Pain.
Screaming.
Endless, unbearable terror.
When Bruce Wayne arrived at Arkham Asylum in full armor, this was what greeted him.
The asylum had become a chorus of suffering.
Criminals who once ruled Gotham's underworld now writhed on the floor like broken marionettes, clawing at nothing, screaming at things no one else could see.
Each of them was trapped.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Time, for them, had stretched into something cruel.
Every second dragged, multiplied, expanded into something far longer than it should be.
And within that distorted perception—
Each one faced something tailored.
A murderer relived his crimes from the victim's perspective.
A butcher was surrounded by creatures that refused to die, no matter how much he tried to tear them apart.
A deranged mind was forced into endless, repetitive labor, stripped of chaos and locked into order.
A cannibal felt constant, suffocating fullness, unable to escape the sensation of overconsumption.
No two punishments were the same.
Every one of them was precise.
Personal.
At the center of it all—
Noah Vale sat casually, elbow resting on his knee, chin propped against his hand, observing the scene like a curator studying his own gallery.
Beside him, Gavin watched in silence.
To him—
This wasn't horror.
It was justice.
"We need to talk."
Bruce's voice cut through the chaos, low and controlled.
Noah glanced up.
"About what?"
Bruce stepped forward slightly.
"This isn't justice."
Noah's lips curved faintly.
"None of them are dead."
That wasn't the point.
And they both knew it.
Behind him, Gavin let out a sharp laugh.
"Look who finally showed up. Gotham's favorite rulebook."
His tone shifted, colder.
"You here to lecture us again?"
Bruce ignored him.
Gavin wasn't the problem.
Not anymore.
Noah stood.
Slowly.
"If you're here to convince me to stop," he said, meeting Bruce's gaze, "don't waste your time."
He stepped forward.
Placed his foot on the head of a screaming inmate.
"I've decided something."
Bruce's hand moved.
A batarang flashed through the air—
Too late.
The man's skull burst under Noah's foot.
Clean.
Effortless.
Gavin exhaled sharply, something like satisfaction breaking through.
Bruce froze.
Just for a second.
"You think this makes you a god?" he asked.
Noah tilted his head slightly.
"From your perspective?"
A faint shrug.
"Close enough."
Bruce reached for another tool—
And stopped.
His hand was empty.
The smoke pellet he'd hidden was gone.
Before he could react—
Rope tightened around his arms, binding him to a support column behind him.
His eyes narrowed.
When did that happen?
Noah didn't answer the unspoken question.
He simply pulled the rope taut.
"You can watch," he said.
"Quietly."
Bruce strained against the binding.
No give.
"What are you trying to build?" he demanded.
Noah didn't hesitate.
"A world without noise."
Bruce's jaw tightened.
"That's not a world. That's control."
Noah raised a hand.
Snapped his fingers.
The sound was soft.
The effect wasn't.
Every screaming inmate—
Stopped.
Then—
They burst.
Blood painted the room in an instant, violent and absolute. Where bodies had been seconds ago, only fragments remained.
Silence followed.
Bruce stared.
Not at the destruction—
But at the finality.
Years.
Years of work.
Captured criminals. Contained threats. A system, flawed but functioning.
Gone.
In a moment.
Noah stepped forward, untouched by the aftermath.
"Compared to what they've done," he said calmly, "death is lenient."
Bruce didn't answer.
He couldn't.
"Arkham's done," Noah continued. "Next step's the planet."
He said it like a schedule.
Then he turned and walked out.
Gavin followed.
Behind them, Bruce remained bound.
Watching.
Outside, Gavin glanced sideways.
"I thought you'd kill him."
Noah shook his head.
"Not yet."
Gavin frowned.
"He hasn't crossed the line," Noah added. "Not enough to matter."
They stepped into the open air.
"So what now?" Gavin asked.
Noah looked up.
The sky stretched above them, calm and indifferent.
"If you were a god," he said, "how would you introduce yourself?"
Gavin thought for a moment.
"…A miracle."
Noah smiled.
"Exactly."
The ground trembled.
At first, it was subtle.
Then it wasn't.
The city shook.
Buildings groaned.
The earth itself began to rise.
Gavin's eyes widened as the skyline tilted—not collapsing, but lifting.
Clouds drifted closer.
No—
They weren't moving.
He was.
"We're going up," Noah said casually.
Far above, satellites captured it.
An entire section of land—
Gotham.
And everything surrounding it—
Rising into the sky.
Miles of earth tore free, dust erupting into the atmosphere as the landmass lifted, breaking gravity's hold.
Across the continent, shockwaves rippled outward.
Noah stood at the center of it all.
Unmoved.
Unbothered.
"A small demonstration," he said.
And the world—
Watched.