After meeting his parents, Bruce gave them the books on exorcism and all the other materials. He also told them to wear the anti-demon bracelets and gave one to everyone working in the house.
Bruce then called his team. Over the past five years, he had built a team of three people.
The first was Wade, also known as Deadpool. Bruce had hired him before he got cancer. When Wade was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Bruce gave him money for treatment. After that, Deadpool disappeared for a while and then came back.
The other two members were Catwoman and Poison Ivy. Both women had a history with Bruce, but that's a story for another time.
The next day, Thomas sat surrounded by the Men of Letters journals. The early morning light came through the study windows.
Bruce walked in without knocking.
"You're still reading?" Bruce asked.
"I can't stop," Thomas said. He held up one journal. "This is Patrick's handwriting. These are notes about hunts. Creatures. Ways to kill things that shouldn't even exist." He put the journal down gently. "Your grandfather spent his whole life fighting wars nobody saw."
"And he died doing it," Bruce said.
"Yes."
Thomas stood up. He walked to the window and looked out at the Gotham skyline.
"Father, I think we need to start preparing for the future," Bruce said.
"What do you mean?"
Bruce didn't sit down. He stood by the bookshelves, touching the old artifact cases with his fingers.
"Now I know this world is real. Demons are real. Creatures are real. And we're not ready."
"It's preparation for the future," Bruce repeated.
Thomas looked at his son's face and nodded.
---
A month later
Professor Margaret Chen's office was an organized mess. Books were stacked on shelves. Papers were arranged in neat piles. On her desk, there was a photo of her family – her husband and two smiling kids.
Bruce sat across from her, holding a translation exercise.
"Your pronunciation is perfect," Professor Chen said. "This is Church Latin – the formal religious language. Most students have trouble with the nasal sounds. You sound like a native speaker."
"
"Why did you want to study this ?"
"Private collection. Special texts."
Professor Chen smiled. She didn't ask more questions.
" Ma'am why did you think exorcism texts were written in Latin? And why are they all connected to Sanskrit?" Bruce asked.
"Power," Chen said right away. "Latin became the language of authority because of the ruling power. But in the end, Sanskrit is the mother of all languages. It's the language of the gods. You use the language that carries centuries of built-up force."
Bruce nodded.
"Are you doing a PhD in languages?" Chen asked.
"A PhD is a long-term plan," Bruce said. "I think this world is full of so many ancient languages. I need to learn and understand them all. I want to find the mystery behind language."
By the end of the semester, Bruce could recite forty exorcism rituals without a single mistake. He could pronounce Aramaic phrases used for binding demons. He understood the religious framework that gave Latin words their supernatural power.
He was ready.
---
Meanwhile
The Osborn Technologies building stood forty stories tall in Manhattan. It was a Tuesday afternoon. There was an educational outreach program going on.
Bruce moved through the genetic research wing in normal clothes – dark jeans and a Gotham University hoodie. Nothing special. Nobody noticed him.
High school students crowded around the displays. There were exhibits on spider venom analysis, biomechanical engineering, and genetic mutation studies.
Then the guide pointed toward a secure case.
"These specimens are our most advanced research," the guide explained. "Radioactive spiders. Genetically enhanced. Controlled radiation exposure has greatly increased their brain capacity, physical strength, and hunting instinct."
The spiders were bright purple. They moved aggressively against the glass, never stopping.
Bruce watched closely.
One spider's leg caught the cage latch.
The door opened just a little.
The purple spider crawled out. Fast. With purpose.
Nobody saw it except Bruce.
The spider disappeared into the crowd. Students shuffled between displays. Teachers pointed at diagrams.
Then the spider struck.
A boy collapsed, grabbing his arm. A small bite mark was already there, swelling red.
"I'm okay," the boy said quickly, standing up. "Just a spider bite. It's fine."
His name was Peter Parker. Fifteen years old. Orphaned. Brilliant.
The guide rushed to secure the cage again.
By then, Bruce had already moved. He took a small clear container from his jacket. The purple spider was dazed near an electrical outlet. Bruce trapped it, sealed the container, and put it in his pocket.
Nobody saw.
Peter Parker walked out with his friends, his arm tingling. Something alive was inside the wound. Something was changing.
Bruce watched him leave.
The spider in his pocket – the purple one – wasn't the one that really mattered.
Tonight, he would get the other fourteen.
---
The converted warehouse in Brooklyn's industrial area was like a fortress. Weapons hung on the walls. Surveillance monitors glowed. Equipment cases were stacked from floor to ceiling.
Bruce stepped forward with a blueprint.
"Osborn Labs. Sub-level 3. Genetic research wing," he thought, looking at the plan. "Fifteen radioactive spiders. All enhanced. All dangerous."
The ventilation system was dark. Bruce quickly cut the electricity and jammed the security cameras.
The lab was silent. The cameras were stuck on a loop. No one was watching. No one would know they were there.
He reached the containment room.
Fourteen spiders. Purple. Aggressive. Moving. Each one in its own reinforced container on a climate-controlled shelf.
One by one, he carefully transferred the spiders.
Fifteen minutes. Twelve spiders secured.
Thirteen. Fourteen.
He left the building and went home.
The next day, reporters crowded around Osborn Industries with news about the stolen mutant spiders. But Mr. Osborn quickly shut down the story. Bad news would hurt the company's stock value and reputation.
---
On the other side
Bruce's private lab was underground, beneath Wayne Manor. It was reinforced and completely isolated.
He set up fifteen lead-lined containers. The climate controls were perfectly adjusted – temperature, humidity, light cycles. Everything was kept automatic.
Bruce put all fifteen radioactive spiders together into one large container. While he was doing this, his hand suddenly got cut. One of the smaller containers fell and broke. Bruce quickly picked up the injured spider and placed it into the big container. That spider got some of Bruce's blood on it.
Then he waited.
Night fell.
The spiders started to move.
Something in the radiation. Something in the mutation. Something in the genetic enhancement triggered hunting behavior beyond normal levels.
One spider was naturally dominant. Aggressive. It ate the weakest one within the first hour.
Then it went after the next spider.
The dominant spider's behavior was surgical. Efficient. It did not stop.
By midnight, nine spiders were left.
By 3 AM, only three survived. The dominant spider and two others that were hard to catch.
By dawn, everything stopped moving.
The next morning, Bruce carefully opened the observation chamber.
"What happened here? Where are the other spiders?"
Fourteen were gone. Only one remained.
He quickly checked the monitor footage and saw the spiders eating each other.
Inside, there was a single spider. Tiny. Golden. There was a web pattern across its back, like a tattoo. It was perfectly formed. Alive. Aware.
The other spiders had disappeared completely. This one was all that was left.
Bruce picked up the container.
The golden spider moved toward the glass, as if it knew he was there.
"Welcome," Bruce whispered.
He put the container on the table. The tiny golden spider crawled onto his wrist. It hesitated for just a second, then injected its venom straight into his radial artery.
Pain.
Heat. Burning.
The venom spread through his bloodstream like fire.
His body shook. His vision blurred. Every nerve ending caught fire.
He collapsed on the floor.
The transformation began.