In an unknown desert, almost no life could be seen. In the far distance, sonic booms echoed across the barren landscape as Solomon stood, drenched in sweat. It wasn't the scorching heat that caused his exhaustion, but the relentless training he was putting himself through.
Solomon had begun to encroach upon the realm of space magic, pushing himself beyond the limits of what he once thought possible. The first thing he had attempted was not creating a portal, but the imploding of space in his face showed he was far from ready. He had taken over Penguin's operations in Gotham, solidifying his first real foothold in the city's underworld. Now, he had to plan his next move.
"This is getting annoying"
An implosion happened again, as the force destroyed everything around him, creating a small crater.
Solomon decided to think about what he should do next. He needed information, and he needed it badly.
Parallel thinking had never been an issue for him. His mind worked like a supercomputer, processing multiple streams of thought simultaneously. In just a month, he had acquired a fully equipped lab, wasting no time in pursuing what he deemed the most critical step in his plan: gathering information.
While his deep understanding of the DC universe was an undeniable advantage, he was painfully aware that the comics only provided broad strokes. The finer details—the intricacies of this world, the deviations from what he knew—were what truly mattered. To bridge this gap, he had delved into artificial intelligence, aiming to create something that could hack into any site, without being noticed.
That of course felt impossible, because someone like a cyborg existed in this Universe too. Even if he forgot about cyborg, he still did not have enough information to truly go beyond people like Lex Luther. He may be able to create things decades ahead of his time, but Lex is centuries ahead.
What he needed was access to alien tech, or more information. He only had what humans have, and Penguin with all his power was only to scrounge up something here and there.
Another deafening boom shook the desert as his latest attempt to manipulate space magic failed once again. The backlash sent a ripple of energy through the air, distorting the horizon for a brief moment before fading. Solomon exhaled slowly, tilting his head back to bask in the unforgiving sunlight. Frustration gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. There was no room for doubt—only progress.
Without a sound, Solomon vanished. In less than a minute, he had returned to Gotham, his arrival marked only by a faint gust of displaced air. The laws of physics had begun to lose their hold on him. At Mach 70, movement was effortless, almost instinctual. He had yet to discover his true limits, as nothing had truly challenged him yet.
He disregarded his thoughts as he had reached his lab. Solomon had prepared for what he was about to do. He knew that what he was about to do would require almost no effort, whether physically or emotionally, but the things after would bring a lot of problems later on. Solomon decided not to think about it anymore, because tonight was a special night. It was time for his project to begin, and that involved the cleansing of gotham.
Solomon stood before a massive screen as his first target materialized. The image revealed a spectral figure, its tattered, ragged attire clinging to an emaciated form—like the remnants of a forgotten nightmare. A burlap mask, stitched haphazardly with threads of madness, concealed the figure's face, while hollow eyes offered only a glimpse into an unhinged mind. This was the Scarecrow, one of Batman's infamous rogues—his most dangerous weapon being his fear toxin.
As Solomon studied the man, his expression turned cold. This was his moment: it was time for the world to know him. It was time for something new to be born.
That night, under a full moon, an eerie luminescence bathed Gotham. Moonlight enhanced the unsettling atmosphere, casting long shadows over the city's grim structures. Solomon knelt atop a building, his gaze fixed on a warehouse 200 meters away. His sleek suit, accented by smooth, metal-like shoulder guards, glistened under the moon's glow. Red lines streaked across his faceless mask, shining brightly against the darkness.
This suit had taken Solomon a long time to build. Among many projects, it stood as one of his most significant accomplishments. He had created a self-repairing suit powered by his unique magic—a marvel of nanotechnology and a dash of wild imagination. Yet, despite its ingenuity, the suit was far from perfect.
Firstly, the materials available to him were not hard enough to withstand his formidable strength or offer any substantial protection. Secondly, he had not yet developed effective compression technology, meaning he couldn't easily carry the suit with him. Lastly, the suit was not constructed with magic-conductive materials. As a result, Solomon had to actively channel chaos magic to maintain its integrity—a process that demanded substantial energy, especially in a pinch. Creating matter from nothing was no trivial feat.
In practice, the suit did little to enhance him; in fact, it often hampered his abilities. It was hardly effective at concealing his identity—Batman likely knew almost everything about him already. The only reason he remained elusive was due to the magical properties of his first invisibility spell. The suit's primary purpose, however, was not to augment his powers but to serve as a symbol. Much like the bat for Batman, Solomon intended to instill true terror in the hearts of Gotham's evildoers.
Solomon gathered his straying thoughts as he watched Scarecrow from the shadows. His Kryptonian abilities had become second nature to him—every sensation, every movement, effortlessly woven into his being.
"It's time," he muttered under his breath, stepping toward the warehouse.
Two guards stood at the entrance, their postures rigid with discipline. They knew the consequences of failure—especially under Scarecrow.
One of them, scanning the darkness, caught sight of a faint red light. At first, it was distant, but it seemed to be drawing closer, moving slowly. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again—Solomon was closer now. From the naked eye, it seemed as if he was phasing in and out of reality, an eerie distortion as he advanced.
The guard's instincts screamed at him. He reacted instantly.
A dark, sinister energy pulsed around his hand, as if the very night itself bent to his will.
"Come any closer, and you die," the man warned, a smirk playing on his lips. He was confident—why wouldn't he be? His powers had awakened in his teenage years, granting him everything he had ever desired. The only reason he was even here was because he owed a debt to people more powerful than him.
Solomon remained still, his faceless mask betraying no emotion as he analyzed the man's abilities. Darkness was not an element he had mastered, but he understood its potential.
The guard, however, mistook his silence for fear.
"HAHAHA!" The man cackled. "Look at him! He might just piss himself!"
The second guard joined in, their laughter filling the empty night.
Then Solomon spoke.
His voice, distorted by the modulator in his suit, emerged in a deep, chilling tone that sent an unnatural shiver through the guards.
"I see your abilities have dulled your fear of death."
His faceless mask tilted slightly.
"I shall have the pleasure of restoring it."
In an instant, Solomon vanished.
His movement was nearly imperceptible—a blur of scarlet and shadow. He aimed low, a swift strike meant to sever the man's legs.
But something was wrong.
Before his attack could land, the guard's body was swallowed by darkness. Solomon's kick passed clean through him.
A chill ran down the man's spine as he stumbled backward, sweat forming on his brow. His ability had activated instinctively. He could become intangible when shrouded in darkness.
The second guard reacted instantly, his eyes flashing a deep crimson as he leaped away. Solomon's gaze snapped to him, a flicker of surprise hidden beneath his mask.
There, in the man's glowing red eyes, were two dots.
A pattern Solomon recognized immediately.
The Sharingan.
A detail so out of place, it momentarily disrupted Solomon's thoughts. This was something from Naruto, an anime he had watched extensively. But this… this was the DC Universe.
How?
He processed the revelation instantly, his expression remaining unreadable. Theories could come later. For now, he had a message to send.
More criminals would come soon, drawn by the commotion. Solomon decided to give them a scene they wouldn't forget.
"I see both of you are… unique," he mused, his voice an emotionless void.
His mask tilted ever so slightly, the red lines glowing ominously.
"I suppose that puts you above everyone else."
His tone darkened.
"That allows you to rape, to kill, to destroy the happiness of others."
A scarlet aura began to pulse around him, seeping into the air like a living nightmare. The guards stiffened, something deep inside them screaming at them to run—but their bodies refused to move.
"You felt safe," Solomon continued, his voice carrying a weight beyond sound. "Because there was no one to enforce consequences."
His presence became suffocating.
"I WILL MAKE YOU FEEL FEAR!"
It struck them like a blade to the gut.
Terror—raw, primal, all-consuming—poured into their minds. They felt the horrors they had inflicted upon others. They felt the agony of the hunted, the helplessness of the broken.
The second guard's crimson eyes widened in agony. He screamed as blood poured from them, his Sharingan spinning wildly. Another tomoe formed.
Solomon did nothing. He simply watched. He knew the properties of the sharingan. It needed intense emotional stimulus to evolve. He never planned for this, but he rolled with it anyway.
The man's eyes continued to bleed, as the tomoe in his eyes span faster.
Then, all at once, the spinning stopped. It seemed like the man could not make the final evolution.
Both guards regained clarity just as the warehouse door creaked open. The people inside had heard all the commotion, and some decided to check it out. It might be Batman trying to ruin the trade with the scarecrow.
They were confident however, because they had just gotten a huge dose of a special serum. After taking it, they felt like Batman was a mere rodent in their eyes.
But what they saw completely shocked them. The two guards were on their knees, as without hesitation, they reached for their knives, and slit their own throats.
A smile curled on their lips as they collapsed.
They had escaped hell.
Solomon observed their lifeless bodies with mild disappointment. He had wanted to see if the second guard would awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan. It seemed he would have to experiment further.
With a flick of his fingers, a bubble of energy formed around the corpses.
And in the next instant, they vanished into the night.
Solomon turned to face them, as a chill ran down the spines of the criminals.
"Time to face the Consequences"
All the men their instinctively stepped back, before each taking out a syringe. They knew this man was a threat. They have been working as criminals for many years, and they knew the man was a killer.
WIth little hesitation, they injected themselves with the syringe.
Thank you for reading this chapter, and I hoped you enjoyed it. I know I have been away for a while now, without any notification, but I apologize. I have been busy studying for the SAT, and I forgot to notify you guys.
So I am back, and I will try to go back to posting my 1 chapter every 1-2 days. Also even though the Meta humans have powers from different Universes, does not mean I am mixing up the verses. I just needed powers for certain meta-humans. I didn't want a generic elemental power or something. Also sorry for the short chapter, I'll try to make the next one longer.