Archive of Our Own

The containment wing of S.T.A.R. Labs Sub-Level 4 was designed to hold entities capable of moving tectonic plates, yet it was currently failing with the pathetic grace of a wet paper bag.

Alarm klaxons tore through the subterranean corridors in a relentless, rhythmic screech, bathing the sterile white-tiled walls in a harsh, pulsing crimson. The automated female voice of the facility's localized defense AI droned on in a cold, emotionless loop, completely drowned out by the groaning shriek of stressed titanium and the deafening concussive blasts of electrical transformers shorting out along the ceiling conduits. Sparks rained down like miniature, white-hot meteor showers, sizzling against the polished floor and filling the air with the sharp, ozone-heavy stench of melted wiring and scorched insulation.

In the dead center of Cell Block Delta, containment unit 404 was no longer a room. It was a crater.

The three-foot-thick reinforced alloy doors had been blown outward, buckling inward like tin foil before snapping entirely under a massive, localized surge of raw kinetic and thermal energy. Heavy steel framing hung from the ceiling by frayed, sparking cables, swinging gently like gruesome pendulums over the ruined threshold.

Amidst the swirling cloud of gray concrete dust and pulverized drywall, a massive, distorted silhouette dragged itself up from the smoking rubble.

Rudy Jones let out a rattling, guttural breath that sounded like grinding stones, his broad chest heaving as the translucent, sickly-gray skin of his torso stretched taut over overdeveloped, pulsing musculature. Veins the color of bruised eggplant throbbed violently beneath the surface, visibly shifting and squirming as they drank in the ambient electrical current still crackling through the shattered overhead lines. Every light fixture within a fifty-foot radius flickered and died, their power instantly siphoned away into the bottomless, insatiable sinkhole that was his biology.

He didn't just feel alive; he felt incandescent. But beneath the high of the stolen joules, the lingering, bitter ache of his imprisonment burned like acid in his veins. They had locked him away in this sterile tomb, poked him with needles, tested his thresholds, and treated him like an animal in a cage. And worse than all of it was the memory of the blue-and-red Boy Scout who had put him here in the first place.

Rudy’s lips pulled back from his yellowed teeth in a wide, malignant grin, a sickening sound escaping his throat—half laugh, half wet cough.

"Let's see how invincible you feel when there's nothing left to take," he rasped, his voice sounding like two slabs of granite rubbing together.

Down the main security corridor, heavy blast shutters began their slow, pneumatic descent from the ceiling, hissing as rubber gaskets sealed against the floor in a desperate bid to quarantine the breach. A squad of S.T.A.R. Labs tactical security guards rounded the corner, clad in heavy armored plating and gripping reinforced energy rifles that hummed with pale blue plasma charges.

"Freeze, Parasite! Stay down or we will open fire!" the lead officer barked over the intercom of his tactical helmet, though his voice wavered slightly at the sheer, unnatural scale of the creature standing before him.

Rudy didn't even blink. He took a heavy, deliberate step forward, his bare foot crushing a piece of reinforced steel grating beneath his heel as if it were dry autumn leaves.

"Try it," Rudy muttered, his eyes flashing with a hungry, violet luminescence.

The guards didn't wait. A volley of plasma fire erupted down the corridor, searing lines of brilliant blue light through the smoke. The energy bolts converged directly on Rudy’s chest, packing enough concussive force to level a reinforced concrete pillar.

Instead of blowing him backward, the blasts struck his skin and instantly stalled, the brilliant blue light flattening out against his flesh like water hitting a sponge. The energy didn't dissipate; it was swallowed whole. The glowing pulses raced across his torso, feeding directly into his circulatory system, bloating his muscles with an extra tier of raw, explosive power.

Rudy inhaled deeply, his eyes widening in savage delight as the thermal and kinetic energy of the gunfire fueled his muscles. He didn't just absorb the hit—he ate it.

"My turn," he snarled.

Before the lead guard could shout a frantic order to fall back, Rudy slammed his right fist into the reinforced concrete floor.

The impact was catastrophic. A seismic shockwave tore down the hallway, ripping the titanium-reinforced tiles straight out of their moorings and sending massive, jagged slabs of concrete erupting upward into the air like tectonic plates shifting during an earthquake. The tactical squad was tossed violently off their feet, their heavy armor clattering against the walls as they were swept up in the localized shockwave.

Alarms sputtered and finally died, plunging the main corridor into deep, flickering shadows broken only by the emergency battery strips hugging the baseboards.

Rudy casually backhanded a falling security barrier out of his path, sending the three-hundred-pound slab of metal flying down the hall like a skipped stone. He stepped over the groaning, dazed forms of the security team without a second glance. They weren't worth his time. Their energy was small, petty, temporary. He needed the big prize. He needed the powerhouse from Metropolis.

He marched toward the primary subterranean elevator shaft, ignoring the auxiliary fire suppression systems that finally kicked on overhead, drenching the smoking corridor in a freezing, high-pressure deluge of chemical fire retardant. The water hit his hot skin and instantly hissed into steam, turning the hallway into a stifling, opaque sauna.

Rudy ripped the elevator doors open with his bare hands, tearing the steel tracks right out of the wall and tossing the mangled cab down the empty shaft with a deafening crash of metal-on-metal echoes. He didn't need a car to get to the surface. Grabbing hold of the heavy guide rails, he began scaling the vertical shaft with terrifying speed, his massive fingers gouging deep, permanent trenches into the solid concrete walls as he hauled his immense weight upward.

With every foot he climbed toward the surface streets, the hunger in his gut roared louder, sharpened to a razor edge by the memory of Metropolis, of the Justice League, and most of all, of Clark Kent.

He burst through the primary ground-level maintenance hatch of the S.T.A.R. Labs annex like a missile breaking the surface of the water, sending heavy iron doors spinning into the night sky. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant, ambient sounds of city traffic, sirens, and ordinary, unsuspecting lives ticking along in blissful ignorance.

Rudy climbed out onto the rain-slicked asphalt of the alleyway, the water running down his distorted, grey skin in thin, steaming rivulets. He stood up to his full, towering height, tilting his massive head back to look up at the vast, indifferent expanse of the starlit sky.

He didn't care about the police units already scrambling toward the sector. He didn't care about the flashing red-and-blue lights beginning to paint the distant horizon.

He raised a heavy, clawed hand and wiped a smear of soot from his cheek, a cold, calculated malice settling deep behind his glowing eyes. Superman thought he was safe, tucked away in his fortress or playing hero in the big city. But Rudy knew how to hurt a god. You didn't just punch a god; you went after the ones he loved, turning his own family into the bait that would drag him down into the dirt.

With a low, rumbling growl that rattled the windows of the neighboring apartment complexes, Rudy stepped out of the alley and into the open streets, the hunt officially beginning.

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Bruce blinked against the pale shafts of morning light filtering through the heavy velvet drapes, the lingering fog of sleep slowly parting as a familiar, rumbling weight settled comfortably over him.

"Good morning, dearest husband," Clark murmured, his voice a soft, lazy vibration against the quiet of the room.

Bruce smiled, his eyes fluttering open as his hand instinctively rose to thread through the unruly waves of dark hair resting against him. "Good morning to you too, husband."

Clark had his head propped right over Bruce's chest, listening to the steady, anchoring rhythm of his heartbeat. He let out a long, reluctant sigh, pressing his face a little deeper into the warm cotton of Bruce's shirt.

"I wish we could just stay in bed today," Clark mumbled, a faint note of longing in his tone, "we wouldn't have to worry about going to work, and we could have the whole house to ourselves."

Bruce’s fingers continued their slow, soothing motion against Clark’s scalp, his nails scratching lightly at the base of his neck.

"As appealing as that sounds," Bruce murmured, a quiet, fond amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, "the last time we tried to have the house to ourselves, Damian decided to test a smoke bomb in the foyer and Tim tried to conduct a physics experiment using the grand piano."

Clark chuckled softly against Bruce's collarbone, a warm puff of air that sent a pleasant shiver across his skin.

"We could pretend they don't exist," Clark mumbled, though there was a smile in his tone. "Just lock the doors, turn off the comms, and let Alfred deal with whatever catastrophe they've managed to invent before seven in the morning."

Bruce let out a quiet, rumbling laugh, his chest rising and falling beneath Clark's cheek. "You vastly underestimate Alfred's tolerance for insurrection, and you severely underestimate our children's ability to breach solid oak."

Even as he said it, Bruce didn't make a move to push him away. Instead, he tightened his arm around Clark's waist, pulling him just a fraction closer against the chill of the morning air, entirely content to steal just a few more minutes of peace before the rest of the world—and Wayne Manor's permanent state of controlled chaos—demanded them back.

For a few glorious moments, the world narrowed down to just the steady rhythm of their breathing and the quiet warmth of the bed. But all good things in Wayne Manor came with a strict expiration date.

The peaceful silence of the room was abruptly shattered by the sharp, rhythmic rap of knuckles sounding against the heavy oak door.

"Master Bruce, Master Clark," Alfred’s refined, unhurried voice drifted through the wood, cutting cleanly into the morning quiet. "Breakfast is ready. And if you do not descend within the next five minutes, Master Damian has threatened to weaponize his household pets against the staircase."

Bruce let out a soft, defeated huff of laughter against Clark’s hair, the domestic fantasy completely broken by the butler's dry warning.

Clark smiled, pressing one last, fond kiss to Bruce’s chest before reluctantly lifting his head. "Right. Well. Can't have Titus and Alfred's patience tested any further."

"God forbid," Bruce murmured, a rare, genuine amusement touching his dark eyes as he shifted, sliding out from under the covers to sit on the edge of the mattress. "Come on. Before Tim tries to drink three espressos and goes straight through a wall."

Clark laughed, a rich, booming sound that bounced off the ancient stone walls, and sat up alongside him. He reached out, smoothing a stray lock of dark hair back from Bruce's forehead with a gentle, lingering touch before letting his hand drop to casually intertwine their fingers.

"Lead the way, husband," Clark smiled, his blue eyes bright with quiet affection. "Let's go face the menagerie."

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Dick buried his face in his hands, his cheeks burning a brilliant shade of crimson as he groaned into his palms. "Can we just drop it?"

Jason leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table with a triumphant, wicked grin. "Not gonna happen, Dick. Last night you and Wally were totally smooching."

Tim didn't even look up from his tablet, effortlessly picking up the thread with a deadpan, clinical recitation. "Wally was all like: 'I love you, we should do this again.' And you, being the lovable dork, were all like: U-uh, yeah, sure."

To drive the point home, Tim dropped his stylus, puckered his lips into an exaggerated, dramatic pout, and began to aggressively mock the way Dick and Wally had kissed, making high-pitched, breathless smooching noises that echoed off the high ceiling.

Damian wrinkled his nose, crossing his arms with a theatrical shudder. "Truly repulsive. Must the courtyard be subjected to such sappy, invertebrate displays of affection? Grayson acts less like a seasoned hero and more like a lovesick schoolgirl experiencing a glandular malfunction."

Dick lunged across the table toward Tim, his dignity entirely abandoned. "I am going to throw you into the Batmobile's exhaust pipe, Tim!"

Tim dodged backward just in time, laughing maniacally as he grabbed his laptop and scrambled away, while Jason howled with amusement.

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks just inside the doorway, a heavy, exhausted sigh slipping past his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Beside him, Clark let out a rich, booming laugh that rattled the crystal water goblets.

"Morning, kids," Clark chimed in cheerfully, sliding effortlessly into his seat while pulling Bruce down right beside him. "What did I miss?"

Damian leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction as he delivered the final, fatal blow. "Grayson snuck out last night to go on a date with West."

Dick froze, his hands dropping from his face as he stared at the youngest Wayne in absolute betrayal. "Traitor! You swore you were asleep!"

"I am a creature of vigilance, unlike you, who is a creature of pathetic impulses," Damian retorted smoothly, picking up his teacup with an air of absolute superiority.

Jason practically slammed his hand on the table, laughing so hard he choked on his hash browns. "Oh, man! B didn't even notice? You actually slipped past the perimeter just to go hold hands with a giant red gummy bear?"

"He's the Flash!" Dick protested defensively, his face glowing like a stoplight. "And it wasn't just holding hands!"

Tim popped back up from behind his chair, leaning over it with a devilish grin. "Right, sorry. My mistake. It was high-speed, kinetic-energy-fueled smooching."

Bruce finally let go of the bridge of his nose, lowering his hand to reveal an expression of absolute, unmitigated exhaustion. He slowly slid into his seat beside Clark, resting his elbows on the table and staring blankly into the middle distance.

Clark patted Bruce's shoulder sympathetically, hiding a wide, highly amused grin behind his water glass as he looked over at the red-faced former Robin.

"Well," Clark said brightly, cutting through the chaos. "As long as nobody broke any city ordinances or accidentally vibrated through a structural wall, I call it a successful Tuesday."

Just as everybody started laughing, the ambient noise of the room was abruptly cut short by the sharp chime of the wall-mounted television switching channels. The morning talk show vanished, replaced by a flashing red emergency broadcast banner.

The local news anchor's voice filled the dining room, tight with panic. "We interrupt this program with a breaking news alert. Authorities confirm that Rudy Jones—the entity known as Parasite—has violently breached containment at S.T.A.R. Labs..."

The screen flickered to shaky aerial footage of the facility, showing the massive, smoking breach in the reinforced walls and the hulking, distorted silhouette of Parasite moving through the rubble.

Bruce snapped his attention away from the screen, his tactical instincts instantly overriding the breakfast table chaos. He turned to his left, opening his mouth to speak.

"Clark, we need to—"

He cut off mid-sentence, his gaze meeting an empty chair. The indentation in the cushion was still warm, but Clark was entirely gone, a faint gust of displaced air being the only lingering trace of his exit.

Bruce stared at the vacant seat for a fraction of a second before dragging a hand down his face.

"Dammit!!"

Dick was already on his feet, the playful embarrassment from a moment ago entirely wiped from his face, replaced by sharp, tactical urgency.

"We gotta go after Clark," Dick said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked around the table. "He could run into a trap."

Bruce didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. The frustration of Clark's vanishing act dissolved instantly into the absolute focus of the Dark Knight.

"You're right," Bruce snapped, his gaze sweeping across his sons. "Everyone move!"

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The stealth cockpit of the Batwing was bathed in the harsh, flashing red of emergency telemetry. Outside, the night sky over Metropolis blurred into a streak of violent neon, but Bruce’s eyes were locked entirely on the bio-metric monitor flashing wildly on his main console.

The signal was spiking—erratic, violent, and dangerously faint.

Bruce said, "What was he thinking going after Parasite alone?!"

In the co-pilot seat, strapped tightly into the tactical harness, Dick leaned over the secondary console, his fingers flying across the holographic interface to stabilize their flight path against the localized atmospheric shockwaves.

Dick said, "He wasn't thinking B, but understand this from his point of view. Parasite is a dangerous criminal and he has Clark's identity."

Tim, squeezed into the jump seat directly behind them, leaned over the center console, his fingers racing across his portable deck.

Tim said, "Which means he could also learn our identities and know who we are."

Dick said, "Exactly."

From the adjacent tactical seat, Damian leaned forward, his emerald eyes flashing with sharp, unadulterated venom.

"Not to mention the sheer tactical idiocy of engaging an adaptive bio-drain entity without backup," Damian snapped, his voice cutting through the hum of the engines with lethal precision. "If Jones extracts our civilian records and secret identities from his mind, our entire operation is compromised. The vulnerability he has exposed us to is staggering."

Jason, crammed into the remaining jump seat on the flight deck, crossed his arms behind his red helmet with a dry, humorless scoff. "Kid's right. If Parasite maps out the Man of Steel's brain, he gets the keys to the kingdom. Every safehouse, every identity, every weakness."

Dick shot a quick, tense look back toward them before returning his focus to the instrumentation. "Which is why we are going to intercept him before that happens."

"Before Parasite drains him to a husk," Bruce finished, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.

The Batwing shrieked as it broke another sound barrier, screaming through the clouds toward the exact coordinates where Clark's signal was flatlining.

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The sky above Metropolis was a dizzying blur of steel-grey clouds and wind. Clark tore through the upper atmosphere at Mach speeds, his chest heaving, every single faculty stretched to its absolute limit. His blue eyes blazed, squinting as his X-ray vision stripped away brick, concrete, and steel, scanning every dark alley, abandoned warehouse, and subterranean maintenance tunnel for a sickly, violet-gray silhouette.

Where is he? Clark thought, panic tightening like a vise around his chest. Where are you?

He dropped altitude, sweeping low over the commercial district, his focus dialed in so sharply that the city's heartbeat sounded like a frantic drum solo in his ears. He was blind with urgency, his mind racing through every worst-case scenario.

And then, a sound cut through the ambient roar of the wind—a wet, rattling rasp that hit Clark's ears like a physical blow.

"Hello, Superman."

Clark’s head snapped toward the source of the voice, but before his eyes could even register the movement, a massive, oppressive weight slammed into him with the force of a freight train. The impact knocked the breath straight out of his lungs in a concussive whoosh of displaced air. Before Clark could throw a punch or deploy his heat vision, thick, leathery hands shot out with blinding speed, wrapping around his wrists in an iron grip.

A wave of dizzying, sickening cold instantly flushed through Clark's veins as the creature's touch began to siphon his power, draining the golden sunlight right out of his cells.

Suspended mid-air, Clark looked up. Inches from his face, Rudy Jones grinned—a hideous, gaunt stretch of scarred flesh and jagged teeth. The violet light pulsing beneath the creature’s skin flared brightly, humming with stolen vitality.

Parasite tilted his head, a sickeningly fond, warped mimicry of Clark’s own warmth twisting in his voice as he leaned in close.

"Did you miss me?"

The sky seemed to tilt on its axis as the siphon took hold.

It wasn't a gradual loss; it was a violent, eviscerating pull, as if an anchor had been dropped straight into the core of a star. The radiant, sun-forged energy that sustained Clark’s very existence rushed out of his veins in a blinding torrent of white-hot agony. Every nerve ending in his body flared with white-hot fire, as though liquid glass were being pumped through his arteries instead of blood.

Clark’s jaw slackened, and a raw, ragged scream tore from his throat—a sound so loud and violently sharp that it sent concentric shockwaves rippling across the clouds, shattering every window in a three-block radius below.

He thrashed wildly, trying to tear his hands free, but Parasite’s grip was absolute, reinforced by the stolen tactical genius of a hundred previous victims. The creature hung onto him like a living leech, his skin glowing with a blinding, violent violet as he gorged himself on a god's vitality.

"More..." Parasite gasped, his voice thick and slurred with the intoxicating rush of Kryptonian power flooding his ruined frame. "Yes... give it to me!"

Clark’s vision swam, the brilliant blue sky bleeding out into a dizzying, suffocating black. The strength in his limbs evaporated, leaving him boneless and heavy, suspended only by the monster's iron grasp as his desperate, agonizing scream faded into a wet, tortured wheeze.

Parasite hung onto him like a monstrous parasite, his skin glowing a violent, blinding violet as he gorged himself on the godlike energy. The creature's face twisted into an ugly, venomous sneer, pressing in close enough for Clark to feel the freezing, deathly chill radiating off him.

"You left me to rot in that cell for years, Superman!" Parasite roared above the sound of rushing wind, his voice vibrating with a decades-long, festering hatred. "Now I'm going to take away everything you ever care about!"

Clark screamed again, a raw, fractured sound of sheer terror and pain, his fingers curling weakly against the monster's iron grip as the darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.

The agonizing burn in Clark's veins reached a fever pitch, threatening to snuff out the last remaining spark of solar energy in his cells. But beneath the blinding white-hot pain, a deep, primal protective instinct flared to life—a desperate, unbreakable anchor tied to the family speeding toward him through the Gotham and Metropolis skies.

Not here. Not now. I have to get back to them.

With a final, heroic surge of sheer willpower that defied the laws of biology, Clark stopped fighting to pull his hands away and instead threw his entire body forward, weaponizing the staggering weight of a falling god.

He slammed his forehead directly into Parasite’s nose with a sickening crunch.

The creature shrieked, the iron grip on Clark's wrists shattering instantly under the sudden, bone-splintering impact. The siphon broke. The violent stream of violet light severed with a sharp, electrical snap.

Stunned and howling in rage, Parasite stumbled backward mid-air. But the damage to Clark was catastrophic. Stripped of his strength, his invulnerability, and the sunlight that kept him aloft, Clark’s body went completely dead weight.

The sky rushed upward with terrifying speed.

Clark plummeted through the dense cloud cover like a stone, the wind screaming in his ears as gravity claimed him. He couldn't fly, couldn't slow his descent, his limbs heavy and useless.

CRASH.

He hit the earth like a meteor, cratering deep into the concrete of an abandoned industrial rail yard on the outskirts of the city. Dust, gravel, and shattered asphalt exploded outward in a massive shockwave, burying him beneath a mountain of gray rubble as the world went pitch black.

The dust and shattered concrete of the impact crater settled in a suffocating cloud. Beneath the heavy mound of rubble, Clark lay motionless, his chest barely rising, every drop of solar energy stripped from his frame. The world above him swam in a nauseating, absolute black.

Before he could even draw a ragged breath to force his heavy limbs to move, a heavy, ground-shaking thud echoed against the earth.

Thud.

Parasite landed at the edge of the crater, his massive, mottled frame glowing with a sickening, pulsating violet light that fed on the stolen Kryptonian power humming just beneath his skin. The creature’s breathing was heavy, filled with a cruel, mocking satisfaction as he peered down into the smoky trench. Clark’s fingers twitched weakly against the sharp gravel, trying to drag himself forward, but his body felt like lead.

From the lip of the crater, a harsh, gravelly voice cut through the ringing in Clark's ears, dripping with malicious amusement.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Before Clark could drag himself another inch through the jagged rubble, massive, grey hands closed like a vise around the collar of his suit.

With a brutal, effortless heave, Parasite hoisted Clark up by his chest, the glowing violet light pulsing beneath the creature’s skin illuminating his twisted, triumphant grin. Clark’s head rolled back, his vision swimming with dark spots as he struggled to pull even a fraction of air into his burning lungs.

"Going somewhere, farm boy?" Parasite sneered, his voice dripping with cruel mockery.

Gathering the last flickering spark of strength left in his battered frame, Clark didn't hesitate. Gritting his teeth against the agonizing pull in his muscles, he snapped his head forward with every ounce of velocity he could muster.

CRACK.

His forehead slammed directly into Parasite’s nose with the force of a falling anvil. The creature grunted in shock, his grip slipping instantly as the bone gave way beneath the sudden impact.

Seizing the micro-second window, Clark twisted out of his grasp, but before he could catch his balance, Parasite’s heavy, swollen fist caught him squarely across the jaw.

The kinetic force threw Clark sideways like a ragdoll. He flew backward through the empty rail yard, skipping violently across the pavement before slamming hard into the concrete-reinforced exterior wall of an abandoned brick warehouse. The building groaned, its masonry exploding outward in a shower of red dust and splintered timber as Clark crashed straight through the structure, disappearing into the dark, rubble-filled interior.

Inside the darkened, skeletal shell of the ruined warehouse, the air hung thick with choking red dust and the sharp scent of pulverized concrete.

Clark groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he tried to push himself up from a bed of shattered bricks and twisted steel rebar. Every nerve ending in his body screamed in protest. Without the sun to fuel him, he felt heavy, fragile, and utterly human—the terrifying realization of a god stripped of his divinity.

Heavy, ground-shaking footfalls echoed outside the jagged hole in the brick wall.

Parasite stepped through the dust, his massive, mottled frame radiating a sickly, pulsing violet glow that cast long, distorted shadows across the wreckage. The creature’s breathing was wet and heavy, his bruised face slowly knitting itself back together using the stolen Kryptonian vitality still humming in his veins.

He stopped a few paces away, looking down at Clark with a look of pure, unadulterated malice.

Leaning down, Parasite grabbed Clark by the lapel of his red and blue tunic, easily hauling the battered hero to his feet before pressing him hard against the remaining structural support beam.

"Do you want to know what I thought about while stuck in that lab, Supes?" Parasite hissed, his voice grating and viciously low against the ringing in Clark's ears. "I thought of nothing but revenge."

Before the crushing weight of Parasite's fist could connect, a high-pitched, supersonic shriek tore through the ruined warehouse roof, shattering the remaining glass panes into a storm of crystal dust.

BOOM.

The Batwing tore through the fractured sky, its vector thrusters howling as it pitched into a near-vertical dive right toward the ruined warehouse.

Inside the cockpit, Bruce’s hands danced across the weapons array, locking targeting reticles with terrifying speed. Beside him, Dick was already leaning hard into his tactical overlay, tracking the bio-electric decay of Clark's signal on the secondary monitor.

"We have visual!" Dick called out over the roar of the engine. "He's inside the structure!"

"Hold on!" Bruce barked, his knuckles whitening around the flight controls. The thought of Clark—his husband, the man who carried the weight of an entire world on his shoulders—lying broken and vulnerable in the dust made every instinctual alarm in his mind scream into overdrive.

With a deafening roar of retro-thrusters, the Batwing leveled out inches off the concrete floor of the warehouse, its forward cannons spinning up with a lethal, high-frequency hum. The landing gear slammed into the rubble, spraying chunks of brick and mortar in a wide arc as the stealth jet skidded to a halt, directly facing the massive, glowing silhouette of the Parasite.

The creature barely had time to turn his head before Bruce triggered the forward sonic concussive charge.

A wall of pure, invisible acoustic force hammered into Parasite’s chest, lifting the monster off his feet and throwing him backward through the opposite brick wall in an explosion of masonry.

Dick was out of the cockpit before the landing gear had even finished settling, his escrima sticks snapping into his hands with twin flashes of blue electrical fire as he hit the ground running. Tim and Damian dropped out right behind him, their boots crunching on the glass-strewn floor, moving with the synchronized, lethal precision of a well-oiled machine.

"Secure Clark!" Bruce commanded, stepping down the boarding ramp of the Batwing with a mechanized thud, his armored cape sweeping out behind him like dark wings. His jaw was locked tight, his dark eyes fixed entirely on the smoking crater where Clark lay.

Dick dropped to his knees beside the crumpled Kryptonian, sliding an arm under Clark’s shoulders to prop him up.

"Hey. Look at me, big guy," Dick urged, his voice tight with sudden, unmasked worry as he pressed two fingers against Clark's neck to check a dangerously faint pulse. "Come on, stay with us."

Clark's eyelids fluttered open, a weak, exhausted breath rattling past his lips. "Dick... you... you shouldn't be..."

"Shut up and save your breath," Dick muttered, a fierce, protective grin breaking through his tension as he hoisted more of Clark’s weight onto his shoulder. "You know B's going to give you a lecture for pulling a stunt like this, right?"

From the ruins of the shattered wall, a furious, inhuman roar echoed through the night air.

Parasite was already dragging himself up from the rubble, his mottled, gray skin pulsing with a violent, electric violet glow as the stolen energy knit his broken nose back together. His eyes locked onto the new arrivals, a fresh wave of malice twisting his features.

"More prey," Parasite hissed, his voice grating like grinding stones as he surged forward.

Bruce didn't blink. He stepped directly between the monster and his husband, his armored knuckles glowing with a localized high-voltage charge, every line of his posture radiating cold, absolute fury.

"You picked the wrong family," Bruce said softly, his voice a lethal promise.

Before Parasite could lunge forward to answer, Bruce turned on his heel, his heavy cape sweeping through the dust as he sprinted past the line of combat and deeper into the ruined, skeletal framework of the building to find Clark.

"Keep him contained!" Dick yelled over his shoulder, his blue-striped tactical suit blurring as he vaulted off a jagged piece of concrete, bringing his plasma-charged escrima sticks down hard against Parasite's shoulder.

The electrical discharge crackled, sending a sharp blue arc across the monster's skin. Parasite grunted, his massive hand lashing out blindly, but Jason was already moving, his twin pistols barking a staccato rhythm of high-explosive concussive rounds. The explosions hammered directly into the creature's chest, throwing off his balance and forcing him to stumble back a full step.

"He's trying to pivot!" Tim called out sharply from a shattered structural pillar, his fingers flying across his handheld deck as he tracked Parasite's bio-electric output. "Don't let him lock onto your momentum, or he'll start draining you next!"

"Like the overgrown leech could ever touch me," Jason sneered, reloading with a sharp, practiced click of his wrist before letting loose another volley of suppressive fire, kicking up a thick wall of white-hot sparks and concrete dust.

Above them, Damian dropped silently from an overhead steel beam, his boots landing with zero friction squarely on the back of Parasite's neck. With ruthless precision, his katana flashed, the blade striking the exact pressure point designed to destabilize a giant's balance.

"Incompetent brute," Damian hissed, twisting the hilt before leaping backward just as Parasite swung a furious, backhanded blow that pulverized a concrete pillar into powder.

Dick hit the ground in a rolling slide, instantly pushing back up to his feet to intercept the monster's counter-attack. "He's getting heavier! His absorption matrix is adapting to the concussive force—hit him with frequency feedback, Tim!"

"On it!" Tim slammed a sequence into his deck, routing a high-frequency sonic pulse straight through the perimeter bat-drones hovering above the street.

The shrieking whine of the sonic wave tore through the air, vibrating so intensely that Parasite staggered, clutching his head with a deafening, frustrated roar.

While his sons kept the monster cornered in a relentless, synchronized dance of evasion and strike, Bruce rounded a heavy concrete partition deeper in the ruins.

There, half-buried under a collapsed brick archway, lay Clark. His red-and-blue tunic was scorched and torn, his breathing painfully shallow.

Bruce dropped to his knees instantly, his gauntleted hands clearing away the debris. "Clark. I've got you."

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"This for Superman, you bastard!" Damian roared, his emerald eyes blazing with fury as he drew his katana.

He launched himself off a crumbling block of concrete, soaring into the air with lethal intent, aiming a downward strike straight at the monster's unprotected shoulder.

But Parasite moved with terrifying speed.

Before the blade could find its mark, a massive, gray hand shot up and caught the steel mid-swing. With a sickening crunch of tortured metal, Parasite’s fingers clamped down and snapped the katana cleanly in half, the broken blade clattering uselessly against the stone floor.

Damian's eyes widened in shock, but before he could twist away, Parasite's hand lashed out, wrapping around his wrist in an iron vise.

A sharp, freezing jolt surged up Damian's arm. The life force was ripped straight from his chest in a blinding rush, stealing his breath and turning his blood to ice.

"Damian!" Dick screamed, his heart dropping into his stomach as he watched the energy drain from his little brother.

Damian’s knees buckled, a ragged, agonized scream tearing from his throat as the monster gorged on his vitality, leaving him hanging limp and helpless in the creature's grip.

Dick scrambled to pull Damian close, checking him over with frantic, trembling hands as the younger boy gasped for breath, his skin pale and clammy from the sudden, violent drain of his vitality.

Before Parasite could pivot toward the remaining line of defense, the dark sky above them split open with a blinding, roaring beam of crimson light.

Dick yells, "Let him go, freak!"

Without a fraction of a second's hesitation, he abandoned his defensive stance, his boots tearing up the concrete as he sprinted straight toward the towering monster, his escrima sticks flaring with maximum-voltage plasma.

Parasite’s lips curled back into a sadistic, jagged grin.

"Gladly," the creature rasped.

Instead of waiting for the strike, Parasite tightened his grip on Damian's limp, shivering frame and hurled the younger boy like a high-velocity projectile straight at Dick.

The unexpected momentum caught Dick mid-stride. Damian's dead weight slammed violently into his chest, the sheer kinetic force bowling them both over. They crashed hard against the asphalt, skidding across the shattered pavement in a tangled, chaotic mess of limbs and tactical gear until they collided heavily with the side of an abandoned car, sending a shower of safety glass raining down around them.

"Ugh—!" Dick gasped, the air completely knocked out of his lungs. He instinctively curled his arms around Damian, shielding his little brother's body as the metal frame of the car groaned under the impact.

Damian slumped heavily against Dick's shoulder, his breathing shallow and ragged, his skin dangerously pale from the vicious energy drain.

"Damian—hey, look at me," Dick choked out, his hands trembling as he gripped his brother's shoulders, shaking off the ringing in his ears. "Dami, stay with me."

Heavy, ground-shaking footfalls cut through his panic. Dick snapped his head up.

Parasite was marching straight toward them, his massive, mottled frame radiating a sickly, pulsing violet light that cast long, distorted shadows across the fractured pavement. The creature's bruised face split into a cruel, jagged grin as he loomed over the pair.

"I got one bird brain down, you're next, Nightwing," Parasite rasped, his voice dripping with malice.

Dick whipped around, his blue eyes widening in stark terror. Parasite was already there, standing towering and silent right behind him like a nightmare brought to life. A massive, grey hand lunged forward, clawed fingers reaching out to grab Dick's chest and tear the life straight from his body—

FWOOSH.

A blinding crimson beam sheared through the night air with the sound of a roaring jet engine.

The concentrated blast of heat vision slammed squarely into Parasite’s side, sending a violent wave of concussive force and searing thermal energy that knocked the monster completely off balance, blowing him sideways into the twisted wreckage of an abandoned car.

Dick stumbled back, gasping for air as he turned his head toward the source of the blast.

A few yards away, supported firmly by Bruce’s strong arm around his waist, stood Clark. His blue-and-red tunic was scorched, and his face was pale, but his eyes were blazing with a terrifying, solar-charged fury. He held his hand out, the last wisps of heat fading from his blazing red eyes as his voice rang out across the shattered street, absolute and unyielding.

"Get away from them!"

Skidding hard across the concrete and stabilizing himself with a furious snarl, Parasite slapped out the smoldering heat on his chest. He looked up at the sun-charged Kryptonian, his skin flickering erratically between a dull gray and a fading violet as the stolen energy burned out of his system.

"Damn it, it's too many of you freaks!" Parasite spat, baring his teeth in a snarl of pure frustration.

He cast one last venomous glare across the fractured bat-family before locking eyes with the Man of Steel.

"I'll be back for you later, Supes! We're not finished yet!"

With a deafening sonic boom, Parasite compressed his legs and launched himself straight up into the stratosphere, vanishing into the night sky like a streak of dark lightning before Superman could close the distance.

----------------------------------------------

The cool, damp air of the Batcave hummed with the quiet, tense backdrop of monitors and medical equipment.

Alfred Pennyworth stood back from Bruce, his hands smoothing down the crisp fabric of Bruce's civilian shirt over freshly applied tactical bandages wrapping tightly around his bruised waist. The butler's expression was a masterclass in disapproving, quiet worry, though he offered no outward lecture—only a firm, practiced pat on Bruce's shoulder before stepping away to retrieve a fresh tray of antiseptic and gauze.

A few yards away, the med bay was a scene of heavy exhaustion. Damian lay entirely still on a medical cot, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow rhythms as an automated IV drip worked to restore the vital energy stolen by the monster.

Tim stood beside the cot, staring down at the younger boy with a pale, unsettled look on his face. He gripped the edge of the steel frame so tightly his knuckles turned stark white, the adrenaline finally wearing off to leave behind a cold, lingering shock.

"That bastard just drained him," Tim muttered, his voice tight and hollow in the cavernous quiet of the cave. "It felt unreal."

Dick stepped up beside Tim, a fresh roll of gauze clutched tightly in his hand, his eyes fixed on Damian’s pale face. The anger that had fueled his movements during the fight was still burning under his skin, sharp and bitter.

"He wasn't just hitting him," Dick said, his voice dangerously low as he swallowed hard against the tight knot in his throat. "He was feeding off him. If Clark hadn't hit him with that heat vision when he did..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. The grim reality hung heavily in the air between them.

From the shadows near the supercomputers, Bruce stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate as he adjusted the bandages Alfred had just secured. His jaw was set in a hard, unforgiving line, every muscle in his frame radiating quiet tension.

"Parasite's power output was exponentially higher than normal," Bruce said, his voice cutting through the heavy quiet of the cave. "He didn't just absorb Damian's energy—he used it to stabilize his own cellular structure after taking a direct hit from Clark. He's adapting."

Over by the sun-lamps, Clark lowered his feet to the floor. The golden, restorative light faded as he stood up, the last traces of exhaustion vanishing from his posture. He crossed the floor toward the med bay, his expression a mix of lingering guilt and quiet resolve.

"He's going after anyone with power or vitality to spare," Clark said, stopping beside Tim and resting a heavy, grounding hand on the young detective's shoulder. "And he knows we're vulnerable right now."

The tension in the Batcave spiked instantly, the ambient hum of the supercomputers seeming to drop away into dead silence.

Clark stepped closer to the holographic map, his expression grim and clouded with deep concern as he looked around at the faces of the gathered family.

"Also, don't forget," Clark said, his voice heavy with a grim realization, "that when he absorbed both mine and Damian's energy, he also knows our identities and our thoughts."

The words hung in the damp air of the cave like a physical weight, freezing everyone in their tracks.

Tim’s fingers hovered motionless over his wrist gauntlet, the holographic map glowing uselessly against his skin. Jason’s cynical posture vanished, his jaw tightening into a hard, dangerous line as the implication crashed over him.

Dick looked up sharply from Damian’s bedside, the color draining from his face entirely. "Wait. You mean—?"

"Everything," Clark said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a fraction of a second before meeting Bruce's intense, unblinking stare. "When he drains someone that deeply, the absorption isn't just physical. He takes fragments of memory, surface thoughts, emotional echoes. He has my memories of the fortress, of the cave... and he has Damian's immediate thoughts from the moment of impact. He knows who we are."

Bruce didn't flinch. The muscles in his jaw ticked once, but his eyes remained locked onto Clark’s, processing the catastrophic tactical shift with cold, terrifying speed.

"Which means," Bruce said, his voice dropping into a low, deadly register that commanded the entire room, "we are no longer dealing with a mindless brute looking for a quick charge. He is an intelligence with our blueprints, our weaknesses, and our faces."

Bruce turned sharply toward the central console, his hands flying across the keys with frantic precision.

"Tim, cut all remote access to the satellite arrays. If he knows our identities, he knows how to break the encryption on our primary networks. Jason, forget the standard containment cells—prep the lead-lined Faraday grid in sublevel six. He can't be allowed to broadcast anything he pulled from Damian's mind."

Dick stood up straight, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides, every ounce of protective fury reigniting tenfold. "He's inside our heads," Dick whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and dread. "He knows everything about us."

"Then we change the variables," Bruce stated, his voice absolute as he spun back around to face them, the cowl casting deep shadows over his hardened features. "He thinks he has the advantage because he knows who we are. But he doesn't know what we'll do to protect each other."

The crisp, measured tone cut through the tense atmosphere of the cave like a scalpel.

Alfred stepped forward from the shadows of the medical bay, holding a fresh tray of surgical gauze and antiseptic with an unwavering, steady hand. He stopped just a few paces from the central console, his sharp gaze sweeping over Bruce's freshly bandaged waist, Clark's still-warming posture, and the battered forms of the younger vigilantes.

"Need I remind you, Master Bruce, that you all are still recovering from your last fight," Alfred said, his voice carrying the quiet, undeniable authority of a man who had stitched up every single one of them more times than they could count. He let his eyes linger pointedly on the bio-bed where Damian lay unconscious. "Neither one of you are in the condition to fight him."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled over the cave.

Bruce didn't look away, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. "Alfred, we don't have a choice. If he has our identities, he’s a threat to everyone outside these walls. Every civilian, every ally—"

"And what good will your identities be to him if you walk into a fight with fractured ribs, depleted energy reserves, and concussions?" Alfred interrupted, his tone unyielding as he stepped closer, setting the medical tray down on the steel table with a sharp, echoing clink.

He fixed Bruce with a stern, unmistakable glare—the exact look that had kept the Batman in line for decades.

"Master Bruce, I have spent far too many nights patching you all back together to watch you march into a suicide mission because of wounded pride and haste," Alfred continued, his voice dropping into a softer, yet no less fierce, reprimand. "You are compromised. All of you. Rushing out there half-healed will not protect your secrets; it will only hand him an easier victory."

Tim slowly lowered his hands from the console, looking between Alfred and Bruce, the cold logic of the butler's words hitting home. "He's right. If Parasite has our thoughts and memories, he's expecting us to react impulsively out of panic. He's probably waiting for us to come crashing in right where he can pick us apart one by one."

Dick let out a long, shaky breath, running a hand through his hair as he looked back down at Damian. The white-hot panic in his chest began to cool, replaced by a grim, sobering realization. "Alfred's right. We need a strategy, not a slaughter."

Clark stood up and said, "I got enough strength to look for him. This is my fight and my fight alone. You guys are already hurt enough."

Bruce's eyes flared with sudden, sharp alarm. He pushed off the central console, marching straight up to Clark with heavy, urgent strides.

"Are you insane?" Bruce snapped, his hands coming up to grip Clark by the shoulders, his voice cracking with a raw, unmasked desperation. "He nearly killed you, Clark, and I'm not gonna let it happen again."

Clark offered a soft, mournful look, the blue of his eyes swimming with an agonizing mix of guilt and absolute resolve.

"It's my fault you guys are hurt. It's my fault that Damian's unconscious. He's not going to get away with this," Clark said softly.

Before Bruce could tighten his grip or block his path, Clark's muscles coiled. With a sudden, deafening sonic boom that rattled the stalactites high above the cavern ceiling and blew a gale-force wind through the Batcave, Clark shot upward.

He punched straight through the reinforced blast doors of the cave, shattering steel and stone into a cloud of debris as he vanished into the night sky, leaving a stunned, breathless silence hanging in his wake.

Jason said, "So what? We're just going to let him go on his own?"

Tim sighed, leaning back against the edge of the console and rubbing a hand over his aching ribs. "Well, what good are we? We're injured and don't have the strength to fight him yet. Alfred's right, we need to rest."

"Rest?" Jason scoffed, throwing his hands up in disbelief as he glared between Tim and the gaping hole Clark had just blown through the blast doors. "While Clark flies straight into a suicide mission because he's having a guilt trip? The bastard knows all of our names, Tim. You think Parasite is just going to wait patiently while we take a nice little nap?"

"I don't think we have a choice," Dick said quietly, stepping up from Damian’s bedside. His expression was tight, his jaw clenched as he looked at the shattered stone and twisted metal overhead. "If we go out there right now, we're a liability. We'll just give Parasite more energy to feed on."

Bruce didn't say a word. He stood motionless at the central console, his eyes fixed on the blinking coordinates of Clark's trajectory fading rapidly on the main screen. The cold, calculated silence of the Batman filled the cavern, heavier and more suffocating than the dust still settling from the explosion.

----------------------------------------------

High above the sprawling, neon-lit expanse of Gotham City, Parasite crouched atop the jagged, gargoyle-crested ledge of a decaying Gothic cathedral, his heavy chest heaving as he tried to process the chaotic storm of stolen power raging beneath his skin.

He didn't just feel alive—he felt infinite. The raw, sun-baked majesty of a Kryptonian god fused with the sharp, razor-sharp vitality of an elite, unyielding assassin, creating an intoxicating cocktail of bio-electricity that pulsed like liquid fire. But with that overwhelming surge came a violent, echoing static inside his skull.

Parasite dropped to his knees, slamming his massive fists against the ancient stone as a barrage of foreign thoughts, faces, and memories violently clawed at the inside of his brain.

It wasn't just data. It was an invasion.

A quiet, golden afternoon in Kansas, the smell of wheat and damp earth... A sprawling, high-tech cavern humming with green and blue light, smelling of ozone and black coffee... The cold steel of a Batarang, the weight of a heavy cowl, the suffocating burden of a thousand unspoken rules...

"Shut up," Parasite growled, his voice a gravelly rasp that vibrated against the cathedral stones. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently as if he could physically rattle the intrusive consciousnesses out of his ears.

Yet, the more he tried to force them away, the deeper they sank. He saw their faces in the dark behind his eyelids. He saw the sorrow in the blue eyes of the Man of Steel. He saw the cold, unyielding calculation behind the cowl of the Gotham vigilante. He knew their real names, their safehouses, their deepest regrets, and the exact frequencies of their weaknesses.

Gradually, the shaking stopped. The violent grip on his head loosened.

A slow, terrifying grin stretched across Parasite’s face, parting his lips to reveal teeth that looked sharper, more predatory than before. The panic of the invasion melted away, replaced by the intoxicating realization of what he now held in his hands. He possessed their blueprints.

He expected the red-and-blue blur to tear through the clouds any second now. He braced himself, eyes scanning the horizon, waiting for the furious, grief-driven charge of a desperate Kryptonian.

One minute passed. Then five. Then ten.

The heavy, smog-choked Gotham winds whistled through the cathedral spires, and the storm clouds churned silently overhead, but the sky remained empty. No streak of red. No sonic boom.

Parasite blinked, his glowing, violet-tinted palms dimming just a fraction as confusion cut through his adrenaline.

Miles away, back down in the cool, silent depths of the Batcave, the atmosphere was entirely different. Down here, there was no frantic coordination, no tactical board lighting up with pursuit vectors. The Bat family was completely sidelined—Bruce bandaged and stiff, Tim nursing his ribs, Dick watching over unconscious Damian, and Alfred keeping a strict, watchful eye on all of them. They were out of the fight, pinned down by their injuries and forced to recover.

Which meant Clark was entirely on his own.

High above the clouds, a streak of crimson and blue was tearing through the upper atmosphere, banking sharply and scanning every radar pocket and thermal anomaly across the tri-state area. Clark was flying blind, fueled entirely by guilt and a desperate need to face the monster alone before anyone else could get hurt.

Parasite stood up slowly on the ledge, realizing that the rest of the brood wasn't coming. They were tucked away in their dark cave, nursing their wounds, leaving the Man of Steel to hunt him solo.

The terrifying grin returned to his face, wider and crueler this time.

"Fine, Supes, you want to play? Then let's play," Parasite murmured into the howling Gotham wind.

With a concussive shockwave of displaced air, he launched himself off the cathedral ledge, a streak of heavy, grey-and-violet motion tearing away into the dark night sky.

As he vanished into the clouds, a wicked, triumphant smile crept across his face.

"Let's see how you react when I go back for your family."

----------------------------------------------

The heavy oak doors of the master bedroom clicked shut as Damian adjusted the stiff collar of his formal dress shirt, his jaw tight with suppressed fury. Down in the manor, the distant, muffled cadence of arriving orchestra music and the murmur of early-arriving socialites drifted up through the floorboards.

Bruce stepped out from his walk-in closet, sliding his suit jacket over broad shoulders. His movements were slightly measured, carrying the lingering stiffness of the tactical bandages still wrapped securely beneath his clothes, but his posture was as rigid and commanding as ever.

Damian stood by the mirror, staring at his own reflection with intense, burning self-reproach. The color had fully returned to his face since the med bay, but the memory of the drain—and the terrifying realization that followed—was fresh.

"Can't believe I let that bastard get the better of me," Damian muttered, his voice sharp and laced with bitter self-hatred as he slammed a fist against the mahogany dresser. "Now, because of me, he knows our identities."

Bruce crossed the room in two long, silent strides, his heavy hand coming down firmly on Damian’s shoulder. The touch was grounding, anchoring the boy before the dark spiral of self-blame could take full hold.

"Stop," Bruce said, his voice a low, steady rumble that broke no argument. He met Damian’s fiery green eyes in the mirror. "You fought an opponent who caught you entirely off guard, drawing on stolen energy he shouldn't have even had access to. You survived. That is what matters."

"I compromised the mission, Father," Damian hissed, though he didn't pull away from the heavy, reassuring weight of Bruce's hand. "He has our faces. Our names. If he uses that information—"

"Then we adapt," Bruce interrupted, his tone hardening into absolute, unyielding steel. "We knew the risks the moment we stepped into this life. Mistakes happen, Damian. What matters is how we correct them. We play the hand we've been dealt, and we protect each other."

A soft, polite knock sounded at the bedroom door before it eased open, revealing Alfred in his immaculate tailoring, carrying a silver pocket watch.

"Master Bruce, Master Damian," Alfred announced smoothly, his sharp eyes sweeping over them to check for any hidden flinches of pain. "The cars are waiting downstairs, and the ballroom is steadily filling with Gotham's finest. If I may suggest, brooding over past variables will have to wait until after you successfully play the part of the indifferent billionaire playboy and his exceedingly difficult ward."

Bruce offered a single, grim nod. He pulled down his lapels, his face smoothing into the familiar, untouchable mask of Bruce Wayne.

"Let's go," Bruce said, turning toward the door. "Time to show the city we aren't hiding."

----------------------------------------------

The heavy limousine wasn't just carrying Bruce; crammed together in the spacious, dimly lit seating area behind the privacy partition, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian occupied the plush leather seats, each wrestling with their own distinct brand of nocturnal tension. The air inside smelled faintly of expensive cologne, old leather, and the lingering, metallic tang of adrenaline.

Jason said, "I still think we should've gone out there with him."

Bruce didn't turn around from the front passenger seat, but his shoulders stiffened, the muscles across his back locking into rigid steel under his tailored suit jacket.

"And walk right into a trap designed to drain every last ounce of energy from you?" Bruce retorted, his deep, gravelly voice cutting cleanly through the hum of the engine with absolute authority. "Clark is handling the pursuit in the upper atmosphere. We do not engage until we have tactical parity."

"With all due respect, B, he's out there flying blind against a guy who just used Damian's head like a hard drive," Jason fired back, leaning forward with a dark, cynical edge to his tone. "Standing around in a ballroom playing rich socialite isn't a strategy, it's a waiting room."

"It's maintaining the objective," Bruce corrected, his dark eyes flashing in the rearview mirror as he met Jason's defiant stare. "Parasite wants us fractured. He wants us panicking, reacting out of emotion. We give him none of that."

"Father is correct," Damian interjected, sitting upright with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his green eyes burning with cold intensity. "Todd's impatience is a liability. We adhere to the protocol."

"Easy for you to say, demon spawn," Jason muttered, though he leaned back against the leather with a frustrated huff, crossing his arms over his vest.

Dick reached out, offering a reassuring, grounding squeeze to Jason's shoulder before looking up toward the front. "Bruce is right, Jay. We trust Clark, and we trust the plan. Once we're inside and the baseline security is locked down, we coordinate with the Watchtower."

Tim stayed silent, his fingers flying across his modified tablet as he bypassed local relays to sync directly with the orbital feed. "I've got a secondary tracking pulse locked onto Clark's trajectory," Tim murmured, his voice tight. "If Parasite touches down anywhere near the tri-state area, the system will flag it instantly."

Bruce offered a single, grim nod, turning his gaze back to the front windshield as the towering iron gates of the gala loomed ahead in the distance.

High above the winding mountain road, Parasite tracked the vehicle's thermal signature with effortless ease. His enhanced vision pierced straight through the reinforced roof of the limousine, rendering the metal entirely transparent. He could see them all now—the bruised detective, the restless rebel, the acrobat trying desperately to keep his brothers calm, the fierce young assassin, and the stern patriarch up front.

The cruel, predatory smile widened across Parasite's face, a low, victorious rumble vibrating deep within his chest as he adjusted his trajectory to intercept them before they ever reached the city limits.

Cruising through the cool, silent night air, Parasite let out a quiet breath. The stolen Kryptonian energy coursing through his veins made the freezing altitudes feel like a gentle summer breeze, while the vast reservoir of tactical data he had stolen from Damian whispered the exact structural vulnerabilities of every vehicle in the Wayne fleet.

The great Batman and his little family, Parasite thought, laughing quietly to himself as his stolen memories laid bare every secret escape route and safehouse they owned. Let them play dress-up in their fancy car and ballroom; they're walking right into the slaughter.

Down below, the red taillights of the limousine cut a sharp, glowing line through the dense tree line. The highway narrowed here, flanked by steep, rocky embankments on one side and a sheer drop-off into a densely wooded ravine on the other. It was the absolute ideal spot for an ambush.

Parasite didn't hesitate. He tucked his arms tightly against his sides, shifting his weight forward, and dove out of the cloud cover like a predatory bird of prey, hurtling downward with terminal velocity.

Inside the car, Bruce suddenly stiffened, his eyes snapping upward as his heightened tactical instincts flared. "Hold on," Bruce warned, his voice cutting sharply through the casual chatter.

Before the words had even fully registered in the minds of his sons, the smooth, steady hum of the engine was violently shattered.

With a deafening, metallic CRACK that sounded like a bomb detonating directly overhead, a massive, unimaginably heavy mass slammed down onto the roof of the vehicle. The sudden, immense kinetic impact buckled the heavily reinforced steel roof panels inward like wet cardboard, showering the opulent interior with a glittering cascade of tiny safety glass shards and sending the heavy limousine violently careening toward the shoulder of the highway.

The screech of tearing aluminum and buckling framing filled the air, instantly drowning out the screams of surprise from the back seats.

In the front seat, Alfred’s combat-honed reflexes didn't hesitate for a single fraction of a second. His eyes locked onto the sweeping glare of the headlights slicing through the chaotic dust storm, his hands wrenching the steering wheel hard to fight the catastrophic shift in momentum. The heavy tires shrieked frantically against the asphalt, throwing up a dense, billowing cloud of white smoke as the car fishtailed wildly, grazing the concrete barrier with a shower of orange sparks before Alfred masterfully wrestled it back under control, bringing it to a sliding, smoking halt on the grass shoulder.

In the back, the brutal deceleration threw everyone forward in a tangled knot of limbs.

"What the hell was that?!" Jason shouted, instantly shoving himself off the opposite seat and reaching with practiced, lethal speed for the concealed firearm beneath his jacket.

"Hold on!" Dick yelled, throwing an arm out to catch Tim as the younger boy winced, his bruised ribs flaring with a sudden, agonizing wave of pain from the abrupt, violent stop.

"Get off me, Grayson, I am entirely fine!" Damian snapped, shoving Dick away with a furious glare, though his own hand instinctively dropped to his beltline, searching for a weapon that wasn't there in his formal wear.

Up front, Bruce’s door pushed open before the car had even completely settled. He stepped out onto the damp, dew-kissed grass, his dark eyes instantly locking onto the caved-in, smoking ruin of the limousine's roof. His muscles coiled with lethal tension, every fiber of his being screaming that the real nightmare had only just begun.

From the driver's side, Alfred stepped out as well, adjusting his cuffs with an unnerving, icy composure, though his sharp eyes swept across the dark, looming tree line above them.

"Well," Alfred murmured dryly, his refined British accent cutting cleanly through the cooling hiss of the engine and the whistling night wind. "It appears our uninvited guest has decided to RSVP ahead of schedule."

Before Bruce could even draw a Batarang from his belt, the twisted, buckled steel of the limousine’s roof groaned in agonizing, protracted protest.

Massive, violet-tinted hands clamped onto the jagged, razor-sharp edges of the torn metal. With a deafening shriek of tearing aluminum and fracturing internal frames, the entire top half of the vehicle was ripped away like cheap tin foil and tossed carelessly aside into the dark brush of the highway embankment, tumbling into the deep ravine below with a heavy crash.

A freezing, turbulent rush of night air slammed into the cabin, accompanied instantly by a heavy, suffocating wave of stolen bio-electricity that made the air crackle violently with static electricity. The very atmosphere hummed with the terrifying power of a god wearing a monster's face.

The entire family froze, paralyzed for a single, critical heartbeat by the sheer scale of the threat towering above them. Tim gasped, clutching his aching ribs as he stared upward in disbelief; Jason’s hand locked tight around his weapon with his knuckles turning white; and Dick stepped instinctively in front of the others, his muscles tensing for a fight he knew would nearly break them.

Framed against the vast, star-studded expanse of the night sky, massive and terrifyingly glowing with raw, stolen power, Parasite peered down into the wreckage of the car. His sharp, predatory teeth parted in a sickening, triumphant grin that sent a shiver down even Damian's spine.

"Did you miss me?" Parasite rasped, his voice vibrating deep within the chests of everyone present.

Bruce didn't waste a breath on words. Driven by a primal, unyielding need to protect his family, the Dark Knight launched himself upward out of the wreckage, every muscle screaming as he aimed a devastating aerial strike straight at the monster's throat.

He was too slow.

In a terrifying blur of grey skin and violet light, Parasite moved with the speed of a true Kryptonian. Massive, iron-tight hands shot out, his fingers wrapping entirely around Bruce’s forearms with unbreakable force, pinning the vigilante mid-air and hauling him out of the car.

Bruce’s breath hitched violently. A searing, white-hot shockwave surged through his veins, burning like liquid fire.

It wasn't just physical strength draining away from his muscles; it was his very life force, the burning, relentless adrenaline, and the stubborn, ironclad will that kept the Batman standing against impossible odds. The crisp, tailored fabric of his suit suddenly felt loose and heavy as his frame involuntarily shuddered. A cold, absolute numbness crept upward from his wrists, stealing the natural warmth from his skin and turning his blood to ice.

"Bruce!" Dick yelled, raw horror cutting cleanly through his voice as he vaulted out of the wreckage, ignoring his own aching injuries to grab frantically at Parasite's shoulder.

"Get your hands off them!" Jason roared, pivoting on his heel and aiming square at Parasite's chest, though a fraction of hesitation flickered in his eyes, terrified a stray bullet might pierce Bruce instead of the monster.

Parasite didn't even bother to flinch. He cast a cold, dismissive glance sideways at the young vigilantes, his violet eyes glowing with malicious triumph as he fed deeper on the Dark Knight's fading vitality. Bruce gasped weakly, his boots dangling just inches off the asphalt as the crushing weight of his own failing strength threatened to pull him under entirely.

Down by the smoking wreckage, Alfred's eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. He didn't hesitate, nor did he panic. While the young masters shouted in desperate confusion, the veteran butler slammed his foot down hard onto the accelerator of the surviving chassis, throwing the heavy limousine into a violent, controlled spin.

The centrifugal force whipped the remaining frame around in a sharp, blinding arc across the pavement.

Caught completely unawares by the sudden, brutal shift in momentum and weight distribution, Parasite's iron grip was violently ripped away from Bruce's forearms. The monster stumbled, losing his footing on the shredded metal frame as the sheer velocity hurled him outward.

With a heavy, echoing thud, Parasite was thrown clean off the vehicle, tumbling hard across the rough asphalt and skidding deep into the overgrown grass of the roadside.

Bruce collapsed forward, catching himself heavily against the shattered remnants of the dashboard. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as the terrifying, numbing vacuum of the drain suddenly cut off, leaving him shaking violently and desperately trying to reclaim his fading strength.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called out, his voice sharp with fierce, unyielding urgency as he killed the engine and threw open his door, his hand instantly dropping to a custom-milled firearm hidden securely within the glove compartment. "Get the boys out of here. Now!"

Parasite climbed to his feet, dusting dirt and shredded grass from his massive, grey-hued shoulders. The stolen Kryptonian energy surged beneath his skin, making his veins pulse with a violent violet light. He turned his heavy, predatory glare directly toward the front of the car, fixing his sights on the unflappable butler.

Parasite growled, baring teeth that looked entirely too sharp. "You're going to regret that, old man."

Before Alfred could even blink, the engine roared. With a cold, calculated gleam in his eye, Alfred jammed his foot down on the gas pedal, launching the heavy, battered limousine straight toward the monster with lethal, unhesitating precision.

Parasite didn't flinch. As the front bumper barreled toward him at breakneck speed, he simply raised his hands.

CRASH. Parasite's massive palms slammed directly into the hood of the speeding car, the impact crumpling reinforced steel like paper. The tires shrieked in protest, throwing up a thick wall of white smoke as the heavy vehicle ground to an abrupt, violent halt against his grip. With a guttural roar, Parasite braced his legs, lifted the entire front end of the limousine off the ground, and hurled it violently to the side like a discarded toy. The car flipped through the air before crashing heavily into a deep ditch with a deafening screech of twisted metal.

"Alfred!"

The horrified cry tore simultaneously from the throats of Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim. Terror spiked through their veins, entirely overriding their injuries, their exhaustion, and the terrifying reality of what they were facing.

Driven by pure, frantic desperation, all four of them leaped forward at once.

Dick hit Parasite's back first, driving his elbows downward with all the acrobatic force he could muster. Jason slammed into his side, firing a barrage of rubber-coated impact rounds point-blank into the monster's chest to break his balance, while Tim lunged for his legs, trying to take the brute down by the ankles. Bruce, though his limbs still burned with the icy numbness of the drain, drove himself hard into Parasite's chest, throwing every ounce of his remaining strength into the tackle.

For a split second, Parasite staggered under the combined weight of the family.

Then, a vicious, feral sound ripped from the monster's throat. A massive wave of stored bio-electricity violently detonated outward from his pores in a blinding shockwave of violet light.

The kinetic feedback struck like a physical wall. Dick was blown backward off Parasite's shoulders, crashing hard onto the pavement. Jason was thrown violently into the air, landing in a crumpled heap near the shoulder. Tim cried out as the concussive blast ripped him away, sliding and skimming across the rough asphalt. Even Bruce was sent staggering backward, unable to hold his ground as Parasite shrugged them off like bothersome insects.

Before Bruce could force his trembling legs to push him back up, Parasite moved with blinding, terrifying speed.

In a blur of grey and violet, the monster swept across the pavement. Massive, iron-tight hands shot out, grabbing Dick, Jason, and Tim by their collars all at once. The young men struggled and shouted, throwing punches and trying to twist out of his grip, but their bruised, battered bodies were no match for the overwhelming, stolen strength of a Kryptonian. Parasite hoisted them effortlessly into the air, holding them like helpless ragdolls.

Before Bruce could lunge forward, Parasite’s heavy gaze shifted slightly, a cold chuckle rumbling in his chest as he noticed the small, furious figure still standing near the wreckage of the limousine.

Damian had already forced himself upright, his green eyes blazing with pure, murderous intent despite his pale complexion. His hands were curled into tight fists, his body coiled to strike the moment an opening appeared.

With a flick of his wrist, Parasite reached down and grabbed Damian by the collar with his free hand, hoisting the young assassin up into the air alongside the others. Damian thrashed instantly, a sharp cry of frustration tearing from his throat as he swung a vicious kick at the monster's knee.

"Let me go, you grotesque parasite!" Damian snarled, his voice ringing with fierce, unyielding pride as he tried to drive a hidden blade toward the giant's wrist.

Parasite didn't even flinch, merely tightening his grip until Damian’s breath hitched. He hauled all four of them—Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian—effortlessly, dragging the thrashing, cursing quartet across the cracked asphalt until he stood towering directly over Bruce.

Bruce forced himself to his feet, his hands trembling with a mix of exhaustion and absolute, unmasked terror as he stared up at the monster holding his sons.

With a careless shrug, Parasite dropped all four boys in a heap onto the ground at Bruce's feet, pressing a heavy, menacing boot down near Tim’s side to ensure they couldn't scramble away. Leaning in close so the dark knight could feel the crackling static of stolen energy radiating off his skin, Parasite grinned.

"Tell your husband, if he wants to see the kids again, he'll meet with me at the abandoned Ace Chemicals plant," Parasite rasped, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "He has 24 hours."

With a deafening sonic boom that shattered the remaining glass in the shattered car windows, Parasite launched himself straight up into the night sky. In his massive grips, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were swept away into the dark, churning clouds, their shouts of furious defiance fading rapidly into the howling wind until the highway fell dead silent.

Bruce didn't move for three long, agonizing heartbeats. His boots were rooted to the fractured, smoking asphalt, his knuckles white as he clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the lingering, icy numbness in his veins.

"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice cut through the ringing silence, calm and steady despite the wreckage. The veteran butler was already stepping out from the driver’s side of the flipped, half-crushed front chassis, his suit jacket slightly singed and his posture rigid, but entirely functional. "We do not have the luxury of hesitation."

Bruce’s jaw tightened. The fog of shock cleared, instantly replaced by the cold, sharp focus of the detective. He dragged his gaze away from the empty sky and looked toward Alfred, then down at the deep skid marks and the scattered debris of the ambush.

"He took all four of them," Bruce rasped, his voice rough and stripped of its usual iron. "And he knows Clark is tracking him. This isn't just a kidnapping—it's a deliberate lure."

"Which means we play the board precisely as it's laid," Alfred replied, striding over with a compact, heavy-duty tactical kit salvaged from the vehicle's hidden compartment. He tossed a secure comm-unit to Bruce, who caught it with practiced ease. "The Batmobile's remote recall should clear this debris in under four minutes. I have already initiated a silent ping to the Fortress of Solitude."

Before Alfred could finish, the comm-link in Bruce's ear crackled to life with a familiar, deep rumble that carried a frantic, razor-sharp edge.

"Bruce?" Clark's voice came through, heavy with static and barely contained panic. "I lost his trail in the upper thermosphere—he used an atmospheric bounce to mask his trajectory. Where are you? The Watchtower sensors just flagged an emergency transponder near—"

"We were hit on the mountain highway," Bruce interrupted, his tone an unyielding anchor of authority, though the underlying terror for his family bled through every syllable. "Parasite has Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. He's setting the table."

A sharp, terrifying intake of breath echoed on the other end of the line. "Ace Chemicals," Clark muttered, the sound of a sonic boom violently tearing through the air in the background as the Man of Steel instantly corrected his heading. "He wants me there. He thinks he can drain the rest of my reserve while holding them as leverage."

"He's wrong," Bruce said, slipping the tactical earpiece fully into place as the distant, low roar of the approaching Batmobile cut through the night. "He thinks he's isolating us. He doesn't realize what happens when you back this family into a corner."

Bruce turned his dark eyes toward the horizon, watching the first pale fingers of dawn begin to bleed through the heavy Gotham clouds, marking the start of the longest twenty-four hours of their lives.

----------------------------------------------

High above the smog and neon skyline of Gotham, miles away from the flickering red and blue lights of the highway, the abandoned skeleton of the old Ace Chemicals plant loomed like a rotting metallic beast over the dark, churning waters of the harbor.

Inside the cavernous, chemical-crusted shell of the primary mixing floor, the ambient air hummed with a low, volatile static. Every breath Parasite took crackled with residual bio-electricity, his massive chest expanding as the stolen Kryptonian energy continued to purr beneath his grey, stretched skin.

He dropped his cargo unceremoniously onto the stained concrete floor.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian hit the hard ground with a chorus of groans and grunts, the impact jarring straight through their bruised frames. Before any of them could push themselves up or map out an escape route, a heavy, vibrating thump echoed through the floor as Parasite stepped down beside them, planting a massive boot near the perimeter to box them in.

"Stay down," Parasite mocked, a low, rumbling laugh vibrating in his throat as he crossed his arms, the violet glow in his veins casting eerie, pulsing shadows across the rusted catwalks overhead.

Damian was the first to push himself up, his green eyes blazing with unbridled fury as he instantly reached for a concealed blade, only to find his jacket empty. "You oversized, parasitic leech—" Damian snarled, lunging forward with a fist raised, but a sharp wave of static arcing off the monster's shoulder threw him back against Jason's chest.

"Save the heroics, demon spawn," Jason muttered, coughing as he caught Damian by the shoulder to keep him from doing something suicidal. Jason’s eyes darted rapidly across the rusted exits, his hands instinctively checking for hidden gear, finding nothing. "We're completely cut off, our comms are fried from his little light show, and he's practically glowing like a mini-sun."

Dick groaned, pressing a hand to his aching shoulder as he forced himself onto one knee, immediately shielding Tim, who was curled tightly around his bruised ribs.

"Why us?" Dick demanded, his voice sharp and steady despite the pain, stepping slightly in front of Tim and Damian. "You want Superman? Go find him. Why drag us into this?"

Parasite chuckled, a deep, grating sound that vibrated against the corroded metal walls of the factory. While Dick kept his footing and demanded answers, the monster's heavy gaze drifted away from them for a brief moment, scanning the cluttered, debris-strewn corners of the industrial workspace.

He spotted what he was looking for hanging from a corroded steel bracket—a thick, heavy coil of industrial-grade nylon cable left behind by the plant's defunct cleanup crew.

With a casual flick of his massive wrist, Parasite reached up, snapped the thick line like sewing thread, and hauled the coiled cable down into his grip. He stepped back toward them, letting the coarse cord drag across the scarred concrete before dropping the heavy coil onto the floor right beside Dick's boots.

"Like I said, bird-boy, you're the bait," Parasite sneered, his sharp, predatory teeth bared in a sickening grin as he loomed over them. "And bait doesn't get to wander around while it waits."

He crouched down, his glowing violet eyes locking onto the four brothers with cruel amusement. "You boys are going to be the front row audience. You're going to witness the death of Superman."

----------------------------------------------

Miles above the sprawling, rain-slicked grid of Gotham, the night air hummed with a desperate, razor-thin tension. High above the harbor, a faint, erratic surge of electromagnetic interference cut through the upper atmosphere—a jagged, unmistakable signature of stolen solar radiation.

Superman stopped mid-air, his cape snapping behind him as his eyes locked onto the crumbling skeleton of the abandoned Ace Chemicals plant jutting out over the dark, churning water below. Without a second thought, he dove straight down, breaking the sound barrier in a silent, furious blur before touching down on the rusting metal docks with a heavy, ground-shaking thud.

The rusted, chemical-crusted pavilion creaked in the salt wind. Inside, pinned against the back wall by thick coils of industrial-grade nylon cable, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian strained against their bonds, their bruised faces flashing with a mix of desperate warning and profound relief.

Standing directly in front of them, blocking their path with his massive, grey-hued frame pulsing with a violent violet light, was Parasite.

The monster turned slowly, a wide, predatory grin splitting his face as he looked past the captive boys to the Man of Steel standing at the entrance.

"Welcome, Superman!" Parasite mocked, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls as he stepped forward, the air crackling with volatile static. "I was beginning to think you didn't care about your little family."

The temperature inside the cavernous pavilion seemed to drop instantly, the air around the Man of Steel humming with a low, dangerous frequency as his fists clenched at his sides.

Superman growled, his blue eyes flaring with a fierce, blinding intensity that outshone the violet glow of the monster's skin.

"Where are they, Parasite?"

Parasite let out a harsh, grating laugh that rattled the corrugated metal walls of the old factory. He casually gestured back toward the dimly lit corner where the four brothers were bound tight against the industrial pillars.

"Why don't you go and find them, Supes?" Parasite mocked, his grey-hued chest swelling with stolen power.

A deep, ferocious growl tore from Superman's throat. In a blind flash of red and blue, the Man of Steel launched himself forward, breaking the sound barrier inside the enclosed space. He slammed directly into Parasite’s chest with bone-crushing force, sending both of them hurtling backward through the rotting wooden wall of the pavilion and out over the churning dark waters of the harbor as a brutal, earth-shaking brawl erupted between them.

The night air exploded into a chaotic storm of shockwaves and flying debris as the two powerhouses traded blow after devastating blow. Every collision of their fists sounded like rolling thunder, splintering the remaining framework of the industrial plant and sending massive plumes of spray flying up from the dark, churning harbor below.

For a brief moment, Superman pressed the assault, his jaw locked in fierce determination. But Parasite snarled, feeding hungrily on the lingering traces of solar energy still trapped within his own corrupted cells. With a brutal, calculated shift in momentum, the monster anticipated Superman's punch, caught the Man of Steel's wrist in an iron grip, and drove a massive, violet-glowing fist straight into Superman’s chest.

The impact echoed like a gunshot. The force of the blow knocked the wind entirely out of Superman's lungs, sending him hurtling downward like a falling meteor. He crashed violently through the lower scaffolding, smashing into the concrete pylons beneath the plant before dropping hard onto a slab of jagged rock near the shoreline, sending up a choking cloud of dust and debris.

Parasite hovered just above the wreckage, his chest heaving with arrogant triumph as he looked down at the fallen hero.

"Is that really all it takes?" Parasite sneered, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of the crashing waves. "The great protector of Earth, brought down by a little stolen power."

Slowly, the dust began to clear. In the dim moonlight, a gloved hand gripped the edge of a shattered concrete slab.

Superman's cape was torn and tattered, his breathing ragged and heavy. Yet, as the violet light of the monster washed over him, his jaw set in an unyielding, unbreakable line. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his ribs, Superman pushed himself up off the ground, his eyes burning with a fierce, quiet fury.

He wasn't finished yet.

With a burst of speed that shatters the damp night air, Superman charges forward into the sprawling, multi-level skeleton of the abandoned chemical complex, his eyes scanning the pitch-black corridors. But the glowing, violet-hued threat has already vanished into the deep shadows of the rusted architecture.

"Show yourself!" Superman demands, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls.

From the murky darkness above, Parasite’s mocking, distorted laugh reverberates through the steel beams.

"Your boys are waiting for you, Superman," the voice echoes, dripping with cruel amusement. "Don't you want to save them?"

Before Superman can lock onto a heartbeat, a sudden wave of frantic, muffled shouting and heavy thrashing breaks the silence from a reinforced storage room down the hall.

Panic spikes through his chest. Ignoring the trap, Superman sprints toward the noises.

Superman barges in through the door, his chest heaving as his gaze immediately cuts through the gloom, landing on a horrifying sight.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are strung up by industrial-grade nylon cables with their arms bound tightly behind their backs, suspended high in the air from a massive meat hook anchored into the concrete ceiling. A thick, heavy chain is wrapped securely around all of their waists, cinching them together, while the single main tether connects them straight up to the hook. Thick, salt-crusted gags are tied tightly across their mouths, cutting off their words into desperate, muffled grunts as they violently twist and kick against their restraints, their wide, frantic eyes locking onto him the second he bursts through the door.

Desperation floods their eyes.

Dick thrashes his weight from side to side, shaking his head violently in a frantic, wordless warning that it's a trap. Jason strains against the rough nylon and biting chain, his muffled shouts roaring with raw fury to stop Superman from taking another step. Tim and Damian fight against the restraints with every ounce of their remaining strength, their wide gazes locked entirely on the Man of Steel, trying desperately to scream out a warning before it's too late.

Superman didn't hesitate. He launched himself off the floor, rocketing straight up toward the hanging brothers to free them from the hook. But before he could bridge the distance, Parasite intercepted him mid-air, landing a brutal, heavy punch squarely on Superman's face. The sheer force of the blow sent the Man of Steel spinning out of the air, crashing hard against the splintered floorboards below.

Parasite remained suspended in the air right where Superman had been flying, hovering directly in front of the boys. He looked down at the fallen Kryptonian, a malicious, teeth-baring grin spreading across his face.

"Did you really think I was just going to let you free them that easily, Superman?" Parasite sneered, the violet energy crackling violently across his muscular arms as he loomed inches away from the struggling brothers.

Superman pushed himself up from the splintered floorboards, blood trickling from a split lip as his eyes blazed with fury.

"Let them go, Parasite!" Superman yelled, his voice echoing off the decaying walls with a dangerous ring. "It's me you want! They don't have any part in this!"

Parasite growled, a deep, resonant sound vibrating in his chest. "They have everything to do with this!"

With a burst of erratic speed, Parasite began to fly in wide, menacing circles around Superman as he ranted, "You have a husband!"

Suddenly darting upward, Parasite closed the distance to the hanging brothers in a fraction of a second. He reached out and grabbed a rough, ungentle hold of Dick’s face, forcing the older hero's head up as he snarled, "Children who actually love you!"

Dick's breath hitched sharply behind the salt-crusted gag, his eyes blazing with furious defiance even as Parasite's heavy fingers bit cruelly into his skin, pressing hard enough to bruise.

Roughly letting go of Dick's face, Parasite whipped back around, rocketing back down to hover directly in front of a seething Superman. "Why is it that you get to have a family, huh?"

His erratic movements suddenly ceased, his voice dropping into a chilling, deceptive calm. "If you want your boys to live, all you have to do is to give me your strength."

Parasite extended a large, glowing hand toward the Kryptonian, waiting. The violet energy crackled along his palm, pulsing like a hungry heartbeat in the dim, decaying space of the plant.

Superman’s gaze darted upward. High above, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were thrashing wildly against the nylon cables and the heavy chain binding their waists. Their eyes were wide with sheer terror, and through the thick, salt-crusted gags, they shook their heads violently, desperate muffled cries warning him not to touch the monster's hand. Jason pulled so hard against his bonds that his shoulders popped, a muffled roar of fury tearing from his throat, while Tim and Damian strained desperately to throw themselves between the threat and their father.

Parasite’s grin widened maliciously as he tapped his wrist, the sound echoing sharply in the heavy silence.

"Tick tock, Superman."

Superman’s hand hovered just inches from the glowing, violet palm, the air between them sizzling with volatile energy. Every muscle in his body coiled like taut steel, ready to shatter the distance and end this, but the heavy, sickening weight of the meat hook above held him completely frozen. He couldn't risk a fraction of a second. If he moved too fast, if he missed by even a millimeter, the strain on the ropes would snap them.

High above, Dick caught his eye. Despite the terror and the crushing pressure of the chain around his waist, Dick stopped thrashing. His wide, pleading gaze locked onto Superman's, and with a slow, agonizing shake of his head, he communicated a clear, silent finality: Don't.

Jason let out a muffled, furious roar behind his gag, straining so hard against the rough nylon that the fibers bit deep into his raw skin, while Tim and Damian renewed their desperate, frantic struggles, refusing to let their father sacrifice himself.

A cruel laugh tore through Parasite's throat, breaking the heavy tension. "Oh, look at them. So loyal. But loyalty doesn't stop gravity, Superman. And it sure as hell won't stop me from snapping their necks one by one if you don't take my hand right now."

Superman's jaw clenched so tight it felt ready to shatter, every muscle in his frame coiling with desperate, agonizing restraint. He couldn't risk the drop. He couldn't risk even a fraction of a second with the anchor already fracturing above them.

"Fine, you win," Superman said, his voice flat, stripped of its usual warmth, and heavy with crushing defeat.

He held out his hand, palm up, offering it for Parasite to take.

Parasite’s grin widened into a grotesque, triumphant split across his grey face. "Smart choice, Supes."

He lunged forward, his massive fingers snapping shut around Superman’s extended palm.

The moment their skin made contact, a blinding flash of violet and crimson light exploded through the room. Parasite gasped, his eyes rolling back in ecstatic euphoria as the sheer, boundless magnitude of Superman’s strength rushed into him like a tidal wave. The monster’s frame bulged, muscles expanding and crackling with raw, stolen power as he drank it in, laughing deliriously.

On the other end, Superman staggered, his knees buckling slightly as a crushing wave of exhaustion dragged him down. The golden warmth of his vitality drained rapidly from his veins, leaving his limbs feeling like lead.

High above, the boys stopped struggling. Dick’s eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror as he watched his father weaken, a muffled, desperate cry tearing from his throat. Jason, Tim, and Damian thrashed against their bonds with renewed, frantic panic, their muffled screams echoing off the walls in a chorus of absolute despair.

"That's it..." Parasite wheezed, a grotesque, power-drunk smile stretching across his face as he absorbed the last drops of the Man of Steel's energy. "All that power... and it's mine."

With a final, greedy gasp, Parasite tore his hand away, his entire body radiating a blinding, volatile aura of stolen Kryptonian might. The floorboards beneath his heavy boots splintered and caved inward from the sheer gravitational weight of the power now surging through him.

Superman collapsed hard onto his hands and knees, his chest heaving as a cold sweat broke out across his skin. The vibrant red and blue of his suit seemed to dim, his vision swimming as the exhaustion clawed violently at his consciousness.

Parasite chuckled, a deep, earth-shaking sound that rattled the decaying walls. He flexed his massive fingers, watching arcs of raw energy crackle across his knuckles. "Thank you for the donation, Superman. Truly. But..." A cruel, sadistic glint flashed in his eyes as he looked up toward the ceiling. "I never said I was going to let them go."

"NO!" Superman screamed, his voice cracking with raw, agonizing panic as he lurched forward.

But it was too late.

With a casual, devastating flick of his wrist infused with Superman's newly stolen, overwhelming strength, Parasite unleashed a crushing wave of kinetic force straight up at the meat hook.

The remaining concrete anchor shattered instantly with a sound like a small bomb detonating. The heavy industrial chain snapped like dry twine, and the iron meat hook tore free from the ceiling in a shower of sparks and pulverized stone.

High above, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian let out a simultaneous, piercing scream as the entire rig gave way, plunging them downward into the open, yawning abyss toward the churning dark ocean water far below.

Stripped of his solar power, his limbs heavy and leaden, Superman hit the shattered floorboards hard on his hands and knees, but he didn't stop. Driven by a primal, desperate terror, he dragged himself forward across the jagged concrete, desperate to catch them before they hit the abyss.

Before the boys could hit the dark water, Superman forced every remaining microgram of his depleted physiological reserves to ignite. Hollowed out, he didn't rely on strength—he relied on sheer, desperate momentum.

He threw his failing body off the edge of the shattered floorboards, diving headfirst into the open abyss. Falling right alongside them, he threw his arms wide to break their trajectory and slammed into the plummeting tangle of brothers. Wrapping his arms tightly around them, he shielded their bodies with his own as they crashed hard into a jutting, half-submerged concrete platform near the waterline.

The impact knocked the remaining breath from Superman's lungs, but his grip remained iron-solid, keeping them from hitting the jagged rebar and the freezing tide.

On the damp concrete platform, Superman collapsed onto his side, his chest heaving as a cold sweat broke out across his skin.

Above them on the ruins of the rusted catwalk, Parasite let out a harsh, triumphant bark of laughter, watching the scene with cruel satisfaction before a dark, heavy shadow dropped silently from the steel rafters above—Batman, slamming squarely into Parasite's back with a deafening screech of grappling wire and a flurry of high-explosive charges detonating across the villain's face in a blinding flash of white-hot light.

Down on the platform, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were still bound tightly together, the heavy iron chains cinched around their waists and the industrial nylon cables pinning their arms to their sides. Thick, salt-crusted gags muffled every desperate gasp and frantic warning as they thrashed against the cold stone, their wide eyes locking onto Clark with overwhelming panic.

Footsteps echoed sharply against the wet concrete as Batman dropped down directly in front of them from the wreckage above, his cape sweeping around him like a shroud of dark smoke. He wasted no time, dropping to his knees beside the brothers and drawing a specialized blade from his utility belt.

"Hold still," Batman ordered, his voice a low, controlled anchor of absolute calm as he sliced through the heavy nylon cables binding their arms, then used his gauntlet cutter to snap the iron chains around their waists.

The last of the restraints fell away, clanking loudly against the wet concrete.

Dick was the first to move, immediately scrambling past Batman to drop to his knees beside Superman. His hands hovered anxiously over Clark’s sunken chest, his eyes wide with terror as he pressed his palms against the Man of Steel's cold skin.

"Clark—your energy, he took everything—" Dick choked out, his voice raw and trembling.

"I'm... I'm okay," Superman rasped, his vision swimming as exhaustion clawed at his consciousness.

Batman stepped in, hooking one of Superman’s massive arms over his own armored shoulder while using his free hand to grab Dick by the tactical vest, hauling both of them upward as the platform beneath them gave a sickening, metallic shriek.

Above them, Parasite let out a final, ear-splitting shriek of agony. The volatile, stolen Kryptonian energy overloaded his system entirely, bursting outward in a blinding shockwave of violet-white light that tore the remaining roof off the Ace Chemicals mixing floor and sent a wall of white-hot fire cascading toward the water.

"Move!" Batman barked.

With Batman supporting Superman’s dead weight, and Jason, Tim, and Damian sprinting and scrambling closely beside them, the group lunged forward just as the entire concrete platform fractured down the middle, plunging backward into the dark, churning ocean below in a chaotic storm of dust, fire, and foam.

The heavy, rhythmic thrum of the Batwing’s engines vibrated through the air, cutting sharply through the roar of the ocean as the stealth aircraft dropped into a low hover just above the wreckage. The back ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, casting a harsh, clinical white light across the churning black waves and the debris-strewn water.

Batman didn't waste a second. He hoisted Superman higher, practically dragging the weakened Man of Steel toward the edge of the floating timber where the current brought them closest to the ramp.

"Grab his other side," Batman commanded, his gaze snapping to Dick, who was already paddling furiously over to help.

Dick didn't hesitate, throwing his arms around Superman's waist and heaving upward alongside Batman. Together, they managed to push the groaning, waterlogged Man of Steel onto the lowered ramp of the Batwing, where Jason and Tim—already hauled aboard by Damian—rushed over to pull him fully inside the aircraft.

Damian scrambled up the ramp last, shaking water from his dark hair like an agitated cat, though his sharp eyes immediately darted to check on Clark.

Inside the dim, cargo hold of the aircraft, the contrast was jarring. The emergency lights cast a red glow over the space as Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian scrambled to pull the thick, foil-lined thermal blankets around their shivering shoulders, their teeth chattering as Alfred's automated heating protocols kicked in.

Dick started to turn toward Clark, his hands hovering anxiously, but a heavy, armored hand gently blocked his path.

"I've got him," Bruce's voice was a low, steady rumble, stripped of its usual tactical edge.

Bruce knelt on the metal floorboards beside Superman, slipping his arm beneath the Man of Steel's shoulders and hauling him upright against his chest. The heavy, protective cowl lifted away, laying on his lap as Bruce tossed the helmet aside, leaving only his unmasked face etched with lines of fierce, unyielding relief.

Clark’s eyes fluttered open a fraction, the vibrant blue entirely dimmed, his gaze hazy and unfocused as his head rested against Bruce's shoulder.

"B..." Clark murmured, his voice sounding agonizingly thin, completely devoid of its usual steady resonance. "The boys... are they—"

"They're right here. They're safe," Bruce whispered, his thumb brushing gently across Clark's pale, cold jawline as he pulled the thermal wrap tighter around the shivering Kryptonian. "Focus on me, Clark. You're home."

Dick paused a few inches away, watching the two of them with a soft, exhausted exhale, before reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on Clark's knee. Jason, Tim, and Damian crowded close, silent anchors in the cargo hold, finally letting the adrenaline fade as the Batwing smoothly cut through the clouds toward the safety of the Cave.

----------------------------------------------

Hours later, the quiet hum of the Batcave wrapped around the medical bay like a protective shield. Clark finally stirred, his eyes fluttering open beneath the fierce, golden wash of the high-intensity yellow sun lamps overhead.

A sharp, revitalizing gasp tore from his chest as his newly recharged cells aggressively processed the sustained solar radiation. The dull, exhausted haze was entirely gone, replaced by a sudden surge of golden luminescence deep within his pupils. Color fully returned to his cheeks, and a deep, powerful breath rattled the metal frame of the biometric cot as his legendary strength surged back into every fiber of his being.

Instinctively, Clark tried to sit straight up, his muscles bunching to push off the mattress, but a pair of steady hands caught him by the shoulders, guiding him upward and keeping him from moving too fast.

Bruce was right there beside the bed, leaning in close as he helped ease Clark up into an upright position.

"Easy, Clark," Bruce said, his voice a low, grounded murmur in the quiet alcove. "You just woke up."

Clark blinked, shaking off the last remnants of the heavy fatigue, and shook his head slightly. "I'm fine."

Bruce's hands remained firmly on his shoulders, his dark eyes narrowing with a familiar, stubborn insistence. "No you're not. Parasite took a lot of your energy."

Clark smiled, the tension easing out of his shoulders, and said, "It wouldn't be the first time."

Bruce's expression remained fixed, a quiet, protective intensity lingering in his dark eyes. "I'm serious, Clark. You need to rest."

Clark lifted his hand, gently resting his palm against Bruce's warm cheek with a soft, affectionate look. "You worry too much," he murmured, before leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Bruce's lips. Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, Clark smiled. "Now, where are the boys?"

Bruce let out a quiet breath, a faint, rare softness touching the corners of his mouth. "They should be on their way here. Dick insisted on staying here until you woke up, but I told him I got it covered."

Clark's smile widened into something teasing and entirely unrepentant. "Which gives us plenty of time to do this—"

Before Bruce could offer another word of warning or protest, Clark's hands slid from Bruce's cheek down to grip his shoulders. With a smooth, effortless shift of super-strength, he flipped their positions, easily pulling Bruce down so he was lying flat on top of him on the narrow medical cot.

Bruce let out a sharp breath of surprise at the sudden movement, but any further argument vanished the second Clark's arms wrapped securely around him, pulling him close. They kissed deeply, the quiet hum of the Batcave and the hum of the yellow sun lamps fading into the background as the tension of the long, grueling day melted away between them.

The heavy, grounding warmth of the kiss lingered, the quiet space between them charged with a sudden, breathless intensity that completely defied the sterile white and steel of the medical bay.

For a few stolen seconds, the rest of the world—the containment cells holding Parasite, the heavy stack of unread reports on the master console, and the impending horde of vigilantes currently roaming the upper levels—simply ceased to exist. Bruce let out a soft, defeated sigh against Clark's lips, his tense shoulders finally relaxing as he shifted his weight slightly, one gloved hand coming up to rest securely against the side of Clark's neck, thumb brushing lightly over his skin.

Then, the sharp, distinctive ping of the cave's perimeter sensor echoed through the quiet air.

Footsteps—far too coordinated and rapid to be anyone other than a former Robin and his brothers—snapped them both back to reality.

Clark let out a muffled chuckle against Bruce's mouth, though he didn't immediately let go. "Bad timing," he murmured dryly.

Bruce didn't move an inch right away, his dark eyes fixing on Clark with a look that promised a continuation later. With a low, grudging grunt, Bruce finally pushed himself up from the cot, smoothing down the front of his tactical tunic just as the heavy security doors from the residential wing hissed open.

The heavy security doors slid open with a sharp hiss, and Dick stepped into the cavern first, looking like he had barely managed to drag himself out of sleep. His hair was sticking up in a soft, messy halo, and he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, flanked closely by Jason, Tim, and a scowling Damian.

Dick blinked against the bright lights of the medical bay, his gaze shifting immediately to the cot.

The second he saw Clark sitting up, fully colored and breathing easy, Dick's face lit up with a massive, relieved grin. Any lingering exhaustion vanished as he practically jogged the rest of the way over, completely ignoring the way Bruce was still clearing his throat and hastily stepping back from the side of the bed.

"You're awake," Dick breathed out, a mix of pure relief and affection in his voice as he crossed the remaining distance and immediately leaned in to wrap his arms around Clark in a tight, grounding hug. "Man, for a minute there, B looked like he was ready to punch the moon."

Clark chuckled, wrapping his arms around Dick and returning the hug with gentle, careful strength. "I'm okay, Dick. Just needed a little solar recharge."

Jason sauntered up behind Dick, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a lazy, knowing smirk playing on his lips. His sharp eyes darted between Clark's slightly rumpled shirt and Bruce's rigid, expressionless posture, taking in every single detail with practiced detective work.

"Right. Solar recharge," Jason drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Funny, it looked a lot like a high-altitude rescue mission of a completely different sort right before we walked in."

Tim peered over Jason's shoulder, offering a small, knowing grin. "I'm just glad B's heart rate monitor didn't blow out. The telemetry on that would have been a nightmare to scrub."

Damian marched right up to the edge of the cot, shoving past Jason with a sharp huff. He crossed his arms, looking Clark up and down with a critical eye before giving a stiff, grudging nod. "Your cellular regeneration is adequate. Though your timing in regaining consciousness is deeply inconvenient for my sleep schedule."

Bruce finally found his voice, stepping forward with his absolute most formidable, unimpeachable Batman scowl. "If you're all quite finished analyzing Superman's vitals, it's the middle of the night. Back to bed. All of you."

"Relax, B, we're just making sure the big guy survived," Jason teased, though he started backing away toward the elevator anyway, casting one last deeply amused look at Bruce and Clark. "Come on, Timmy. Let's let the lovebirds finish their... medical debrief."

As the heavy elevator doors slid shut, sealing off the lingering chuckles and sarcastic remarks from the boys up the shaft, the Batcave plunged back into a heavy, companionable silence. The ambient hum of the supercomputer and the soft glow of the yellow sun lamps were the only sounds left in the cavern.

Clark turned his gaze back to Bruce, his smile turning warm and thoroughly unrepentant. He let out a soft, low chuckle, reaching out to catch Bruce by the tactical belt and tugging him gently back toward the edge of the cot.

"Now," Clark murmured, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he looked up at the dark knight, "where were we?"

Bruce’s chest rumbled with a deep, rare sound—a genuine, low chuckle that he rarely let anyone outside the inner circle hear.

He didn't resist the tug, letting Clark’s effortless strength guide him as Clark shifted, rolling over onto his side and making plenty of room on the narrow medical cot.

"You never quit, do you," Bruce murmured, a fond, helpless smile finally breaking through his stoic mask.

With a shake of his head, Bruce leaned in, letting the remaining distance vanish as he allowed himself to be pulled right back down into Clark's orbit.