Becoming a god meant a complete reshaping of the body.
When Bruce regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was that his Kevlar Batsuit didn't fit. The suit was too large. Inheriting the Godhood of Darkness had shifted his build toward lean and wiry—no longer the muscular Western build. Even with the suit's built-in stretch, it was uncomfortable.
Catwoman ran a hand across his chest, a hint of regret at the corner of her mouth. She'd preferred the old look—all coiled power and raw muscle.
Bruce paid no attention to his fiancée's disappointment. He'd worked with Yellow Lantern constructs before. A small flex of his new power, and a tailored suit materialized around him.
"I think I can see incredibly far. Is this what super-vision feels like? Can you and Clark always see this far?" He was like a tech enthusiast who'd just gotten his hands on a new piece of cutting-edge hardware—except this time the hardware was himself.
"Of course... Clark uses his vision. I don't." Thea sensed something different about him.
"So this is what being a god feels like? I can hear countless voices murmuring in my ears, but I can't make out the words. Is it always like this for you?" Bruce's demeanor had shifted. He seemed... lighter. Less brooding.
Thea and Diana exchanged a glance. At least it wasn't a bad change.
Still, to keep him from getting drunk on power, Thea threw cold water on his enthusiasm. "You're nowhere near my level. God or not, you still can't beat the pre-godhood Clark."
Bruce's brow furrowed. The excitement that had been climbing up his throat dropped straight back into his stomach. If he couldn't even beat pre-godhood Superman, then "powerful" was a generous description.
He looked at his own hands. Superman's humility and respect for ordinary people surfaced unbidden in his mind. He needed to learn from that—shift his perspective, recalibrate. He wasn't human anymore. He was something beyond.
A self-deprecating smile crossed his face. "Seems I'm not being very level-headed. Thank you both for the reality check."
Thea had intended to hand over the Omega Effect right then and there, but she realized the Godhood of Darkness had already pushed Bruce to the edge of his mental tolerance. Forcing the ultimate power on him now would do more harm than good. Better to let him stabilize first.
She'd also noticed something else. Bruce's understanding of fear ran extraordinarily deep. One more step—one catalyst—and he could unlock the Godhood of Fear, just as Diana had unlocked Courage. The moment he broke through that bottleneck, his strength would erupt. Not bad for a protagonist.
The thought was amusing. Steppenwolf had barely scratched the surface of Fear, and he was lightyears behind Bruce now. The Godhood of Fear would forever be beyond his reach. He could keep being the veteran of three regimes.
Godhood settled. Omega Effect tabled. The matter of the Batman Who Laughs came up next. Bruce asked them for suggestions.
"You already know the answer. You need to handle this yourself."
"From our experience, you'll want to spend a few days living as an ordinary person once you're back. Get a grip on your new power and steady your mind." Thea's advice was practical. Bruce had no objections. Together, they returned to Earth.
Diana, for once, was in no rush to get back to work. Thea sent Daniel back to the Dreaming to continue purifying nightmares, dispatched Bruce to Gotham, and took off with Diana to "enjoy themselves."
Catwoman could tell he had things on his mind. She was too smart for empty platitudes about sharing burdens—Bruce didn't need that kind of comfort. She simply said she'd head out first. Threading her way through Gotham's alleys, she was already mulling over what Bruce's apotheosis meant for her. Maybe she should ask Thea whether there was some kind of theft godhood that might suit her.
Watching Catwoman disappear, Bruce carried the Batman Who Laughs on his back and walked alone through the familiar streets of Gotham. The Godhood of Darkness came with a basic perk: invisibility. His control was still rough, but the passive worked well enough.
How long had it been since he'd walked anywhere on foot? He felt oddly sentimental. All those years calling himself a mortal, and he'd never once lived like one—every day wound tight as a spring, vaulting across rooftops, punching this villain, scheming against that one. What kind of mortal life was that?
Maybe now, with the mask off, he could finally be one.
Without alerting a soul, he entered Wayne Manor and made his way to his parents' graves.
He had something to do.
Pressing a fingertip to the Batman Who Laughs' forehead, he wove dark divine power together with his already instinctive command of Fear into a dreamscape and pushed it deep into the creature's mind.
In that dream, the Batman Who Laughs never delivered the killing blow to the Joker. Never murdered the friends who stood by him. He endured crisis after crisis, fell and bled countless times, but held the line every time—and eventually died of old age in his own bed.
The repentant version of himself separated at last from the Joker Venom. He saw everything he'd truly done. Predictably, he ended his own existence—a spiritual suicide, the abandonment of the will to live. His body followed, breathing its last.
Bruce watched in silence. He didn't know if what he'd done was right. This dark reflection, shaped by the exact same tragedies, had found clarity at the very end. But the horrors were already committed. Death was the only atonement left—the only path to redeem his soul.
Bruce picked up a shovel and buried him in the Wayne family cemetery, beside his parents. A surrogate for the mortal version of himself. A reminder never to lose his way.
...
Damian had been out running wild all day. When he came home for dinner that evening, he nearly lost his mind the second he laid eyes on Bruce.
"Who are you?!" He was already hurling a Batarang before the words finished leaving his mouth. Bruce caught it without effort.
Faced with his own son's utter disbelief, Bruce could only sigh and offer a brief explanation.
Damian had been present when Bruce left, but he had no way of knowing whether these changes were for better or worse.
He made it through dinner half-convinced, but something felt deeply off. This version of his father didn't feel like his father at all.
The man who'd never touched anything but water had started drinking. The ruthlessly strict diet regimen? Tossed out the window.
His personal life had always been nonexistent—nothing but the cape and cowl, hunched over in that cave running who-knew-what research around the clock.
Tonight, he'd actually watched television after dinner. Even asked about Damian and Raven. Made small talk for thirty minutes before strolling—strolling—toward the Batcave.
"My dad has a serious problem!" Thea and Diana had gone off to "enjoy themselves"—short of the Presence himself, nobody was finding those two. Damian's only option was his almost-girlfriend, Raven.