The underground lair was suffused with a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of scheming voices. The Secret Society of Super-Villains, an exclusive and shadowy cabal, had gathered. Its members, a collection of the world's most feared criminals and villains, operated in the shadows, pulling the strings of chaos and destruction across the globe.
Bateman, his blade sheathed across his back and his vampiric eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, stood at the threshold of this den of depravity. He had heard whispers of the society for months now—villains who banded together to amplify their power, to coordinate their plots, and to ensure that no hero could ever hope to defeat them individually. Bateman saw in them not camaraderie, but an opportunity to ascend further up the ladder of power.
As he stepped into the room, all eyes turned to him. The tension in the air was palpable. Members of the society, from minor thugs to infamous villains like Black Manta, Sinestro, Killer Frost, and Cheetah, eyed him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Bateman knew he was the outsider here, but he also knew how to play the game.
"You don't belong here," sneered Giganta, her massive form towering over the gathering. "This is a place for those who've earned their seat."
Bateman's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "I've earned more than you'll ever know," he replied, his voice a deadly calm. "But I'm not here to argue with insects. I'm here to take what I deserve."
The Killing of a Nobody
Bateman's entrance was noticed, but it wasn't welcomed. The society was hierarchical, and power was respected above all else. To climb the ranks, Bateman knew he needed to send a message—a violent, bloody message. His eyes scanned the room, quickly locking onto a member who sat smugly in one of the higher-ranking seats.
His target was Copperhead, a snake-themed assassin with a reputation for venomous cunning but a weaker overall presence in combat compared to the heavy hitters of the group. Copperhead held sway due to his connections and poison-based abilities, but Bateman saw him as nothing more than an expendable pawn to prove his worth.
The meeting began with the society's leader, Gorilla Grodd, addressing the group. Grodd's telepathic voice boomed across the room as he outlined the next set of missions for the society. But Bateman wasn't listening. His focus was singular—Copperhead.
As the meeting adjourned, Copperhead slithered toward a darkened hallway. Bateman followed, silent as a shadow, until they were alone.
"What do you want, new blood?" Copperhead hissed, turning toward him. "Trying to impress the big boys?"
Bateman smiled coldly. "I'm not here to impress. I'm here to replace."
Copperhead barely had time to react. Bateman's blade flashed in the dim light, its edge cutting cleanly through Copperhead's shoulder. The assassin screamed, his claws lashing out, but Bateman dodged effortlessly. His vampiric speed and strength made the fight almost laughable. Copperhead tried to retreat, summoning his venomous strikes, but Bateman pressed forward, slamming him into the wall with enough force to crack the stone.
The battle was over in seconds. Bateman's blade pierced Copperhead's chest, and with a savage twist, he ended the villain's life. Blood pooled on the floor, and Bateman stood over the lifeless body, his cold eyes unflinching.
Claiming Power
The next meeting of the society was electrified with tension. Copperhead's seat sat empty, but Bateman strode into the chamber and took it without hesitation. The other members exchanged glances, some filled with shock, others with amusement.
Black Manta leaned forward, his glowing eyes fixed on Bateman. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said, his voice a distorted growl. "But guts won't save you when Grodd finds out."
The room quieted as Gorilla Grodd entered, his massive form radiating power and authority. His red eyes glowed as he scanned the room, immediately noting Copperhead's absence and Bateman's presence in his seat.
"You've made quite the entrance," Grodd said telepathically, his voice reverberating in Bateman's mind. "Explain yourself."
"I'm here to make this society stronger," Bateman said, standing his ground. "Copperhead was weak. He didn't deserve his position. I do."
Grodd's eyes narrowed, but a wicked grin spread across his face. "You've got ambition," he said aloud this time, his voice a low rumble. "But ambition alone isn't enough. You'll have to prove you can deliver."
Bateman leaned forward, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Give me a mission, then. Something no one else here can handle."
Grodd stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. There's a low-level team of heroes—nobodies, really—who've been meddling in our operations. Kill them. All of them. And then we'll see if you belong."
A Bloody Initiation
The mission was a test, but Bateman saw it as an opportunity. The team he was tasked with eliminating, a ragtag group of young heroes calling themselves the Street Sentinels, were inexperienced but determined. They had been disrupting the society's operations for weeks, taking down smuggling rings and small-time villains.
Bateman stalked them in the shadows, his blade glinting in the moonlight as he watched them from afar. The group consisted of five members: Spark, a speedster with lightning-based abilities; Bulwark, a tank-like hero with impenetrable skin; Wraith, a stealth-based fighter; Radiant, a light manipulator; and Gearhead, a tech genius with a suit of powered armor.
Bateman struck with precision and brutality. He targeted Gearhead first, ambushing him while the team patrolled the city. Gearhead's armor provided little protection against Bateman's blade, which sliced through the tech with ease. The young hero barely had time to scream before Bateman silenced him, his lifeless body left as bait for the others.
One by one, the team fell. Bateman used their fear against them, picking them off in the darkness. He decapitated Spark with a single swing of his blade, her speed useless against his supernatural reflexes. Bulwark, despite his impenetrable skin, was no match for the elemental powers infused in Bateman's blade. He drove the weapon through the hero's chest, the sheer force shattering ribs and tearing through muscle.
Radiant and Wraith tried to fight back, but their inexperience showed. Bateman overwhelmed them with ease, his blade cutting through Radiant's constructs and Wraith's feeble attempts at stealth. When the dust settled, Bateman stood alone, his blade dripping with blood.
Acceptance Into the Fold
When Bateman returned to the society's lair, the room fell silent. He tossed a bag filled with the heroes' insignias onto the table, the bloodstained fabric proof of his success.
Grodd nodded approvingly. "You've earned your seat," he said. "Welcome to the society."
Bateman sat back, his cold smile returning. He had taken his first step into the upper echelons of villainy, but he wasn't content. The society was a means to an end—a tool for him to consolidate his power. And as he sat among the world's most dangerous villains, Bateman's mind churned with plans for the future.