Chapter 1693: Prisoner of the Batcave (Part 4)

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"Hey, hey, are you okay? Are you sick?"

Spider-Man, who had just retracted his arm after tearing through a web, looked at the small figure standing in front of him. It was a young boy with short black hair and vibrant blue eyes that seemed to stand out even in the darkness. But now, his face was pale as a sheet, his lips drained of color, and his eyes were unfocused, pupils slightly dilated.

"Hey! Can you hear me? Are you okay? Wait... you look like Bruce Wayne, God, don’t tell me you’re his…"

Spider-Man took a step closer, finally getting a good look at the boy's face. Just as he was about to speculate further about the boy’s identity, the boy shook his head forcefully, staggering slightly before collapsing.

Spider-Man darted forward and caught him. Glancing back at Gotham's skyline, he noticed that the most prominent building, Wayne Tower, had already gone dark. Spider-Man knew that at this hour, calling for an ambulance was pointless.

He gently touched the boy's neck, checking his pulse—it was steady. He lifted the boy’s eyelids to check his eyes, and while they seemed somewhat normal, his breathing and heart rate were slightly weakened. Spider-Man concluded that the boy was likely suffering from exhaustion-induced fainting.

Hoisting the boy up into his arms, Spider-Man hesitated for a moment before heading in a different direction.

Spider-Man brought the young Bruce to the Batcave.

Batman wasn’t in the Batcave at the moment, but he had given Spider-Man access. This wasn’t unusual; most of the Robins had free access to the Batcave, although they were restricted from using its more dangerous equipment.

When the young Bruce woke up, he found himself lying on a lab table. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, his muscles tensing and expression turning wary, but soon, the masked figure with the spider eyes approached and spoke.

“Relax, I’m not some mad scientist. You fainted, so I brought you somewhere safe. I initially thought about taking you back to my temporary base, but it doesn’t have proper medical equipment. Clearly, something is wrong with you.”

The boy weakly lay back down, his voice raspy as he muttered, “It’s not my body... it’s my mind.”

“They’re usually connected,” Spider-Man sighed softly. While he treated the boy, he was gentler than usual, almost like a patient doctor. “The tests show you’re extremely exhausted, which is causing your brainwave patterns to fluctuate wildly.”

“I am tired, but that’s not the reason…”

“Listen, kid,” Spider-Man said, sounding like a concerned parent. “I’m not here to lecture you, but I have to say—at your age, nothing is worth exhausting yourself over like this. Whether it’s school, life, or exploring the unknown, pushing your body and mind beyond their limits is harmful.”

Young Bruce opened his mouth, his lips twitching slightly as if to speak, but before he could say anything, Spider-Man’s spider-sense began screaming at him. Reflexively, he tensed his muscles, springing several feet backward, but nothing happened. Confused, he glanced around as if searching for an unseen threat.

Bruce weakly pointed to his own head. “The knowledge of gods… it’s in here… extremely dangerous… I need it… but it’s taking control…”

His words were so vague that Spider-Man could barely understand him. He attributed Bruce’s current state of confusion to exhaustion and a mental breakdown. After running another brain scan, Spider-Man said, “I’m afraid you need rest.”

“No offense,” Spider-Man began, hesitating as he looked at Bruce with concern. “But before that, can I ask—does your condition have anything to do with your parents?”

Half-closing his eyes, Bruce gave a dazed nod. Of course, he was painfully aware that his parents were dead, but his pursuit of forbidden knowledge was driven by his desire to understand what lay beyond death. In that sense, everything he did was indirectly tied to them.

Spider-Man, however, misunderstood. What could drive a child to such exhaustion? Naturally, he assumed it was parental pressure. If this boy really was related to Bruce Wayne, coming from a wealthy family, perhaps his parents pushed him too hard, treating him more like an heir than a child.

Reasoning this way, Spider-Man thought, if this kid’s home was a living hell for him, he couldn’t in good conscience send him back. This wasn’t just about strict parenting—it bordered on abuse. Regardless of his connection to Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man decided they shouldn’t meet for now.

Sighing, Spider-Man said, “You know your condition is pretty bad. The owner of this base won’t be back for a while, so you can stay here and recover.”

“I’ll try to talk to Bruce Wayne. I don’t know if it will help, but I believe he should be held accountable for his poor parenting choices. For now, just rest.”

With that, Spider-Man left the room, leaving the young Bruce alone on the lab table, plagued by whispers that gnawed at his mind. Bruce knew how far he had strayed from what was considered acceptable; in some religions, he would’ve been burned at the stake ten times over.

Yet, he was unwilling to let go of the glimpse he’d had of forbidden knowledge from the visions of the Outer Gods. It held the answers to the questions he so desperately sought—about life, death, and the origin and fate of mankind.

Being young, this version of Bruce hadn’t yet developed the obsessive traits that would later define him. But every Bruce Wayne across the multiverse had seeds of obsession within them. Once they set their minds on something, they would never easily let it go; the harder the challenge, the more they doubled down.

Most versions of Batman in the multiverse didn’t believe in God—not even during their childhood. At first glance, young Bruce seemed like he had been lured by some deity. In reality, he was on a path completely opposite to that of a believer.

He wasn’t trying to sacrifice for knowledge or fulfill some divine mission for answers. He sought to understand the forbidden knowledge with sheer human intellect, refusing to pay any price. To put it bluntly, he was trying to steal from the gods.

“I understand what I see, and what I understand will be mine.” It was almost insane in its arrogance. But wasn’t every Batman across the multiverse a little mad? It was just a matter of what direction their madness took.

Young Bruce drifted off into a fitful sleep, but the things he encountered in his dreams were even more terrifying. The whispers that merely distracted him while awake became horrifyingly real and twisted in his dreams.

Suddenly, Little Bruce was jolted awake. The feeling of vertigo, like he had been falling through an enormous black hole, hadn't fully dissipated when he opened his eyes to see a pair of bloodshot eyes staring directly at him.

As Little Bruce's gaze focused, he noticed that the person nearly slumped over the lab table had a wild mess of green hair. Their pale, narrow face was smeared with an exaggerated layer of red lipstick, and their eyes were sunken, dark-circled, and bloodshot, as if they hadn't slept in a year.

This unexpected intruder looked even more confused than Little Bruce. After staring at him for a while, the figure suddenly erupted into a fit of shrill laughter.

The sound was so piercing that Little Bruce’s only coherent thought was how unbearably loud it was. But then, that terrifying whispering noise slowly started to fade, and for a brief moment, Little Bruce felt like his mind was functioning normally again.

Struggling to lift his upper body, he glared at the strange figure and almost barked, "Hurry, hurry, do it!"

“You’re not him... you’re not Batman.” The stranger’s expression abruptly changed, the grin vanishing, replaced by a mysterious, almost bewildered look, as if deep in thought.

After another moment of staring, the figure said, “No, you are him, you’re Bruce Wayne, you’re also Batman, but you’re not. You’re deviating—what changed you?”

Suddenly, the green-haired man’s face twisted into a vicious grin. His claw-like hands latched onto Little Bruce’s throat, tightening with increasing force.

“Let me see what’s changed you!”

Rage-filled shouts echoed in Little Bruce’s ears, but the choking dizziness left him too weak to resist. As his consciousness began to fade, the whispering grew louder. In his hallucination, he saw countless doors opening before him, as if his soul was being drawn toward them.

He was supposed to walk through them. If that was where people go after death, then his parents would be waiting behind those doors. This was the ending he deserved.

But suddenly, he felt the coldness of sweat on his skin. When he came to, he realized he was being carried over someone’s shoulder. A lock of green hair drifted into his blurred vision.

The person carrying him wasn’t strong, yet they moved with the strength of a thousand pounds, descending step by step into even deeper darkness, humming an unfamiliar tune.

Realizing Little Bruce was awake, the stranger spoke in a tone that was entirely different from the earlier madness—calm, almost philosophical.

“I never imagined a bat could weave a cocoon for itself. You are undergoing your transformation, and it will be my great honor to witness it.”

“If you manage to grow wings and survive, I will witness the fallen monster I've always dreamed of. But if you die in that cocoon, I’ll pin you on Batman’s door, letting him admire this exquisite specimen with me.”

“I won’t... become a monster...”

“Then let’s see how deep your morals truly run... At least I’m happy that some poor fool from another space will never get the chance to twist you. You’re chasing madness on your own, letting it change you.”

The bumpy ride came to a halt, and Little Bruce found himself thrown to the ground. A shadow turned and walked beyond the metal bars. The green-haired figure gripped the bars, staring intently at Little Bruce.

“Stay here and safely complete your transformation. I’ll feed you with a rich feast and nutrients. No matter what, you’ll be the perfect reunion gift for Batman.”

After that, he began to turn away, but he stopped when he heard a faint whisper behind him. Turning his head, he saw Little Bruce’s blue eyes focused on him, saying:

“Forget the sacrifices and the nutrients... give me more—more... knowledge...”

[Read at www.patreon.com/shanefreak, and thanks for the invaluable support!]

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Next Chapter =>Chapter 1694: The Prisoners of Bruce Wayne and the Batcave (Part V)