SHADOWS OF CURSES: A DC FANFIC

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. The bus rattled along the road, the faded seats creaking under the weight of exhausted commuters. For him, it was just another day spent juggling the endless grind. His sister, Lily, was seated beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. She had fallen asleep halfway through the ride, her breathing soft and rhythmic. She was always like this—trusting, hopeful, leaning on him for support even when his own world felt like it was crashing down.

He gazed out the window, the towering buildings of Metropolis looming over them. Superman's city, they called it. A beacon of hope, of safety, or at least it was supposed to be. He clenched his fists, feeling the worn leather strap of his bag dig into his palm. Every time he looked at the shining skyscrapers, all he could see was a life he couldn't have. His money went straight into his parents' pockets, his sister was the only reason he hadn't turned into something worse. And yet, today, he had a strange sense that something was coming. Something darker than anything Metropolis had ever seen.

Lily stirred beside him. "Are we almost there?"

"Yeah, not much longer," he muttered, forcing a smile as he brushed a lock of her brown hair from her face.

But in the next moment, the world exploded.

A deafening crash tore through the bus, the windows shattering as metal twisted like paper. The bus flipped violently, sending passengers tumbling like ragdolls. He grabbed Lily, clutching her as tightly as he could, but the force of the impact ripped her from his arms. Pain shot through his body as he hit the floor, his head slamming against a seat, blacking out for a split second.

When his eyes flickered open, everything was chaos. Fire, screams, smoke—he barely registered any of it. His gaze searched frantically, his mind focused on one thing: Lily.

He crawled through the wreckage, ignoring the searing pain in his legs. People were dead, scattered around him like broken dolls, but that didn't matter. He found her, lying among the debris. Her small body was motionless, a pool of blood forming beneath her head.

"No… no, no, no!" His voice broke as he cradled her in his arms, shaking her lightly as if that would wake her up. "Lily, please. You have to wake up."

But she didn't.

In the distance, he heard the roars—the unmistakable sounds of Superman battling Doomsday. The entire city was watching them clash, but all he could see was the broken world in front of him. His sister was dead, and the so-called heroes were too busy saving the city to even notice the lives destroyed in the process.

Helplessness swallowed him whole, and for the first time in his life, he felt something he had never allowed himself to feel: Hatred.

The sounds of battle continued outside, growing louder and more violent. The ground shook with every tremor, and each shockwave from the clash between Superman and Doomsday rattled through the wreckage of the bus. Yet none of it mattered. His world had narrowed down to this single, gut-wrenching moment.

He held Lily in his arms, her once-warm body now chilling against his. His sister, the only person in the world he had lived for, was gone. Everything he had done—every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every desperate act—had been for her. And now… it was all meaningless. The world was cold, indifferent. The "heroes" who were supposed to protect people like them were fighting their battles high in the sky, far from the real pain on the ground.

His vision blurred as tears mixed with the blood on his face, but somewhere deep inside him, the tears dried. Something darker began to stir. Hatred.

This was their fault—the heroes, the villains. Every one of them was part of the same endless cycle of destruction. People like him and Lily didn't matter to them. They were just collateral damage, forgotten as soon as the dust settled. The thought twisted in his mind, becoming sharper, clearer. A violent rage bubbled up inside him, consuming his grief, twisting it into something far more dangerous.

A loud crash shook the ground again, and he instinctively looked up. Through the shattered remains of the bus, he could see them—Superman and Doomsday. They were fighting in the streets, mere blocks away, each blow sending shockwaves that cracked concrete and shattered windows. Every punch, every collision felt like a mockery of the lives lost below.

A sharp pain tore through his arm, yanking him out of his fury. He looked down and realized his left arm was pinned beneath a twisted piece of metal, blood dripping from a deep gash near his shoulder. He had barely felt it before now, but as the adrenaline faded, the agony set in. His vision wavered as he tried to move, but the pain surged, and darkness crept at the edges of his sight.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The battle raged on, but eventually, Superman won. At least, that's what the news reports would say. The mighty Superman saved the day, defeated Doomsday, and saved Metropolis. But that wasn't how he saw it.

They didn't see the destruction. They didn't see the bodies. They didn't see Lily.

The authorities arrived eventually, pulling bodies from the wreckage, transporting survivors to hospitals. He barely remembered any of it. Everything had blurred into a painful fog. He remembered someone pulling him away from his sister's body, his own wounds half-treated. He remembered the hollow words from police officers and medics—empty reassurances that it wasn't his fault, that it had been a freak accident, that Doomsday's rampage was impossible to predict.

But all of it felt wrong. Superman should have stopped it before it ever happened.

Days turned into weeks, and he found himself wandering through life without purpose. The bus accident had left him scarred and maimed, his left arm amputated at the shoulder. Worse than the physical wounds were the ones deep inside—the gnawing feeling that he had failed her. That if he had been stronger, smarter, braver—anything—he could have protected her.

Instead, he was weak. Helpless.

The media's endless praise for Superman only made it worse. Every broadcast, every headline, they all painted the same picture: a hero who saved the world from Doomsday's rampage. But there was no mention of the bus, or the dozens who died in that small, insignificant corner of the city. His sister wasn't a headline. She was just one more statistic.

He couldn't stay in Metropolis anymore. The city felt suffocating, a constant reminder of everything he had lost. His family—his parents—had barely noticed when he left. In truth, they had probably been glad to see him go. They'd always been that way—cold, abusive, and selfish. The moment they realized his money wouldn't be coming in anymore, they'd cut him off completely.

With what little savings he had managed to scrape together, he bought a one-way bus ticket to Gotham City. It was cheaper than Metropolis, and more importantly, it was a place where no one would know him. He didn't want to be known. He didn't want anyone to ask him about the accident, about the sister he had failed to protect.

Gotham was a city full of shadows, the kind of place where the broken could disappear. And that was exactly what he intended to do.

The apartment he found was a dingy one-bedroom in a forgotten part of the Narrows. The rent was cheap, and the landlord didn't ask too many questions. The walls were cracked, the windows fogged with years of grime, but it was enough. It would have to be.

Every day was the same. He would wake up, stare at the empty ceiling for what felt like hours, then wander through the darkened streets of Gotham, his mind numb to the world around him. The city's crime, its chaos, none of it mattered to him. He didn't care about Gotham's problems. He was just trying to survive each day, drowning in the sea of his own self-hatred.

And that's when the dreams started.

They began as faint whispers in the back of his mind. In the beginning, they were easy to dismiss as remnants of his grief, distorted echoes of his trauma. But the more he ignored them, the stronger they became. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, until they filled his mind every night as he tried to sleep.

"You are weak. But you don't have to be."

The voice was the same every time—cold, cruel, ancient. At first, he thought it was just his subconscious playing tricks on him. But as the nights dragged on, the voice became more vivid. More real.

One night, it came to him in the form of a dream. In the dream, he stood alone in a vast, empty void, the world around him dark and featureless. And then, from the shadows, the figure appeared.

It was a monstrous thing—tall, with four eyes and a twisted, mocking grin. Its body was covered in black tattoos that shifted and moved like living things. It looked at him with those crimson eyes, studying him like a predator watching prey.

"You want revenge, don't you?" the creature asked, its voice dripping with malice. "You hate them. The ones who let this happen. The ones who left you broken."

He didn't respond. He couldn't. But in his heart, he knew the answer. Yes. He hated them. The heroes who failed, the villains who destroyed, the entire world that watched while he suffered.

The creature stepped closer, its grin widening. "I can give you the power to change that. I can give you the strength to tear down the world they built. All you have to do is accept me."

The offer hung in the air, cold and tempting. He wanted to refuse, to cling to whatever shred of humanity he had left. But his grief, his rage, they were too strong. They clouded his mind, drowning out the voice of reason.

"What's the catch?" he finally asked, his voice hoarse in the dream.

The creature's grin grew wider. "The catch is that you will become something more. Something far greater than you ever were. But the world will fear you. They will hate you. And you will have to embrace that hatred if you want to survive."

The words echoed in his mind, and in that moment, something inside him broke. He had already lost everything that mattered. What was one more sacrifice?

"I accept."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the darkness surged forward, engulfing him completely. His body felt like it was being torn apart and rebuilt, piece by piece. But through the pain, he felt something else—a power, ancient and monstrous, coursing through his veins. It was intoxicating.

When he awoke, he was lying in his dingy apartment, drenched in sweat. But something had changed. The whispers were no longer faint—they were a constant presence, just beneath the surface. And as he looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror, he saw them: the faintest traces of black tattoos creeping up his skin.

He wasn't the same anymore.

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I HAVE RETURNED!!

Long time guys hows it been

I've been kinda busy but I'll update this story as soon as possible (no promises)

Pleas also watch out for the update of my other stories

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