPGs.

None of it mattered.

Most of them shattered on impact to this body. Few gave him scratches.

Bane kept walking amidst the bullets.

He ripped a mounted machine gun from a jeep and swung it like a club—

Bones cracked. Screams rose.

The formation broke again.

"No—no—stay back! What ARE you?! You're not—"

The soldier never finished.

Bane appeared behind him.

One hand clamped around the man's skull.

He lifted him effortlessly.

"I am your reckoning," Bane growled.

Crack.

The head popped like a grape.

Another tank fired.

Bane dodged, lunged, and punched straight through its front.

He ripped the driver from the seat and hurled him like a cannonball into a crowd.

More and more troops fell. Gunfire did nothing, Explosives barely slowed him down.

Blood soaked the road.

Explosions. Screams. Chaos.

Within minutes,Hundreds were dead.

The rest shouted into radios, desperate for backup.

Five thousand soldiers became four.

Then three.

Then two.

Tanks were torn apart.

Guns twisted like toys.

Between the rubble—

He stood alone.

Blood dripping from the wounds he received.

Smoke swirling.

Eyes glowing.

The battlefield was wrecked.

Bodies everywhere.

Steel melted. Oil burned.

And Bane—

Unbothered. Calm.

He looked toward the horizon and whispered:

"Send more."

---

He had killed at least 3,000.

"Monster! MONSTER!!"

And then—he was gone.

Disappeared like a ghost of war.

His punch force? Over 150 tons—enough to crush a tank.

His speed? Fast enough to snatch sniper rounds from the air.

No one could stop him.

And now, as he prepared to end the last survivors—

(Note:The rest ran away)

Command made the final call.

---

[Military Command — Over Radio Comms]

(All forward units, fall back immediately! Target has breached Line Delta—repeat: fall back!)

("Negative effect from all small arms and heavy armor. Target is unresponsive to suppression.")

("This is Command. Authorizing saturation strike. Priority Alpha. Fire everything. No confirmation needed.")

---

Bane threw the last mangled corpse onto the ground.

Then he looked up.

Hundreds of missiles streaked across the sky like falling stars—gorgeous, glowing... and deadly.

They weren't alone.

Behind them came MLRS rocket swarms, thermobaric payloads, and long-range heavy artillery.

Each one packed the force of a small apocalypse.

---

In a command tent several miles away, Mayor Armand Krol watched it unfold through a dozen trembling screens.

Hands shaking. Sweat pouring down his face.

"He'll die... right? He has to die…"

No one answered.

Aide officers glanced nervously at each other.

"Sir," one officer whispered, "we shouldn't be using this kind of ordinance inside the city—"

"SHUT UP!" Krol snapped. "Better a few buildings lost than the entire damn battalion wiped out!"

"Now, GET OUT. Let me be in peace"

His face was pale. His lips dry.

He had wanted to capture Bane alive.

So he sent 5,000 men to surround him.

But they were slaughtered. One. By. One.

What kind of a monster is he? Bullets can't harm him. And he catches tank shells with his bare hands.

He is like a goddamn force of nature.

"Mayor Krol, Do we call Batman?"

"DON'T say that name, Gordon!"

His voice cracked—caught between rage and desperation.

"We can handle this. Just missiles... just more missiles. Keep firing."

But even as he said it, he didn't believe it anymore.

"That thing... can't survive a direct thermobaric hit. It can't..."

---

Gordon said nothing.

He stepped outside helplessly, leaving Krol alone in the chaos.

But only for a while

Knock knock knock.

A soft knock echoed through the office door.

Krol turned, snapping:

"I said NO interruptions—!"

He froze.

The man at the door wasn't Gordon.

A pale figure in a purple suit stood smiling.

White skin. Bloody red lips.

His smile curved wide across his face.

And eyes full of madness.

The Joker.

"Good evening, Mayor," the clown said cheerfully.

"GUARDS! GUARDS!!"

Krol stumbled backward.

Too late.

Behind Joker lay two bodies—security men—sprawled in the hallway, faces frozen in twisted grins.

Krol turned around- only to see another figure by the window.

Thin, Gaunt and Dressed in rags.

The Scarecrow.

He raised a hand and smiled:

"Good afternoon Mr. Mayor"

---

Elsewhere...

Plant Master Jason Woodrue opened his eyes wide.

He felt like he was falling into a dewy meadow in the early morning, the scent of grass flooding his lungs.

Green veins spread from his feet to the top of his head, making him intoxicated and Dizzy.

He swayed, entranced.

"Oh God... I didn't realize it before."

Batman's eyes narrowed.

He saw the change instantly.

The Dog Welder rushed forward. A silent vigilante, infamous for welding corpses of dogs to his victims' faces.

But this time—

He was facing something beyond human.

BOOM!

Dog Welder flew backward.

From beneath the Plant Master rose a wooden python and a massive plant crab, both summoned from earth in under three seconds.

Batman stiffened.

"That tuber you ate... what was it?"

"A very special one," Jason said.

He lifted his arms. The wooden serpent hissed, its jaw gaping silently.

"Six of these tubers. I took them from Swamp Thing's corpse—months ago. You have to harvest fast when he dies."

"The Swamp Thing is dead?!" Batman's voice cracked in shock "How?"

---

With a loud thud,, Poison Ivy rolled down a hillside, landing near their cabin. A lab table sat nearby, covered with flasks and vials.

Harley Quinn skipped after her, grinning.

"What's that saying, Ivy? 'I can fight you all day?'"

Poison Ivy sighed.

"I don't have all day."

She waved her hand.

Vines surged from the ground, binding Harley's legs.

Ivy turned, collecting bottles from the table into a satchel.

Professor Goldblum stood in the shadows, glowing green-eyed, eerily silent.

"That's not fair!" Harley yelled, face down on the dirt. She reached toward Ivy, whining.

"Is that the virus , Ivy?" Harley asked.

"It's the cure," Ivy said. "It can save the world. All of it."

"You haven't even tested it!" Harley snapped. "Batman said if you screw this up, we all die. Pammy. Everyone. Plants, animals, people. Is that what you want?"

Ivy paused.

"Even if I do nothing, the Earth will die another way. We just need Louisiana swamp water to activate it. Jason was right—there's no time for the Green. Or the Red."

A cold voice echoed from the swamp's edge.

A pale-green woman emerged from the shadows:

"The darkness is restless, Harley. The Swamp Thing is dead. The Red is has no agent to exert its full influence. No one can resist what's coming unless we act."

---

Harley slowly sat up. Her face without a smile.

"So no matter what, you won't stop,right?"

She wiped her face. Removed her clown hat.

"Then remember this moment, Ivy."

"You want—?"

Poison Ivy turned—

Only to see Harley wiping off her makeup.

The smoky black eye shadow. The white face paint.

Her sea-blue eyes shimmered with sadness.

"Harley, don't—"

"That's right, dear. It's time to use the trump card."

"You promised—!"

Harley said nothing.

She just looked at Ivy.

Tears welled.

The first drop was a tiny lake—too small for anyone but enough to make even the man of steel melt.

Her voice cracked.

"I won't let you destroy everything…"

Drip. Drip.

The tears fell.

"Awoo… woo… woo…"

Poison Ivy dropped the antidote.

Then she cried, tackled Harley, and screamed:

"I HATE you. I hate you SO much!"

They sobbed in each other's arms.

Harley sniffled, brushing her hair back.

"This trick always works."