▅ ▆ ▇ █ 𝓘𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓷𝓭 (𝓓𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓮) (2020)█ ▇ ▆ ▅

Part 8: The Final Showdown

Fast forward to when they reach the inside of the Palace
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Damian/Batman

The palace loomed before them, an imposing silhouette against a sky choked with swirling ash and smoke. Its once-majestic spires now stood as jagged remnants, like the broken teeth of some ancient beast. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the faint echoes of tortured screams reverberated through the desolate halls. As they ventured deeper into the labyrinthine structure, shadows seemed to stretch and twist, dancing mockingly at the edges of their vision.

After freeing Wonder Woman, the team pressed onward, moving with a sense of urgency that belied the weight of despair hanging over them. They went room by room, each one more decrepit and forsaken than the last, in their desperate search for Batman. Yet, it was not Bruce they found, but another of their lost comrades: Flash.

Flash was a blur of motion, a streak of crimson and lightning, as he ran endlessly on a treadmill, the gears and wires surrounding him hissing like the last breath of a dying machine. His face, a mask of exhaustion and pain, was barely visible beneath the sweat and grime. Clark was the first to reach him, a look of horror etched into his features as he forcibly pulled Barry from the treadmill.

The planet itself seemed to groan in agony as Flash was yanked free, a tremor rippling through the ground as if the very earth cried out in protest. It was as if Barry alone had been keeping the world from spiraling into oblivion.

"Barry," Clark whispered, his voice trembling with unspoken fears. "It's me, Clark. Are you okay?"

He laid Barry gently beside the monstrous machine, his movements tender despite the urgency of their mission. Barry's body was an abomination of flesh and metal—his lungs, now cold iron, pumped relentlessly, never tiring, while his legs had been reforged in steel to withstand the unimaginable strain he had endured. For a man in his thirties, Barry looked as if he had lived a lifetime of suffering; his once youthful face sagged, and his eyes, blood-red and hollow, stared blankly at nothing. His mind, it seemed, had long since departed from the realm of sanity.

John knelt beside him, placing a hand on his head. With a whispered incantation, he soothed Barry's tormented mind, lulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"He's in no condition to run," John said, his voice heavy with sorrow.

Clark's jaw clenched, his resolve hardening as he carefully lifted Barry's frail, broken body. "I'm not leaving him here. Let's go."

The team moved as one, their hearts pounding in unison as they ventured further into the heart of darkness. They soon entered what seemed to be the main hall—a vast, cavernous space swallowed by shadows. The darkness was suffocating as if the very air had been drained of light and life. Suddenly, a cold, metallic voice pierced the silence.

"You are trespassing. Wait here for Lord Darkseid," it droned, the words repeating in a monotonous loop. The source of the voice became clear as they approached—Cyborg, or what was left of him, was fused into the wall, his once-powerful frame now reduced to a skeletal outline barely discernible amidst the twisted metal.

"Stand back. I got this," John murmured, his voice a quiet storm. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a spell that shattered Darkseid's insidious programming. Cyborg's body was expelled from the wall with a sickening thud, collapsing onto the cold, hard floor.

"Cyborg, are you okay, mate?" John asked, his tone soft but urgent.

Cyborg, still dazed, struggled to focus. "You need to leave now before Batman and..." His warning was abruptly cut short by a voice that sent a chill down their spines.