CH : 14 Tragic Origin Story of Course

Don't forget to comment if you want more chapters. As I will compare it with ReZero one!

***

"It's days like this which make me hate this city."

Lieutenant James Gordon said, with a heavy sigh. His hand dipped into his pocket, even as he resisted the urge to scrunch up his nose at the smell, fearing to disrespect the dead. Slowly, he treaded outside, allowing the forensics to do their work, his eyes easily glazing over the dead bodies. Once outside, he brought out his cigarette. His wife had tried to get him to stop. Of course, it was days like these, days such as these, which made him go back to nicotine.

This entire fiasco had started with what everyone assumed would have been an open and shut case. A sexually abusive and neglectful young mother, who molested, maltreated and did all other sickening acts with her son. Sure, it would have been an uphill battle to gain the required evidence necessary to convict her, but there was a guarantee that it could be done.

Only for her to blow all expectations out of the water.

Jim could still picture the exact moment in his mind, as the woman, dressed in a suit instead of the provocative attire of someone of her profession, had stood in the courtroom, possessing neither the air nor characteristics one would expect of a guilty or remorseful paedophile. She had all but strutted into the courtroom, smiling, nonchalantly at the entire proceedings, against the quiet chastisement of her court-appointed lawyer. Then, when it had come to the time, when the judge had listed out her charges and asked how she pleaded, and she opened her mouth, smacking her lips together as she said, unabashedly:

"Guilty."

No one had expected the declaration. Everyone had been waiting for a long and arduous trial, where more of this woman's misdeeds would be brought to light and where she would get the proper justice dispensed. However, the utterance of that one word changed all of that.

Some were happy. Others were disgruntled. The majority however – were curious.

Why wouldn't the woman want to defend herself? Didn't she care about her child at all? Did she know that she could face a life-sentence? As such, investigations began. And then… a secret unearthed itself to life.

Eva Cabrera was a missing person.

The Cabrera family was a small-name mafia group who had supposedly had ideas to create a system of organized crime that actually benefited the society. However, no one would stand for such a ridiculous notion, and they had stepped on the toes of the wrong person: Carmine Falcone. 

There had been no evidence tying Carmine to the deed, even though, at this point, everyone knew that the Falcone family was responsible for the complete massacre of the entire Cabrera family. The matriarch had been raped before being killed – and, if the evidence had shown anything, it was likely that the Cabrera family's head, Romero Cabrera, had been forced to watch the scene before he was equally killed.

The only person who had been suspiciously absent from the list of corpses, was a young, thirteen year old Eva Cabrera. She had most likely witnessed the rape of her mother and the murder of her father and brother, but either through luck or fortune, she had been overlooked in the massacre – the sole witness in a case which could have permanently thrown Carmine Falcone behind bars.

She was, in essence, a primary witness against Carmine Falcone.

Jim Gordon blew a puff of smoke into the night air. A shadow loomed overhead, and he let out a sigh upon recognizing it on sight.

"Gordon." The voice that came out was gruff, rough, and sounded as though it was being channeled through an amplifier or sound disruptor of one sort or another.

Jim merely let out another sigh. "Two dead bodies. Maryam Finch, child services, and her attacker. We're focusing all our resources on trying to figure out who he is – because, at this point, it's obvious who sent him."

The woman, Eva, she had the right goal. She wanted to avoid a trial, because a trial would mean exposing her past, exposing the fact that she was a witness, and exposing her connection to Falcone. The most infamous boss of Gotham City was known to have nigh-mystical powers in making any and all witnesses permanently 'disappear'.

So, instead, it would make sense for her to take her charges, and be sent to prison instead.

Except, she had kept her last name – either out of pride or out of some sense of respect to her now deceased loved ones, Jim didn't know. Her last name had been on the news, and it didn't take a super genius to make the connection.

She didn't last four days in Blackgate before being found in a pool of blood in her cell –stabbed to death.

Carmine Falcone didn't take any chances.

"And the boy?"

Jim shook his head, taking a longer, deeper puff of smoke.

"Missing." He said, his lips producing the word like it was toxic. "I have men searching within a ten-block radius. He's a three year old kid – a three year old kid who's been through so much, without having a goddamned clue as to why – and now, he has a death warrant on his head."

There was silence, even as he dropped the cigarette onto the floor and stomped on it.

"Sorry – it's just – I have a daughter, you know. Barbara – she's nine. I can't imagine anything happening to her, and yet, this kid, he's barely been in this world for three years, and he's –"

"We'll find him." The voice was firm, reassuring. There was a resoluteness and steel to it – one which Jim wondered if he imagined.

He nodded, and conveniently avoided mentioning how the would-be hitman who had attacked the young boy, the foster-care agent in charge of him, had died. It was insane, to even contemplate the idea, that a three-year old child could smash the head of an adult male into paste.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. A foreboding sensation –

This kid – if he survived, just what exactly would someone like him become?

***

One Week After Eva's Death

I gestured my fingers forward, curving and turning my index and middle fingers, and I watched, as the House Rat fell under hands. It tried in vain to resist my control, and I snarled, forcing more energy into it, feeling the energy filling the creature, and as the creature went completely still.

I gestured it to rise, which it did, and then to lay low, which it did. In the decrepit apartment complex which I found myself in, the rat became my source of amusement. Using the change form and power to evade both the Gotham Police Force and the Special Forces Unit, along with whoever was after the only child of Eva Cabrera. 

After a week of this, I had finally found myself in a dilapidated building in Chinatown that was scheduled for demolition.

It would have been so much easier, I knew, to have made it through life if I merely aligned people and lived in their homes. Except, the thought of the hands gave me cold shivers. Shivers that came from the realization that I would be permanently damaging and suppressing the souls and spirits of the people I possessed. Shivers that came from the consequence of such a thing. 

I wasn't ready to face that yet – again – not yet – not now that…

Eva was dead.

I chuckled...

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. It was almost painfully obvious. I had a foil titled Tragic Origin Story of course, so it made sense. 

It made sense, in that almost annoyingly cliché way, that a person who desired great magic or power would often find themselves losing the one thing they cherished the most in order to attain it. Or, inversely, as a result of losing what one cherished, they attained greatness.

Had Bruce Wayne not lost his parents – there would be no Batman.

Had Barry Allen not lost his parents – there would be no Flash.

Tony Stark, Peter Parker, and on and on it went – it was obvious that their lack of parentage in one form or another had something to do with who they eventually became. 

Whether I would have become a hero or villain didn't matter in the end – heroes were almost always orphans, and villains didn't have their parents in the equation.

I had cared for my mother. Strange as it was, I had grown accustomed to her, I had felt attached to her, like she was the only thing that mattered in this world. Like she was the only thing that was even slightly real in a world of panels and pages.

Looking back, I wondered what would have gone differently if I hadn't answered the door. I was not American in my past life, and I did not understand nor was I familiar with their police customs or procedures. Yet, there was a voice at the back of my mind, telling me that from whatever country I had originally hailed from, it was generally a bad idea to ignore a police officer at your doorstep. 

They had the right to enter your house without a warrant on accounts of "justifiable cause", which could range from them hearing you leave your water running, and thinking that someone was drowning, to merely conjuring that they had heard a 'suspicious noise'.

Would I have been able to hide from him had he barged in anyway? Probably. 

Alas, it didn't matter.

What mattered? Truly? Really?

The rat thrashed and twisted, letting out bloodcurdling screams, which, for a few brief seconds, drowned out my thoughts. It drowned out the memories of Eva's laughter, the memory of her smile, the memory of her scent, her touch, her feel –

The squealing rat distracted me. There was tranquility – slow, developing tranquility in the sound of its suffering – in the sound of a being other than me suffering – in the sound of a being suffering for me –

It wasn't a physical pain that I could get rid of it with a single touch so let it suffer with me. 

And then, it was done. The squeals had ended.

With silence, came contemplation, and with contemplation, my thoughts flew back to blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes.

I couldn't mourn. Couldn't grieve. Couldn't wallow in dismay or agony because of something that blocked and suppressed those emotions and sentiments. A protective measure, which kept me from wallowing about my unfortunate circumstances of being sent into this world, was now a hindrance that would prevent me from ever truly attaining closure.

I needed an outlet.

It wasn't hard for me to look for creatures of small size here in Gotham where even humans can be found laying everywhere. 

I smiled.

As the ground expanded roots came out of the ground. 

I rounded them up. Ten of them, the roots grasping them and bringing them before me, pinned down, desperately struggling and trying to escape.

As I put my hand on rat–

I stopped. No – not the same method.

I turned my gaze upon the first dead rat, the first one that I had killed. As I saw its spirit and soul still lingering around the body which was something doesn't happen unless I kill someone using my Overhaul power as there is some kind of energy that keeps them bound even when I destroy someone's body. As it was ready to be remade, which I could with a thought. 

So I changed my mind and this time I sued different way undead exist in the multiverse and I wanted to see what would happen if I forced the soul and spirit into the dead body. 

I watched, with both fascination and curious disgust, as the creature I had killed rose, its neck in a twisted position, its eyes glowing a haunting deadly red, the colour of blood.

I gave it a simple order.

Kill. Slowly.

The rodent was slow, but it was strong. It clamped down on one of the struggling ten enraptured with vines, and chomped off its leg.

The squeals returned.

I settled back, with a satisfied sigh. The ambience of screaming rats, the background music, the requiem, the symphony which drowned out unnecessary thoughts. The concerto that expressed my inner desires in ways that I could not.

It was fascinating, in a Tokyo Ghoul-ish way, to note how the undead rat moved and kill up from cannibalizing living members of its own species. Intriguing, satisfying – sidetracking.

Yes… sidetracking.

I suppose, the squeals were only an added benefit. 

Sighing I then proceeded to merge the four bodies together turning the small undead rat into a big rat. 

***

Two Weeks After Eva's Death

I was right about not needing food to survive. So long I put my hand on my body everything can be fixed, restored my energy and it was the same with my sleep cycle. As long as I put my hand on my body I don't need to sleep. 

So In the past seven days however, I had completely cleared the entire building of its rat population. There was only one rat left in the building now, and it was the strongest, deadliest, of them all – and it was mine.

It was the size of a human head now, and packed with muscle on its form despite being dead, and despite not necessarily being capable of gaining muscle mass as a dead being. The process of maintaining the Alpha Rat for seven days straight had easily dominated the fights. 

Tweaking a bit, I also merged it with anything I found that it could find useful. While also giving it bones harder than steel. 

I also discovered that with my commands I could do something that a mouse couldn't, using it to command my pet into doing a bunch of feats and tricks.

Moonwalk.

The sight of a moonwalking zombie rodent was surprisingly more therapeutic than I could have ever imagined.

Thriller Dance.

The Worm.

Dab.

A dabbing zombie rat. Stored in camera I found and repaired when I would find a way to  upload it on the internet for needless fame, or to tick off people who thought dabbing was retarded. The other benefit of course, had been also using my powers to fully overpower this undead rat. Giving it many different abilities and sentients. 

I rose up from my dusty spot in the building, glancing at my body and almost laughing at the absurdity of it. No sweat – no overwhelming stench from the lack of bathing for almost two weeks – no sign of any real change except the growth of my fingernails.

I wondered if Eva would tell me to cut them –

I stopped.

I've been occupied for the past week. Occupied enough to have momentarily forgotten about that name. Part of me wondered if I should traverse the path of the angry and evil avenger, rushing down to find and kill Falcone for ordering my mother's hit in prison.

Except, it wouldn't really achieve anything, now would it?

Eva was dead. Gone. I was not even going to contemplate the idea of bringing her back with black magic or technology, because I knew that one way or another, Eva was supposed to be my cost. My major, one-time trade-off for the powers I now possess. Attempting to give the middle finger to destiny by bringing her back would be disastrous at best, or, at worst, it would lead to gaining an even worse penalty. Perhaps I brought her back without a soul. Or, I brought back a twisted and warped soul, using such means as the Lazarus Pit.

No. She was dead – and she was staying dead.

What good would killing Falcone do for me now? I couldn't even mourn the woman, so was I supposed to believe that killing her murderer would grant me resolution? Would grant me closure?

No. She was dead, and what I needed to do now was get over it.

By finding the closest cat, pinning it down, and having my zombie rodent beat it but let it live. 

I wondered what a cat's screams sounded like.

I'd find out soon enough.

As the frail, nearly lifeless cat lay before me, its shallow breaths the only sign it still clung to existence, I placed my right hand upon its fragile frame. My left hand rested firmly on my pet, the connection between the two sparking with raw, untamed energy. With unyielding focus, I forced the two bodies to merge, their very essence intertwining in a process both unnatural and extraordinary. I refused to let the soul and spirit slip away, capturing and binding them into the fusion with an iron will.

This wasn't a mere experiment born of idle curiosity—it was the culmination of a week-long pursuit, each attempt building on the last. I sought to maximize the potential benefits of such a process, driven by the need to unravel the secrets of this forbidden. What would emerge from this fusion? A question that consumed me as I pushed the boundaries of what nature—and arcane and even the power—allowed.