Erick opened his eyes slowly, as if his eyelids were rusty blades resisting every millimeter. The world that greeted him was not the bloody chaos of Bialya. There was no alien dust, no stench of burnt flesh, no brutal impact of rock-sized fists. There was only white. An absolute, infinite white, without limits, without shadows, without texture. A soft, uniform light that didn't burn the eyes, but enveloped everything like a cold, impersonal embrace. It was like floating inside a dream that someone had erased with an eraser.
He looked down. His body was… perfect. Smooth skin, no purple bruises, no open cuts, no exposed ribs. The muscles of his chest, abdomen, arms—all rebuilt, firm, as if they had never been reduced to pulp by Lobo. His hands clenched into fists and he felt the familiar strength, the elemental fire still latent in the center of his chest, pulsing like a second heart. The last image he retained was different: bones cracking, lungs full of blood, the metallic taste in his mouth as his body fell onto the cracked ground of Bialya.
"Shit," he muttered, and the word echoed in the void like a verdict.
"Sir."
The calm, British voice came out of nowhere. The Doctor materialized before him, a flawless hologram: white coat, thin glasses, the serene expression of someone who had seen death dance a thousand times.
"Know that you are very lucky."
Erick let out a short, dry, humorless laugh.
"I wouldn't say I'm lucky, Doctor. Let's get straight to the point."
The hologram bowed its head respectfully.
"Excellent. They brought your extremely damaged body to Hargrove Manor. The amount of damage was… extremely dangerous. You were in dire straits. Multiple fractures in 87% of your bones, perforations in your liver and spleen, collapsed lungs, catastrophic internal bleeding. Venom A was still circulating, causing your heart to continue beating, but also accelerating your collapse. I had to make a critical decision."
Erick placed his hand on his chin, an automatic gesture even there, in the void. His eyes—cold, calculating—narrowed.
"Why did you connect my brain to virtual reality?"
"Because I needed to explain. And because I also need to know your instructions. The critical condition required me to prioritize brain stability. While the physical body struggles in the capsule, your mind is here, safe, so we can decide the next step."
Erick nodded slowly, processing the thought. His mind was already racing, as always. Project Cloak. The super-soldier serum. The plan for absolute power that had begun when he was five years old, when he realized that gods flew and cities exploded for fun. All so he would never be a victim again.
"We accepted the donation from the Martian," Doctor continued, unperturbed. "She can transmute the structure of cells, as we analyzed some time ago. Four bags have already been processed."
Erick placed his hand on his chin again, a slow, dangerous smile curving his lips.
"This will slightly change the plans regarding the super-soldier serum. But it might open a new door. I didn't expect to get her blood so easily. Out of this whole shitty situation... at least something good can come out of it."
His thoughts raced. Martian blood. Perhaps residual telepathy, perhaps limited shapeshifting ability, perhaps even resistance to psychic energies. This could enhance his abilities. A living weapon. A manufactured god. He couldn't die now. Not when the empire he had built was only just beginning.
"However, we don't know if the changes will be the same as we theorized," Doctor warned.
"Okay. Moving on. How is the surgery progressing?"
"Not good, sir. Your body is currently undergoing a complete bone relocation. All 206 bones are being repositioned by robotic forceps, aligned millimeter by millimeter so that natural regeneration can occur. The real problem is blood loss. Even with the donation, we don't know if the body will be able to handle it. Venom A is helping, but it's also burning through reserves."
Erick took a deep breath into the void. There was no air, but the gesture came automatically.
"So you mean this could be my last living consciousness?"
The doctor did not hesitate.
"Perhaps."
Erick closed his eyes for a second. The white seemed colder. He thought of his family: his parents in the safe mansion, Sara playing with Baymax, the chubby robot she loved like an uncle. He thought of Artemis—her sweaty body on the tatami mat, nails digging into his back, dirty whispers as he took her roughly. He thought of Starfire—the desperate kiss during the rescue, the Tamaranean heat against his skin. The future he had yet to conquer.
He opened his eyes.
"Doctor, if there comes a point where you see that I won't be able to recover... use the formula as a last resort. You'll have nothing left to lose."
The hologram's voice was cold, efficient.
"Of course, sir. As you wish."
Erick nodded, pleased with the coldness. That was precisely why he had created Doctor.
"How are the others doing?"
"The others were taken to the medical facility and are being examined and treated by Baymax. Superboy and Aqualad are in extremely poor condition—compound fractures, severe concussions, internal bleeding. Robin suffered less, but still took a beating. The rest of the team is stable, but exhausted."
"Damn wolf," Erick murmured, his voice low and heavy with promise. "This won't stand. If I recover... there will be payback."
He let the phrase hang in the air. He could already picture it: flaming plasma melting the Czarnian's gray skin, exposed bones, alien blood gushing as he stepped on the bastard's neck. Pure violence. The price of survival.
"Speaking of the Wolf... what happened?"
"Superman arrived in time. He managed to fend off Lobo before the final blow. As soon as he fended him off, Batman arrived and brought his body to us."
Erick analyzed it silently. He owed one. Maybe two. Batman and Superman. The League was watching. Good. He would use that.
"E Artemis e Starfire?"
"They're doing well. In the fight, they suffered the least physical damage. Artemis took a few hits, but nothing Baymax couldn't stabilize. Starfire... her heart is more wounded than her body."
"I want to see them."
"As you wish, sir."
Erick closed his eyes. He prepared himself. When he opened them again, the white had disappeared.
He was in the operating room—or rather, his holographic projection was. His real body floated inside the capsule, submerged in amniotic fluid tinged dark pink. Robotic arms worked tirelessly: forceps repositioning vertebrae, lasers cauterizing arteries, injectors pumping regenerators. The sight was visceral. Skin open, muscles exposed, ribs separated like the pages of a macabre book. Erick felt a wave of nausea rise in his holographic throat. Even knowing it was just a projection, seeing himself like this—open, vulnerable, dependent on machines—disgusted him.
He reached out his hand. His fingers pierced the reinforced glass like smoke. Confirmed: pure hologram. Mind controlling pixels.
Beside the capsule, four blood bags hung from metal supports. Clear holographic letters: "M'gann". He gave a small, almost tender smile.
"Thank you," he whispered.
He concentrated. His consciousness expanded through the "lightning-cloud dimension" he himself had created—a neural network connected to all the mansion's systems. He located each one. Superboy and Aqualad in recovery rooms, Baymax working silently. Robin, Kid Flash, Batman, Artemis, M'gann, and Starfire in the waiting room he had designed in his spare time, a luxurious game room with a custom arcade, giant beanbag chairs, a hot food table, and soft lighting that mimicked twilight.
He teleported.
It materialized in the exact center of the room.
The air was heavy. No one was playing. Kid Flash and Robin sat on beanbag chairs glued to the floor, controllers in hand, screens paused on games neither of them touched. Wally's eyes were red with exhaustion; Dick stared blankly into space. At the round table, Artemis, Starfire, and M'gann held steaming mugs of hot chocolate—none of them drank. Artemis stared at the liquid as if it were an abyss. Starfire had dried tears on her golden face. M'gann was biting her lip, her green eyes distant. Batman, in the corner, sat in a high chair, manipulating a holographic computer, his fingers flying across reports.
Batman was the first to notice. His head turned in a precise movement.
All eyes turned to the center of the room.
"Is it... him?", M'gann whispered.
Erick smiled, tired, but present.
"Yes. Sorry, guys. For tonight. It was really something I didn't expect."
Batman stood up slowly, his cape falling like a shadow.
"You did a great job. This type of problem is very difficult to predict. Feel proud. You really managed to save a life today. As well as many others."
Erick tilted his head.
"Thank you, everyone. For your kind words."
Robin stood up as well, his voice hoarse.
"No problem, you're part of the team."
Erick touched his own holographic head, as if to confirm that he was still there.
"My body is currently undergoing surgery. The doctor allowed my brain to wake up, which is why I'm able to speak to you. But I don't think I'll be awake much longer. So I'll be brief."
He turned to Batman.
"Batman, how's the situation with Lobo?"
"Superman has already managed to expel him from the planet."
Erick let out a breath he didn't need to.
"Great. I need your help to assist with the young lady's installation."
He pointed at Starfire. She blinked, surprised, her eyes welling up with tears.
"My name is Kori."
Erick gave her a gentle smile, filled with something that went beyond mere kindness.
"I see you're already feeling better, I'm happy for you."
"Thanks to you," she replied, her voice trembling.
"It's my job. It's an occupational hazard. Can I count on your help, Batman?"
"Sure. I'll adjust her facilities at Justice Mountain. Along with the team."
Erick nodded, satisfied. Then he looked at everyone.
"I would like to have a moment alone with Artemis. Artemis, meet me in the next room."
And it disappeared.
The adjacent room was smaller, more intimate—a private office he used for planning. Erick was already there, his back to him, looking at a holographic window that showed Gotham at night.
Artemis entered seconds later. The door closed with a soft click. She stopped two meters from him, as if she wanted to run and hug him, but knew she couldn't. Her hands trembled.
Erick turned around.
"I'm glad you're doing well."
Her eyes instantly welled up with tears.
"You'll recover, right?"
He didn't lie. Not to her.
"I can't promise you that. My body and mind are hanging by a thread right now. No matter how strong I am, no matter how quickly I heal… the degree of injury is too high. I don't know if I can give you that answer. But I promise you I won't give up. I promise."
Artemis stepped forward. Her hand passed over his shoulder, intangible. She let out a low sob.
"Know that I care about you," he murmured, his voice low and heavy. "Very much."
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
"Me too."
Erick gave a small, genuine smile, the kind of smile only she saw.
"Well... my time is running out."
He raised his holographic hand, as if to touch her face.
"Until next time."
And it disappeared.
The room fell silent. Only the distant sound of the capsule's machines echoed through the corridors of Hargrove Manor.
Erick returned to the white void, his mind exhausted but focused. The project continued. Absolute power was still the goal. Lobo would pay. The family would be safe. Artemis—his emotional anchor—would have the man he had sworn to become.
For now, he just needed to survive.
And he always survived.
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