This DCverse is Maddening

The world didn’t slow. The rain didn’t stop. Nor could he pinpoint exactly where the next raindrop would hit. Those two combatants were still just blurs at the edge of his awareness. Nothing external changed in slightest.

But if there was one thing that made itself known, it was the repeated chest rattling heartbeats. It consumed his everything, it drowned out the sound of the world itself. Even the very tips of his fingers trembled along the rhythmic beat. The once cold droplets that drilled it’s insidious drills of frost deep into his bones, now seem to dissipate under a rising heat that threatened to consume whatever was left.

Albert could feel it. Feel the blood coursing through his veins, feel the rapid mouthfuls of oxygen expand his lungs to their very limit. Feel how every fiber of his being twitched at even the slightest of prodding.

He felt hot. Like he had stupidly worn an overcoat in the dead of summer, on it’s hottest day of the year. It was sweltering, sweat pooled down his body in heavy rivulets. It got so warm, that he felt that the cold rain should’ve began steaming.

‘I messed up.’ The teen looked down at his fingers that despite his protestations, refused to stand still. Even when he concentrated with all his might, to the point of blackness entering the edges of his vision, the limb refused to obey him beyond a certain point.

It was like he stuck his finger in a socket, the electricity running rampant through the body.

The regret that filled him was immeasurable as he subconsciously shook all over, practically vibrating in place.

It was too much. Much too much.

The energy, the sensation, the sound. All of it.

Forcing his head to the side, Albert let out a stream of bile that forced it’s way up and out his gullet. The burning sensation, the acidic tang to his taste-buds. It was like someone had sucker punched him repeatedly without fear of recourse.

His mind whirled as he nearly tumbled into the newly made puddle. The world growing askew, darkness creeping at the edges. And he once again turned his head to the side, adding more to the growing puddle that curdled at his sense of smell.

‘What the hell did he put in this?!’ Albert staggered back into a somewhat straight position, his forehead leaning heavily on the cold and wet surface of his metallic makeshift cover. Everything throbbed in tandem with every ragged breath,’ If I survive, that old man is definitely getting a piece of my mind..’

After taking a few breaths, his mind no longer swirled as much. That since of vertigo, while still present, wasn’t as debilitating as before. It was at least good that it didn’t feel like the ground was slipping out from underneath him anymore. The sidewalk just kind of rocked in stead, like he was on a raft in the middle of a mild river. The gentle bobbing and swaying would’ve felt somewhat relaxing if every nerve in his body didn’t seemingly light up in tandem.

He didn’t believe shooting in this condition would do anyone any good, except maybe Killer Croc if a stray bullet punched itself into the annoying gnat’s side. What else was he suppose to do? He had inadvertently taken himself out of the fight all together on the small hope that whatever effect that Devil Brew might’ve had on him.

‘It seems trusting anything provided by the system was a mistake,’ He thought grimly, rubbing a cold sleeve against the small dribble of bile that had splashed on his chin. The action left a streak of cold against seemingly too hot skin,’ But what did I expect? It had already shown itself to be somewhat before.’

He had no idea how long he sat there feeling bad for himself, as his heartbeats thumped louder in his ears, as his skin prickled with every ineffectual drop of water, as more sweat pooled through his clothes, as his everything was consumed by the body shaking effects the Devil Brew had on him but eventually he could feel ‘it’.

Feel the grains hop and dance across just above his skin, feel them lash out randomly before retracting. He could ‘feel’ them better than ever before. Easily better than all his meditation sessions.

‘Attempted sessions anyway..’ Albert shook off the stray thought as it came to mind, this was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss. He had no idea how long this hyper sense of awareness would last but didn’t suspect it would be long at all.

So the teen stood there, hunched over a car, drenched it ice cold rain and surrounded by those judgmental eyes. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and tried anything to nudge the grains into any direction. Just an inch, that’s all he needed.

He took those ethereal hands and tried to scoop up a few grains, but they slipped through like water. Their movements seemingly mocking as they streamed around his fingers and back into the natural flow.

He tried everything, from picking up singular grains to actually changing the shape of his handling method and turning it into a pouch or bag of some-sort. But all to no avail. The grains either just ignored the object or just pierced right through his mental constructs with the simplest of ease.

Albert ground his teeth in annoyance as yet another attempt ended with the stream flowing right through the mental construct. Nothing seem to have worked and with the effects of this accursed brew slowly growing more mild, it was like watching grains of sand trickle down an hourglass. Watching all his suffering amount to nothing was not something he enjoyed.

After his mental net failed even worse than all those previous attempts, he decided to take a breather.

‘What am I missing?’

The teen fell back into memories of those elusive texts, sifting through any memorable information with a fine toothed comb. Only to come up empty shortly after, the text was way too densely packed with unrelated history lessons and terms he had no context for. But even then, he honestly believe that if that information was present, that he would’ve remembered if there were any instructions to actually controlling his providence.

‘In fact,’ He mused hysterically,’ I distinctly remembering complaining about that exact same problem..’

If there were no instructions and his current path wasn’t amounting to anything but grating on his nerves, then it was time to change his approach. After all, the definition of insanity is preforming the same task again and again expecting a different result.

And Albert was not insane.

He hoped.

The teen tried to steady his heavy breathing, to steady his rampaging heart and to clear any distractions that shoved itself in his face at every turn. Every stray thought was batted aside with contemptuous ease and soon, he calmed himself down from his previous frantic state. At least as much as he could while still under the constant flow of energy coursing throughout his body.

‘What is the problem?’

‘My providence, luck, fortune or whatever won’t move.’

‘Why is that an issue?’

‘I can’t active Infunda Fortuna.’

‘Why do you need it?’

‘From my readings, it can grant access to degrees of success and failures. The most basic of ability that a CoC player can have. It might allow me to get a critical hit and I know for sure that if Killer Croc has armor like that, then maybe I could deal just a smidgen of damage. Just enough to at least wound him.’

‘Why isn’t it working?’

‘I don’t know!’ He forced down the urge to flail his fist around like a toddler,’ I’ve tried everything! From mental hands, to constructs like nets, pouches and bags! But nothing works!’

‘That is a problem indeed.’

His inner voice was silent for a moment, the emptiness dear deafening even above his loudly beating heart. It made him twitch unconsciously as it drew on, the need to move nearly overcoming his self control. He wanted to jump, to run, to do a few cartwheels. It was like he was toddler all over again, the world bright and free for the taking. His mind knew no discomfort or worry, just the desire to play. To see and touch everything in sight.

‘Why are all your mental constructs hand related?’

Albert’s mind momentarily froze as that bolt of lightning struck him down like an unruly mortal, the gods of reason looking on his pitiful existence before scoffing at what they saw. Those tendrils of despair, lined with infinitely small appendages, were viciously dragged away by some unknown force. And instead, a single spark bloomed deep with in his mind.

In the beginning, where man use to sat curled up as the creeping darkness and all it’s denizens drew ever close, it only took but a simple striking of stone against stone to banish it all. To cement the rule humanity had on the floating orb of rock they called home. With just a simple spark, they turned their entire fortune around.

Ideas came funneling into his mind as the very simplistic answer ignited those previous ideas, using them as but mere kindling to fuel the small flame.

Actually, why had he been so obsessed with hands? Why was that the first thing he zeroed in on? Why did he feel like he needed to ‘pick’ these grains up? Or nudge them?

‘Humanity and their thumbs..’

Looking down, he counted his ten appendages. It was normal for people to take these limbs for granted, they were used for everything. From eating to creating to destroying to please to pain. They could be used to communicate and to provide comfort or discomfort to other humans. They were both weapons and tools. With that in mind, it was easy to tunnel vision on the use of hands even when they weren’t needed in the slightest.

‘Enough of that.’

Albert shook his head to dispel the unruly thoughts and hunkered down. With an effort of will, he started with but a simple funnel but the grains just ignore it all the same. Instead of growing frustrated, he tried something else. He created angled walls and ‘watched’ as they bounced into a more uniform shape. Like an artificial river, the stream thinned but blew out the other side at a high speed that before.

It was strange sensation as those grains shot down his body at speed, excitedly slamming into each angled wall and coming out more streamlined.

‘I can play with this later.’

He collapsed the walls and allowed those grains to return to their languid pace, his little experiment while proving useless didn’t achieve his current goals. Nor did it feel...quite right? Instead of feeling like he had taken a step forward, he had instead taken a few steps back. It made the process feel..less?

‘Why does it feel so wrong?’

The sensation was like bending his fingers back, the stretching just barely before the point of pain. Like if he had pushed any further then something would’ve broken in some way. It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling but…

‘It was like I was just barely pushing it there.’

Then he tried all kinds of structures, from building sized hour-glasses to digging trenches to funnel grains into a certain directions. While they all succeeded in someway, that ‘bending’ feeling kept occurring and grew increasingly worse as time went on.

If there was one thing all this accomplished, it was this.

‘The structures needs to be massive.’ He theorized,’ The objects before weren’t big enough, it would be like using a plastic grocery bag to try and effect the flow of a raging river. I need to imaging myself as a giant instead of just a normal human.’

With that in mind, he decided to take a few steps back and go back to his original idea.

Hands.

There was a reason why humans were so attached to these limbs, well any limb really. They allowed for the delicate manipulation of objects with a degree of dexterity rare to see in the animal kingdom.

So with a force of will, he targeted his dominated hand and created a simple glove but massive in all ways. So massive in-fact that only a planet sized creature could actually wear.

And then he waited, waited as those grains entered the glove like structure, waited as those particles danced around each individual finger and finally as the mental construct slowly filled up.

‘YES!’

Albert nearly wanted to dance around with joy as it experiment finally found fruit, the series of thumps that could heard was more than enough reason to get his head back in gear.

Snapping his eyes open, he ignored everything. Ignored how the street slightly twisted on its side, ignoring how his body shook with unspent energy and raised his gun in one hand. Before aiming a shot in the behemoths direction and pulled the trigger with his hand infused with providence.

[LCK: 34/45]

Instead of some grand reveal, it was like some unfeeling god ripped away his thoughts of grandeur. A familiar sound, loud and all encompassing, entered his ears. It was a sound that he knew very, very intimately. It wasn’t the sound of screeching monsters, cries of the damn, or even the heavy thump of his own body hitting the pavement.

No.

The sound of plastic skittering across a wooden surface. It’s edges bouncing and clacking against the surface. They sounded massive, more massive than his own understanding of space itself. He could hear it tumble, hear the objects crash against each other, spin their indifferent dance.

It was the sound of dice.

[SAN: 35/45]

His breathing grew ragged as the truth was forced down his gullet, a rough hand reaching and massaging his throat just make sure not even a drop was left. His feet wobbled as sense of weakness greater anything before overtook him and it took everything he had not to just collapse on the ground in mind searing despair. Like he was some kind of lizard some unruly child found and put him inside an old popsicle rapper for ‘fun’.

He felt sick. So incredibly sick. Whether it’s from the waning brew finally taking it’s tole or the existential dread that slammed full force into him, it didn’t matter to him.

Not yet.

‘Just hold on for a few more minutes.’ Albert tried to order himself in the strongest tone he could muster, but it sounded hollow to him. A commander ordering his men to an untenable fight to stall for time. They all knew their deaths were both required and needed. The job would be done, but something would be lost in the process.

[LCK: 32/45]

[LCK: 31/45]

[LCK: 30/45]

[LCK: 29/45]

[LCK: 28/45]

Fingers trembled as they reloaded, chest muscles ached deeply down to the bone, arms feeling stiff and breathing coming out ragged. Empty bronze, cartridges clattered to the ground in a series of tickling. They acted like grains of sand trickling down an hour glass, signaling his inevitable fall.

‘Five more?’

Thoughts grew hazy as shaky arms raised to unload once again into the blurry shadow, dice erupting into a series of wild giggles as they decided his fate.

[LCK: 27/45]

[LCK: 26/45]

[LCK: 25/45]

[LCK: 24/45]

[LCK: 23/45]

[LCK: 22/45]

He had no idea how much longer he could keep going, his body now practically sprawled across the car. Face pressed in deep into it’s cold surface as tissue deep exhaustion dragged at him like a pair of massive jaws pulling him deeper into the beasts’ lair.

It took every bit of energy just to fumble about for more bullets to fill the endless abyss that was his weapon, he didn’t even know if he was hitting anymore. Nor did he care at the moment, there was only one thing on his mind that kept him going.

‘Just one more shot.’ He lied to himself as easily as breathing, hooks struggling to drag his eyelids down. The teen wanted nothing more than to collapse into the world of dreams and forget about the reality. He didn’t even care if Killer Croc gobbled him up as his mind drifted off to the sleep.

He wanted to at least finish off his ammo first.

[LCK: 21/45]

[LCK: 20/45]

[LCK: 19/45]

The world spiraled out of control just as his fingers were ready to pull the trigger again, the large silhouette falling out of sight as his body fell to the side. None of his muscles obeyed him no matter how loudly he screeched at them, that mental glove slipped out of his grasp as those grains began to flow.

[HP: 17/20]

A loud snap could be heard as his shoulder took the majority of force, not even the searing hot pain that erupted through out his body was enough to shake off those hooks that viciously pulled at his eyelids. He didn’t care anymore.

He didn’t care about the dead. The fight. His injuries. The incoming help in the form of both Gordon and the Bat family. Nor the fact that his favorite coat was now covered in his own vomit.

Albert just wanted to sleep. To fade off into that elusive void, consequences be damned. He didn’t even care if he never woke up nor if he did so, only to find himself back in the void.

It was enough.

As his eyes fluttered shut, cheek pressed deeply into a puddle he didn’t wish to describe, he could see the large silhouette fall to the ground with a heavy thump from underneath the car he found himself behind.

***********************************************************************************

Harley danced out of the way at yet another overhead strike that caused her blonde hair to flutter wildly. Despite death just being a few inches away, she only grinned wildly. Her blood pumped in exhilaration as she settled her feet and slammed her baby into the tough hide of her lizard foe.

She exalted in the sensation that ran up her arm as it thunk ineffectually against that incredibly tough skin. But the woman wasn’t satisfied with just one hit and hammered a few more blows on the man’s alternative side, feeling it was prudent to spread the love whenever prudent.

‘That’s gonna sting in the morning!’

Ducking between his legs, she rolled and came to a stop behind the lumbering oaf of a man. She was having fun, more fun than she had since coming out of Arkham. No forced medication, no more amateurish doctors trying to pick apart her brain.

‘And best of all..’

Flexing her muscles, she slammed a two handed overhead blow into Waylon’s deformed back. Her bat aimed directly for the spine lined heavily in muscle.

Every once and awhile, some stupid people would test her. Recognize her and try to enact a sort of vengeance in some way against her. If they had a gun, she would play their game up until they dropped their guard before leaving few good bumps on their noggins.

This was no different.

Sure she was pissed when she came storming in like a bat out of hell only to see Red getting attacked by Waylon, and she would admit that a thin film of red covered her vision.

‘Physical therapy is for sure the best!’

But as the fight went on, her anger wasn’t so all consuming and soon joy took up the majority of her thoughts. Just barely dodging death on the razor’s edge, using nothing more than her own athleticism to fight someone so much above her, it was thrilling beyond belief. Throw in a few gunshots randomly and it nearly made her weak in the knees.

Honestly, if this was date then whoever the lucky sap was would most assuredly be getting laid. And maybe even another date.

“Harley!” Red’s voice shook her out of her battle frenzy and almost caused her to halt the upcoming blow,” Get out of the way! Now!”

The blonde didn’t need to be told twice, Pam-Pam rarely ever took that tone unless it was super serious. And so she fell back a few tens of feet in but a blink of the eye, looking on whatever was about to occur.

She didn’t need to wait long, as in one moment Waylon was charging head first at her with his mouth open wide ready to swallow her whole and in the next, he fell into an unceremonious heap on the ground. Causing her to lightly hop in place.

Harley prodded the visibly drooling man with her bat a few times, stretching his rough skin taut before releasing it with a slight pout.

The blood rushing through her ears slowed as the ecstasy finally began to abate, making her groan as the pain made itself known. She just knew she would be feeling this in the morning.

“Are you two girls alright?”

Arney’s concerned voice rang out as he limped his way over, shotgun poised at the slumbering beast.

“I’m fine Arney!” She flexed her substantial bicep at the old man with a wide grin,” See? I told you I’m strong as hell! This was no sweat!”

“I’m fine.”

Red said as she stepped closer to the duo carrying the unconscious body of Albert under one arm, one arm wrapped up tightly in a makeshift sling made of a few strips of torn shirts.

“What happened to him?” Harley asked and pulled back one of his eyelids to see bloodshot eyes. “Definitely not dead though!”

“He’s fine..ish.” Red shrugged,” From what I can tell, an insane caffeine crash and a dislocated shoulder. He should just needs some painkillers and some rest.”

“And a bath!” The blonde pinched her nose theatrically,” He’s covered in vomit! Wait a minute…”

She then pulled out her phone and snapped a series of compromising photos, even going so far as to stick her finger up his nose and just to add insult to injury, his own finger next.

“Do any of you have a marker? Preferably something permanent?”

“Let’s leave him alone for now,” Darnell interrupted to at least provide the youth a few degrees of dignity,” He looks like he’s had enough. Plus besides, it’s not a good idea to stay here too much longer. Especially not you girls.”

That certainly dosed her cheery mood and she let youth’s arm dangle back in place, now that thing’s weren’t so frantic she actually took a look around at the carnage Waylon had enacted. It was spine chilling.

Everyone was dead from what could be seen, their bodies partly chewed up and discarded depending on this sick bastard’s taste.

‘He’s for sure getting a few more life sentences after this…’

But it was strange, the Waylon she knew while looking monstrous certainly wasn’t one. He was way too high profile for everyone not to know he was a cannibal, that fact alone would’ve made him far more desirable by employers.

Despite knowing they needed to leave, curiosity itched at the corner of her senses. Tickling at the trickling strands of her psyche and urged her to learn more. To unravel this puzzle to satiate her own bottomless curiosity.

So, she flickered on her phone’s flash light and got a good look at the man known as Waylon Jones.

His green, scale like skin was the same. But that’s where everything else fell apart. A body he once bragged about endlessly was now laying in tragic disrepair. Those bulging muscles now seem small and inadequate as they stretched over limbs much too long, nearly doubling in length. His spine looked to have expanded in length as well, but even more so.

Just looking at Waylon, it brought back her Catholic childhood. The priest droning on and on endlessly in her head, the voice echoing like it was a full room away.

‘….and so God Almighty severed the arms and legs of Lucifer in penitence, so that he may crawl on his belly for all times.’

That’s the image she got while looking at the man, like some divine creator should swoop down and cut off his limbs to fully make him into a snake. She half expected to see a tail, but only saw tattered orange shorts that looked more like booty-shorts on his elongated legs. It would’ve been an amusing sight if it wasn’t so ghastly.

“God have mercy..”

Darnell murmured, his fingers moving to form the sign of the cross. Grizzled face paling as he looked down at the...impossibility before them. Soft inaudible mumbling could be heard as he fell into century old traditions.

“What did they do to him?”

The blonde whispered, a twinge of horror entering tone at the level of...wrongness on full display. It honestly made her want to go back to church and possibly live as a nun.

‘At least for a year,’ She corrected herself,’ A month, Momma gotta get her wine.’

Harley didn’t need to guess WHO did this to him, she knew Waylon’s struggles quite and well and knew for sure he would never voluntarily turn himself into something like this. Not even for all the money in the world. Nor for the luxury that would afford him.

What did it matter how much money you had if everyone would run screaming just catching a glance at you?

It would’ve made him into a real life dragon! Not the wise ones that brings about rain and good luck, no. The western dragons, the behemoths of greed and fire. The beasts that raze down villages and snatch princesses. And most importantly of them all, hoard wealth like it was going out of fashion. Waylon would attract all sorts of knight wannabes and never have a chance to rest, that kind of life didn’t sound anything she could gleam from his boasts that were thinly veil pleas for help.

“I don’t know,” Pamela gazed down at him, her green eyes slightly gleaming in the reflected light. She looked at him not like a person but an interesting specimen just ripe for the taking but with a visible force of will, that expression slipped away like water under a bridge,” But Darnell’s right. We should leave before anyone sees us here. No one will be willing to listen our part of the story, they would shoot first and ask questions later.”

“I hate the pigs, they should all be made into bacon. That’s the only good use for them!”

“We know.”