I flew through the jagged hole in the seventh floor—where Desmond had smashed through— and was greeted by a series of sounds filling the air.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
A grotesque, rhythmic series of cracks, like wood splitting under pressure, echoed through the air like a firecrackers popping off.
Desmond lay sprawled on the ground, his hulking form twitching and writhing as Bones knitted back together. Fast—too fast. His body convulsed grossly, bending almost in half as muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Once-snapped vertebrae realigned themselves with sickening precision. His roars of agony filled the space, bouncing off the destroyed walls, rattling in my ears. But it wasn't just pain fueling his cries. No, something far more sinister was at work beneath the surface.
Interdigitations—jagged, unnatural spurs of bone—began to form along the length of his spine, pushing through his blue-tinted skin like grotesque spikes. His once-broken back was reforming, but not just healing—it was... adapting. The bone structure was realigning itself, thickening, reinforcing. The cracks deepened in pitch, now almost musical in their sick rhythm, like something monstrous was crawling its way out from within him.
"What the hell..." I muttered, feeling a chill slide down my spine.
With every passing second, Desmond's twisted, monstrous form seemed to swell, his muscles tightening, growing denser.
His hand shrinking and writhing until the appendage reasserted itself.
His skin—charred from my heat vision—began to flake off in large blackened chunks, revealing fresh, unmarred flesh beneath. But it wasn't just new flesh; it was tougher, thicker, almost like calloused armor forming in the wake of his injuries.
Then he stood, crouching with a snarl on his lips looking more looking more monster than ever before.
The snarl on his lips twisted into something more animal than man. And then he roared—furious, guttural, a sound that reverberated through the room. Spit flew from his mouth, spraying the air with the force, droplets catching the light as his sharp, gleaming fangs were fully on display.
The adaptation had gone beyond healing—his teeth had grown jagged and vicious, each one gleaming unnaturally white, sharper than before. They curved slightly, made for ripping through flesh and bone. His back, once broken, had fused into something stronger, something built for violence.
Desmond's eyes locked onto mine, blazing with renewed intensity. His chest heaving with every breath, he roared again, louder, more primal, the sound shaking the floor beneath me. Whatever damage I thought I'd done, it hadn't weakened him.
It had only made him stronger.
Then he charged.
____________________________________
The elevator rattled as it descended, with a jarring clank. Kid Flash—Wally West—pressed a hand against his stomach, trying to steady his breathing. It came in ragged, shallow gasps. As every inhale felt like molten iron burning through his lungs, his ribs flaring with pain. It was hard to believe just a few hours ago, things were... normal.
This wasn't how today was supposed to go.
He and Barry had been out in Central City, running at top speed, stopping a robbery just in time. Barely. The heat of the chase, the thrill of the wind whipping past his face—it was what he lived for. They'd done what they always did: save the day. And afterward, they'd rushed to the Hall of Justice, hearts pounding with excitement. Because today wasn't like any other day.
It was supposed to be the D-day. Our day.
Finally they were gonna be recognized as Part of the League. Heroes, just like their mentors.
Or at least, it was supposed to be.
Wally swallowed hard, the thought bitter now. He could still hear the League's cold dismissal echoing in his mind, the way they'd been shut out, left behind like they were kids. "Stay here," they'd said, while dropping them off like kindergarteners while the grown-ups went off dealt with the big threat—some nutjob threatening to blow up the sun. Typical League Stuff.
A league that it had dawned on them that they still weren't part of.
A joke. That was what it was. Speedy had seen it coming. Walking out, throwing his bow down in disgust. He had the right idea in Wally's opinion. He left a League that had made it painfully clear they were still just kids playing dress-up.
The sad truth was they were nothing more than sidekicks. Roy, hot-headed and reckless, had always been the bravest among them. He fought against the system, refusing to accept being sidelined.
At least Kaldur was a soldier, bound by loyalty to his king and Dick was raised to be the perfect crime-fighter by Batman himself.
But Wally? He felt like a fraud. A kid who was good at chemistry, lucky enough to have found the journal of his aunt's boyfriend. A journal filled with alchemical words and formulas hat dragged him into this chaotic life.
They should've gone home. They could've walked away like Roy did. But instead, they'd followed the trail to Cadmus.
From there, everything had spiraled.
They'd dug deeper, uncovering secrets none of them were ready for. Tortured and violated all in the name of source material.
The elevator clunked again, shuddering beneath Wally's feet as it neared the lowest levels. His ribs cracked painfully again, the sound echoing in his skull as his body worked to heal itself with an audible pop. He let out a sharp breath, gritting his teeth as he leaned against the metal wall.
And then there was him.
Match.
Wally's mind flashed back to the cold brutality of the clone. Sure, they'd thought the guy was Superman's son or something—just a confused, angry teen. But Match wasn't confused, and he wasn't just angry. He was something else entirely. Wally had watched in horror as Match tore through the G-Gnomes with terrifying ease. He hadn't hesitated. He hadn't flinched. He'd just… killed.
Heads popped like grapes. Bodies crumpled. Genomorphs that had hunted them down like animals were dispatched like they were nothing. Wally had seen the bodies, the way their necks snapped like twigs, the sound of bones crunching and blood splattering. He could still hear it—the wet, muffled pops, the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor, lifeless and he knew. Whatever Match was, he was nothing like Superman.
No. Not even close.
And now Match was fighting a monster three times his size, tearing through walls and ripping apart the building like it was made of paper. Each punch, each hit, made the ground shudder beneath them.
If they didn't get out now, the whole place would collapse on top of them. And no one—no one—was coming to save them.
The elevator jerked, slowing to a crawl as it reached Level 52. Wally's heart pounded against his chest, his head spinning as he steadied himself, forcing his legs to move. The doors creaked open, revealing a scene that made his stomach drop.
Hell.
Aqualad, Robin, and Superboy were in the thick of it, barely holding back a wave of genomorphs that crashed into them like a tidal force. The genomorphs had broken through and were attacking.
Robin's birdarang sliced through the air in sharp arcs, slamming into heads with brutal precision but even he was slowing, his movements growing increasingly desperate as he took and avoided more and more hits.
Aqualad was breathing hard, his water-bearers knocking down as many genomorphs as he could, but it wasn't enough. They were losing ground. Fast.
And Superboy...
Superboy's fists were a blur of violence, smashing genomorphs into the ground, sending them flying, but for every one he crushed, two more took its place. His muscles rippling under the force of his punches, but Wally could see the grimace—the frustration, the exhaustion. He was getting overwhelmed. They all were.
Wally's legs buckled slightly as he stepped out of the elevator, his vision swimming for a second as he fought against the dizziness. The building shook again, dust falling from the ceiling as another thunderous crash echoed through the floor.
The fight between Match and the genomorph monster was getting worse.
They were tearing the place apart.
We have to get out of here unless we're going to die here.
The thought clawed at the back of his mind, icy fingers wrapping around his brain, squeezing until it hurt.
But he couldn't let it show. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.
"Everyone, get in!" Wally's voice came out hoarse, strained, barely cutting through the chaos around them
____________________________________
I slammed my head into his face, and I felt the satisfying crunch of bone breaking beneath the force of the blow. His body jerked backward, stunned, disoriented, just long enough for me to grab him by the neck and haul him over my shoulder. With a quick twist of my hips, I flung him straight through the wall, rubble crashing down around his hulking figure.
I was stronger, faster too—those first few punches had proven it. My punch had rattled his skull and I'd counted seven full seconds before he managed to recover from the concussion. But that had been then. This thing—this beast—was learning.
And it was getting better.
I watched, eyes narrowing as his nose, once shattered, began to snap back into place. Thickened tendons and reinforced ligaments reasserted themselves, twisting his features back into their grotesque alignment. What once took me mere seconds to break was now reforming with terrifying speed. I could see it—feel it. The ligaments were stronger, the bone denser.
He was adapting.
At the beginning of this fight, my strikes could keep him down for almost ten seconds. Now? A mere three was all it took for his brain to shake off the damage, as if my blows were nothing more than an annoyance. With each hit, with every bone I broke, he became faster, harder to kill.
And then, with a resounding BOOM!, he was gone—vanished in an instant, leaving the cratered floor behind him. Well not vanished really. I could see the flight of his jump and where it would lead him.
Behind me. An attack from what he probably assumed was my blind spot.
I didn't bother blocking.
Instead anchored my metaphysical limb, driving its force deep into the floor beneath and the ceiling above. His kick collided with my back, a thunderous crack
rippled through the air. The force of which should've shattered my back completely was simply rebounded, sending a shockwave out in every direction.
What came next was the inevitable result of a force—strong, but subpar—meeting an immovable object.
His leg snapped.
I turned just in time to be greeted with the grotesque sight of his limb breaking apart, bone splintering inside his leg. It dangled there, held together by mere scraps of muscle and sinew. The beast screamed, a guttural, animalistic roar of fury and pain, as he fell back to the ground.
But I was already on him. Before his body even hit the floor, I gripped his hand midair, feeling the hot pulse of his blood beneath my fingertips, the frantic twitch of muscles as he tried to wrench free. But it was too late. My breath hitched in my chest, and I inhaled sharply, drawing the cold into my lungs, feeling it coil and twist, as the air around me got colder.
Then I exhaled.
The freezing air erupted from me like a storm, a torrent of cold that rushed from my mouth and onto his arm, curling around the monster's massive hand. The skin blackened instantly, frost climbing up his forearm like a living thing. It surged forward, hungry, consuming everything in its path, twisting around his elbow, encasing his shoulder.
He screamed letting out a bone-chilling shriek, a sound so raw and guttural it scraped against my skull, vibrating through my bones. His entire form convulsed, muscles spasming in a desperate bid to shake free, but the cold was unrelenting. The ice crawled higher, creeping toward his neck, still, the beast fought in vain.
His other fist came down in a wild arc, smashing into the frozen arm with a force that made the ground tremble beneath us. A deafening crack split the air as his arm shattered, shards of ice and bone exploding outward in a hail of debris. The impact sent him crashing to the floor with a heavy thud, the frozen remnants of his hand scattered around him, glittering like broken glass.
For a moment, silence reigned. His breathing was labored, ragged gasps punctuated by low, pained groans. I watched as he lay there, chest heaving, steam rising from his exposed flesh as the heat of his body fought against the cold.
My feet met the ground slowly, almost reluctantly, as if gravity itself wasn't quite sure what to do with me. I landed softly, without a sound, yet the weight of the moment pressed down harder than ever. The frost, still clinging to everything in jagged patches, crackled beneath me. I took a step forward, and Desmond—his twisted, hulking form—flinched.
He tried to move backward, his warped limbs dragging against the ground, struggling for distance, but the body he was trapped in betrayed him. His eyes were wide, wild, pupils dilating and shrinking in quick succession.
Then suddenly, a shriek tore from him, something inhuman, the lights overhead began to flicker and dim —until something changed.
A faint glow, barely noticeable through the dim light, began to bloom through Desmond's skin. But then it grew, a bioluminescent pulse spreading outward, casting sickly green and blue hues across the room. The frost recoiled from it, the freezing tendrils that had consumed everything around us hissing and retreating, as if chased off.
The glow intensified, leaking through his pores, the strange light shifting beneath his skin like it was alive. I could see it—a raw, pulsing energy, chasing away the cold, defying it. Desmond's breath came in harsh, ragged bursts as his twisted body began to repair itself again. The flesh on his stump rippled, split, then began stretching unnaturally, fingers elongating into claw-tipped appendages, white bone gleaming from under raw, unfinished skin.
His leg twitched, spasming as new muscle grew in unnatural directions, now bulging grotesquely, thickening and reshaping into what seemed to be a powerful, digitigrade limb.
I wasn't interested in seeing this adaptation to the end.
I drew back, my metaphysical limb curling in like a silk blanket around my fist. Then went from 0 to 100 in an instant, driving my hand into his chest, feeling his ribcage shatter like brittle glass beneath my fingers. His scream was raw, but his reaction wasn't one of retreat. No. His fingers clamped down on my wrist like a vice, forcing my hand deeper into his ribcage.
That's when I saw it.
Something bulged along his spine, grotesque, unnatural. It slithered beneath his skin, a ripple that pressed hard enough to deform his body. And then, with a sickening bloody crack, a tail burst free from his back. Bone-tipped, sharp, lethal—the white claw at its tip gleamed under the dim light, twitching with a life of its own.
Then it lunged. Straight for my head.
I took nothing to avoid, just a small tilt of my head to the side. But then I felt it, my hand flew to my face even before I knew why.
My fingers came away-slick with blood.
My blood.
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Hello everyone. Khanadiety here for another weekend. Just came back from my hospital posting, just in time to drop this. Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to like, comment, and share your thoughts—I love hearing from you. Your support keeps this story going strong! See you next week for the next update!
Oh before I forget, advanced chapters for this story are on my pa-tr-eon where we are at Chapter 14 already so join at pa-tr-reon/khanadiety to enjoy over 6 early access chapters. Also I will be starting a poll from Sunday in order to choose the look of Superboy and by that, I mean his costume. I have plans bigger for Superboy than just a black tee and cargo pants, This will be your opportunity to influence this decision and pick the look you think is the best.
Next week's update will feature the finale to this escape arc.
I'm gonna go pass out now.
Ciao.