"Not going to use Mjölnir?"
The Merciless sneered. "You say that as if wielding it guarantees victory."
The same person who once fled at the sight of him now dared to boast so brazenly before him.
Where did this newfound courage come from?
Could it be because of this domain?
The Merciless looked up, gazing at the swirling sandstorm in the sky.
Indeed, within this realm, he was unable to draw upon the power of Ares.
But so what?
"You all think I've only reached this point because of the power of a god."
Behind The Merciless, countless golden ripples appeared once more.
Artifacts plundered from the hands of deities emerged before Bruce.
"But I have never abandoned my identity as a mortal."
The Merciless's patience with the bat had reached its limit.
"The reason I am undefeated isn't because of Ares. It's because—"
In an instant, The Merciless displayed speed that belied his massive size, lunging at Bruce. Artifacts surged forth from the golden ripples, following him like an unstoppable tide.
"—because I am Batman!"
With a flick of his wrist, The Merciless grasped the Eternal Angelic Sword, Durandal, once more.
The blade slashed downward, aiming straight for Bruce's neck.
Bruce frowned, instinctively retreating. But at that moment, another artifact blocked his path.
The cursed sword of Nibelungen, Högni's Blade.
If Bruce took another step back, he would fall victim to its eternal curse.
And it wasn't just Högni's Blade.
Artifacts surrounded Bruce from all sides, sealing off any escape route. He was left with no option but to stand his ground and await The Merciless's judgment.
This was the King's Treasury in full display.
Bruce's death was inevitable.
Yet, in this moment, there was still no fear in Bruce's eyes.
"You call yourself Batman. Then who am I?"
He swung Mjölnir, shattering its head into countless fragments that exploded outward in a fiery blast.
The shards collided with the surrounding artifacts, knocking them off course and creating a path for Bruce.
But after deflecting the artifacts, the fragments didn't regroup.
Within this domain, where divine power was sealed, there was no lightning to draw them back together. The fragments fell to the barren earth, scattering across the wasteland.
In Bruce's hand, only the handle of Mjölnir remained.
Or rather, what had always been his faithful companion: the Elder Wand.
The Merciless responded to Bruce's question with a faint smile. "If nothing unexpected happens, you might have become Batman in another future. Unfortunately, you have no future."
"Don't be so sure."
Bruce spoke casually as The Merciless's torrent of artifacts surged toward him once more.
He raised the Elder Wand. The fragments of Mjölnir on the ground responded as if summoned, flying upward and colliding with the oncoming artifacts.
"Do you know the biggest difference between us?"
Bruce caught one of the flying fragments, holding it in his hand as memories of Dumbledore's lessons on Transfiguration surfaced in his mind.
The true mastery of Transfiguration was to turn the false into the real.
"Transfiguro," Bruce whispered.
The fragment in his hand liquefied and began to change shape at his command.
In the blink of an eye, a sword materialized in his hand.
A perfect replica of the Angelic Sword Durandal, down to the finest detail.
"Huh?"
The Merciless couldn't help but laugh.
He was genuinely amused by the absurdity. Was this trickery Bruce's trump card?
Even if he forged a fake Durandal, so what?
It was nothing more than a worthless counterfeit.
"Ridiculous."
The Merciless said coldly, "An unworthy Batman wielding fake artifacts—how fitting."
Behind him, golden ripples spread out again.
If Bruce dared to challenge him with a forgery, then he would show him what true artifacts were.
True power could never be faked!
"I asked you, do you know the biggest difference between us?"
Bruce's face remained calm as he ignored the golden ripples around him, asking his question once more.
The Merciless didn't feel the need to answer. He could already guess what Bruce was going to say.
Some sanctimonious critique, no doubt about lacking a sense of justice or straying from the right path.
So what?
The Merciless's conviction had never wavered. His resolve to take vengeance on the Prime Universe Batman was unshakable.
"Enough of your posturing."
The Merciless swung Durandal, slashing mercilessly at Bruce.
Bruce didn't flinch. He sighed and, since The Merciless wouldn't answer, decided to reveal the answer himself.
"The biggest difference between us is that I met my mother."
He raised the transformed Angelic Sword and struck back.
The clash of the two swords sent shockwaves rippling through the air.
But those ripples were nothing compared to the chaos surging in The Merciless's heart.
"What did you say!?"
Beneath his iron helmet, The Merciless's pupils trembled.
He had never imagined Bruce would say such a thing.
"I said I met my mother that night after the gunfire!"
Bruce smiled faintly, wielding the imitation Angelic Sword as he clashed with The Merciless in a contest of pure swordsmanship.
The sharp, rhythmic clang of blade meeting blade reverberated through the air, each strike precise and powerful.
Finally, they both struck with such force that the Angelic Swords were knocked from their hands. The Merciless wasted no time summoning a new weapon, the cursed sword Högni, while Bruce deftly called another fragment to his hand, transforming it into yet another cursed blade.
"Have you forgotten your mother?" Bruce asked curiously, his tone light yet deliberate. "Martha Wayne. Doesn't that name ring a bell?"
"Don't you dare say that name!" The Merciless roared, charging forward with Högni in hand and delivering a thunderous slash.
The cursed sword exuded a harrowing energy, its blade resonating with the anguished cries of countless tormented souls. Yet Bruce met the attack head-on, his imitation cursed sword letting out an equally eerie howl.
The two weapons collided with a resounding crash, forcing both combatants to stumble backward from the sheer force of the impact.
"Impossible!" The Merciless finally betrayed his shock.
"How?" His voice cracked with disbelief as he stared at Bruce's weapon. "How can a forgery match the genuine article?!"
"Maybe it's because my mom's watching over me," Bruce replied with a tilt of his head. Then, with feigned innocence, he added, "Weird, though—why isn't your mom protecting you?"
Mom… Mom… Martha…
Bruce's relentless references to mothers struck a nerve. With every mention of "Martha," The Merciless's fury bubbled closer to the surface.
"How dare you keep saying such things!" The Merciless bellowed. "You disgrace her memory! You don't deserve to be Bruce Wayne!"
For every Batman across the multiverse, that dark night in the alley remained an indelible scar. The loss of their parents was a wound they rarely spoke of, one they buried deep within themselves.
The Merciless had done the same—until now. Bruce's irreverent behavior unraveled him, shattering his composure completely.
How is this Bruce Wayne so different? he thought furiously. Does he not care about his parents at all?
"I said, don't say her name again!" The Merciless roared as he discarded Högni. Golden ripples expanded behind him, and a massive two-handed warhammer materialized in his grasp.
I'll crush his skull with this, he vowed. Let him learn that some names are sacred!
Unfazed, Bruce mimicked his adversary's actions, tossing aside his cursed sword and transforming another fragment into a warhammer. It was clear he intended to defeat The Merciless on equal terms, weapon for weapon.
This brazen display of mockery was the final straw. The Merciless's rage erupted like a storm, and a torrent of divine artifacts rained down upon Bruce in unrelenting waves.
"Pointless," Bruce muttered under his breath. The fragments scattered across the ground began to levitate, reshaping themselves into a variety of weapons that intercepted the incoming artifacts one by one.
"My strength isn't in crafting artifacts," Bruce declared, hefting his hammer as he squared off against The Merciless. "It's in making the intangible... tangible."
With a thunderous crash, their hammers collided. The resulting shockwave sent both men reeling, though this time, The Merciless's hands trembled violently from the blow. It felt as though his own attack had been reflected back at him.
Bruce staggered but remained upright, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Weapons clattered to the ground in the wake of their clashes, none of the divine artifacts managing to so much as graze Bruce.
The pressure mounted on The Merciless. His previously unshakable confidence wavered as unease seeped into his stance.
"Surprised?" Bruce asked softly. "Sure, these are all forgeries. But who says a fake can't surpass the real thing?"
He swung his hammer casually, his voice steady. "If you're the genuine article, then I'll surpass you and break you apart."
"You claim to be Batman. Well, I'm…"
He paused, letting the tension build.
"...Bat-Titan."
The Merciless's breath grew heavy, his rage palpable. Anger, one of Batman's most primal sources of power, now coursed through him unchecked.
They stood locked in a standoff, with Wonder Woman bound and suspended between them, her limbs ensnared by the Chains of Heaven. From her vantage, she could see the tide beginning to turn. The Merciless's imposing aura was faltering.
"Ready yourself, The Merciless," Bruce taunted, resting his hammer on his shoulder. "Think you have enough artifacts left?"
"You—!"
Blinded by fury, The Merciless's entire body seemed to radiate heat. This insolent child… this mere thirteen-year-old… dares to mock me?!
How dare he!
He leapt into the air, summoning a blade of lightning—the Spiral Sword, Caladbolg. Its brilliant, crackling energy lit up the battlefield.
But Bruce mirrored him once again. A streak of lightning danced in his hand, forming a weapon identical to Caladbolg.
It was a perfect replica.
Bruce's Transfiguration may have been limited to imitating a weapon's appearance. But the Mother Box's modifications to Mjölnir had imbued his tools with the power of miracles. Now, Bruce was a mirror, perfectly duplicating any weapon wielded against him.
If he faced an enemy who had mastered a single weapon to perfection, he would be outmatched.
But The Merciless's skills had been taught to him by Diana—Wonder Woman herself.
And Bruce, protected by Wonder Woman's own blessings, was no less skilled.
Clang!
The twin spiral swords of lightning clashed midair, their thunderous collision sending both flying apart.
At the same moment, the imitation artifacts surrounding Bruce launched into the air, intercepting their genuine counterparts in a chaotic tangle. He stood still amidst the storm, calm and composed, like the eye of a hurricane.
"The Merciless," Bruce said softly, his voice laced with mockery, "are you thinking of running away now?"
The deliberate provocation struck a nerve, as intended. The Merciless's expression darkened.
Just days ago, it had been Bruce fleeing for his life. And now? How had the tables turned so completely in such a short time?
Still, The Merciless couldn't deny it—retreating might indeed be his best option.
My power is suppressed here, he thought grimly. If I leave this domain, I'll regain the strength of a god. Bruce won't stand a chance against me then.
The realization hit him like a blow: Bruce had taunted him to plant doubt in his mind. To make retreat feel like a failure.
As if that could stop me.
"Bruce! This fight's been a disappointment!" The Merciless shouted, his tone suddenly buoyant as he propelled himself into the air. Twin divine swords materialized beneath his feet, serving as platforms. "Why don't we take this outside and settle it properly?"
With a triumphant burst of speed, he shot toward the edge of the domain. Artifacts swirled around him, converging like a drill to pierce the walls of the reality Diana had forged.
It worked. A massive rift tore open, revealing the outside world beyond.
Bruce made no move to stop him. Instead, he stepped aside and freed Diana from the Chains of Heaven binding her.
"Stop him!" Diana urged the moment she regained her freedom. "If he escapes this domain, he'll regain the power of Ares a hundredfold!"
"Don't worry," Bruce replied calmly. "Someone's waiting for him out there."
Someone?
Before Diana could voice her question, the answer revealed itself.
The Merciless's flight came to an abrupt halt as he was slammed back into the ground. He looked up, stunned, to see a figure draped in a crimson cape hovering at the breach. The figure glared down at him coldly—the very man he had once manipulated.
Clark. Wearing Magneto's helmet, he was now impervious to The Merciless's mental control.
It was Clark's fist that had shattered The Merciless's escape plan.
Clark descended slowly, landing beside Bruce. Diana stood as well, flexing her wrists as she prepared for battle.
The Merciless struggled to his feet, his vision filled with a sight he could scarcely believe.
Standing before him, united against him, were the twisted versions of the Justice League's trinity: Dark Wonder Woman Diana, Hellbat Bruce, and the Red Son Clark.
Bruce's voice was calm but cutting. "Do you know your greatest mistake, The Merciless?"
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"You pissed off too many people."
A flicker of panic crossed The Merciless's eyes. The sheer presence of these three, carrying with them an unstoppable aura of vengeance, crushed him with an unbearable weight.
He had killed them, humiliated them, controlled them. Now they stood before him, embodying his worst nightmares—an immovable wall of retribution.
If he still had the power of Ares, he might have had a chance.
But now? His divine strength was locked away. He was powerless to unleash his full potential.
Even if he could… could he truly win?
"How… how is this possible?!" he roared, his voice breaking. "How are you three working together?"
It was absurd. These three were as incompatible as oil and water, yet here they were, united against him.
"You're mistaken if you think we're friends," Clark said, his voice steady and brimming with quiet authority. "But The Merciless, you're the first person I've ever hated this much."
"You're celebrating too soon!" The Merciless snarled, his teeth clenched in defiance. "I still have my trump card!"
"Then use it," Bruce replied evenly, his tone almost bored. "Let's see what you've got."
As his words faded, the three exchanged a brief but knowing glance.
Then, with perfect synchronicity, they attacked.
Bruce swung the Elder Wand, and all the scattered fragments coalesced, reforming into Mjölnir once again.
Clark summoned all his strength, his unyielding fist—the pinnacle of his steel physique—poised to strike.
Meanwhile, Diana brandished the Lasso of Truth, ready to subdue The Merciless in one decisive move.
At that moment, The Merciless finally understood the true meaning of fear.
His so-called trump card crumbled under the united assault of these three heroes, leaving him defenseless as his fate closed in like an iron shroud. Step by step, he was driven to his ultimate defeat.
At last, his armored body collapsed to the ground with a deafening thud. Bruce stepped forward, removing The Merciless's helmet, cutting off any chance for him to regain the power of Ares.
Beneath the helmet, The Merciless's white hair was disheveled, his eyes filled with despair.
"Do you guys have a no-kill policy? Because I sure don't."
Dark Diana's voice broke the tense silence. "If you don't mind, I'd like the honor of killing him myself. Let me show him my final act of love."
"That might be a bit disappointing," Bruce said with a slight shake of his head. "You can't kill The Merciless. In his current state, only Clark or I can finish him."
Only a Descender can kill another Descender.
"Then I'll handle it." Clark's voice was calm but resolute. "No child should have to bear the burden of taking a life."
"Batman might not exactly count as a person," Bruce muttered in mild protest, but Clark's determination was unwavering. He was set on being the one to end The Merciless's life.
Clark stepped toward The Merciless, preparing to deliver the final blow.
But in that instant, Bruce noticed something odd about The Merciless's despair. It felt… performative.
A sliver of doubt pierced through Bruce's mind like a bolt of lightning.
Descenders don't kill each other. They send each other back to their original worlds!
If Clark killed The Merciless, it wouldn't end him—it would give him a way to return stronger than ever.
"Wait!" Bruce shouted suddenly, his voice urgent as he tried to halt Clark.
But The Merciless, anticipating Bruce's realization, lunged forward, thrusting himself into Clark's fist.
As The Merciless seemed poised to escape his doom, a golden lasso shot out from the side, ensnaring him and yanking him away.
"I changed my mind," Diana said, her face devoid of emotion. "I've just thought of a fate worse than death for him."
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T/N: LMAOO? SHIROU VS GILGAMESH?
heyyy was too late to ask someone to do end of chapter notes this week but I already have someone lined up for next week, also new translation! 'You Will Regret This Ichinose!' check it out or something :)