It has been a long time since I’ve checked my stats. Not that I actually have game stats like some other people who experienced reincarnation, merely a statistical approximation of my physical and mental status through a series of vaguely defined parameters.
…
Physical: [Physique: 2.3 → 2.9] [Celerity: 2.9 → 3.5] [Vitality: 2.5 → 3.2]
Mental: [Willpower: 3.8 → 4.8] [Reflex: 2.5 → 2.9] [Focus: 4.7 → 5.8]
…
I always have change logs toggled on to make sure that I actually am increasing in ability. I don’t like to watch it go incrementally, so I make sure to leave it weeks at a time before opening it up and seeing it go up like a damn meteor.
‘Weird, though. I don’t really feel its effect. I mean, I got beat to shit by that Scythe and all I had was four broken ribs, bruises all over my torso and a cracked knee. Sure, losing three fingers isn’t exactly good, but it's honestly not that bad either.’
‘Except for the fingers, All the other injuries will take over two weeks to heal, even with my powers. Although I do suppose the fact that it would take two weeks to heal from such grievous injuries is, in itself, the effect of these stats.’
Doctor Thompson had assumed that my extremely fast regeneration these past few days was thanks to the Wayne Industries ‘wonderdrug’ which, apparently, is medically available to me due to nepotism or something else that made Doctor Thompson quite angry.
I usually don’t care what Lucious invents as a coverup for my powers, but, in this case, I don’t like it when a doctor old enough to be my grandmother is mad at me.
‘I should probably tell Lucious that. Although I haven’t met the guy yet, I hear he has a son somewhere in LA.’
“Edmund, are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there?” Asks Jasmine as she tastes the stew she’s been preparing in the past six hours.
Tomorrow is my birthday and tonight, the servants are going to prepare for an all-day party. Although I have made my distinction regarding my dislike of such a long lingering party, mother and, more importantly, father always disregard my personal decision regarding these matters.
The bastard usually uses these events to invite business associates and investors around, beckoning them with food whilst making sure that any animosity and grudges that his terrible personality may have caused to be disregarded in light of his child’s birthday.
In recent years, however, he makes use of my parties to recoup angel investors for his slowly bankrupting business. Not that he needs it anymore, what with Wayne Industries' most recent injection into his holdings.
‘Large enough to keep him floating for a quarter, but still quite small to keep him in check.’
Bruce doesn’t trust him and neither do I. After all, he made use of me and my body to barter some money from Lex Luthor.
‘Speaking of… I suppose I owe Bruce an apology. Doubly so if my speech in the hospital made him break one of his sacred rules.’
I groan at the consequences of my actions. The world would be a lot nicer if actions didn’t have consequences.
To be honest, I’m not sure if my speech does have something to do with him allying with the crime lords of Gotham. Even if it did, then it does not make sense because my point in that conversation is that he doesn't have a right to scold me for killing the man.
“Here taste.” Jasmine brings a ladle full of creamy stew near my face.
“Add more potatoes. Are you making Grandmama’s stew? Is she coming?”
Jasmine shakes her head, “She’s eighty-years-old, Edmund. She can barely walk through her castle.”
Mother glared at Jasmine. “It’s not a castle… it's a battlement with a manor inside.”
“Ah, yes. For those pesky Prussians!” I mock, saluting valiantly.
I gaze at my mother as she turns her nose at my comments before returning to roasting the brisket.
While my father makes financial decisions off of my party, mother only does it for the love of the game.
‘And, boy, does she love the game.’
It had always been her dream to become a party planner and, if that fails, to become a world class mother. I was honestly impressed when she told me of her dreams and hopes.
Many women in her position dream of breaking the ceiling that had been erected during the rise of humanity, reinforced by the tides of patriarchy and the introduction of systemic boundaries. With her resources and her mother’s then-influence, Maria could have achieved something greater than the sum of her existence.
Yet, here she is, gladly taking one for the team and raising me. At least in her vision, she is not, in fact, taking one for the team, but realizing her dreams. As well as realizing that achieving her dreams would bind her to a cause not of her own.
To a man that would deprive her of her dignity and expression as a human. ‘Am I exaggerating? Perchance, but one cannot refute the fact that Father has to go. I’ve been telling these villains and heroes that my mother is dearest to me and that I’m willing to go lengths to give her the best… yet, here I am, letting an abomination walk free and put her under his thumb.”
I may not be averse to killing for proper reason, but there are other ways to bereave a man of his life without dirtying my hands.
“Mother,” I call out amidst the hubbub of the large kitchen. “I’m going to invite–augh!”
The world shudders the moment I turn my head, as if it’s splitting in half and leaving me alone in a dark expanse. I can feel worms wriggling under my skin as an electrifying sensation runs through every nerve.
For a moment, I feel alone in this dark universe before the horizon snaps and I see Jasmine cradling me in her arms. My breath oscillates like a manatee, searching for the breath I once lost.
I can hear them whispering, echoes of words and numbers.
“I’m. Fine.” I grit my teeth to placate their worries. “It doesn’t hurt that… much.”
Mother kneels down and places both hands between my cheeks. “What happened? Why did it get worse?”
I shake free of her hands as I stumble to the ground to regain my breathing. “This happens when I get older. That’s what Luthor said.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Call a guard to take him to his room. Jasmine, call Doctor Thompson, see if she isn’t busy.” Mother ruffles my hair before standing up and taking control of the kitchen. “Alright, back to work. This food is not gonna cook itself.”
----------------------------------------
Two fingers appear on the mirror as I wave my hand around, accustoming myself to the fact that this injury will forever mark my first victory against a villain–a henchman of a fake group, technically-as well as a mark of my first kill.
I will not vow him to be my last, however, for that would be incorrigible and inane. The moment I deprive myself of my greatest trick in the bag shall be the day I die.
I don’t when my vocabulary changes, but I do suppose that finally achieving a small step in my overall goal is a portent of great things to come.
‘Portent. That’ll be the word of the day. Although I think I’m using it incorrectly.’
Nevertheless, my achievement came about a meter away from my form in the slowly rotating black line. A trick I used to teleport the bear spray in my hands without drawing the Scythe’s attention is now a special move I can create whenever I want or, in this case, can.
The energy drain is, again, sub-optimal, but I can fix that with a little bit of training. The speed of its rotation, too, can be trained into higher levels.
“Commencing phase two..” I mutter as the ten centimeter black line widens into a vertical eye with a length of ten centimeters.
A surge of rumbling agony permeates my stomach as the eye slowly rotates clockwise, consuming an energy no less draining than its creation. When I feel the lining of my stomach twist and tremble under the cannibalization of my power, I cut control of the eye, which causes it to snap shut.
I place a hand in my stomach as it rumbles and complains about its inhumane treatment, having been the first organ my power goes to when the energy stored in my cells dissipates.
I stop the stopwatch and I read its contents, “21.4 seconds. Much better than the first time it got clocked and an average increase of four seconds per week of training. Not to mention that I was expending more energy by rotating it; Jesus, I’m good.”
A knock on my door interrupts me from flattering my ego as Jasmine’s voice comes through.
“Are you awake, Edmund?” She asks.
I respond with a quick, “Yes.”
And have been for the past three hours. Yesterday’s bout of extreme pain and visual and auditory hallucination did not happen again. What did occur once more is the pain. Intermittent, consistent and pulsing in various levels of pain which increases the nearer it is to the midnight of the date of my birth.
With nothing to do, I trained my portal and let myself grow accustomed to rotating the orientation of my portals. When I grow tired–which is every thirty minutes–I would take five-minute breaks and eat the snack I’ve been hiding all throughout my room.
Never had I found one snack to be expired, for I know Jasmine always tells the maids to be thorough in cleaning my room. If not for her, then I would have been knee deep in mold, mushroom, and cockroaches by now.
I finish changing my sweaty clothes and rebinding my torso and hand before unlocking the door and meeting face-to-face with Jasmine.
She hums as she scrutinizes my appearance, licking her thumbs before fixing my bed hair. It’s been our tradition–Well, her tradition–to fix my appearance before I present myself to my mother and have her maids “dress” me.
“Good to go.” She mutters under her breath as she turns around, expecting me to follow her. “Now, the party will start at 9:00 a.m. which is 45 minutes from now. It’s a pool party, mostly for kids and tweens and young adults, which will end at about 11:30. I need you at the courtyard by the pool in half an hour. Got it?”
I nod my head.
A Serana birthday party is composed of three parts.
The morning party, where kids and teenagers can be free of their parent’s tight grip and enjoy the amenities provided by the manor. While the kids enjoy, the parents are led by my mother to a tour of the estate.
‘Although last I checked, mom was just day drinking, and the bastard was conning a few suits.’
“We’ll have the luncheon which the Caspians, Falcones, and the Waynes will attend–hopefully without too many bodyguards. Olgar will be here, however, so don’t worry much about security. Main course is Peking duck broiled in soy sauce as we have a Chinese diplomat in attendance.”
“Which one?”
“Peng Jin and his daughter, Peng Deilan.” Jasmine says with a hint of delight.
“Oh, Uncle Peng is coming? Cool.”
Jasmine sighs. “I don’t want you teasing Delian again, understand? Gotham is Beijing's sister city. Since we’re having trouble with a few villains and the Reaper, they’re also here to show support. That’s why the deputy mayor and the Waynes are coming, too.”
“Oh, that sister city thing does something? I thought it was all politics.”
The second part is the extravagant luncheon, which lets families enjoy a bountiful feast either separately or through their close ranks. This meal consists of nine courses, all of which were carefully made by the maid and mother herself through a two-day ritual.
Last is the soiree, where father entertains his business associates and mother feeds upon the gossip of Gotham and the nearby cities from the Adderall and cocaine-addict trophy wives of the city, all the while a semi-famous jazz band play their not-so-loud music.
“Who’s on for tonight?” I ask.
“Declan and Goon Zone.” She replies stoically. “Your father will not be arriving, however, as there have been reports of flights being canceled all over the country.”
I nod. “Good. Anything else on the itinerary?”
“Oh, you have a visitor. I didn’t have time to take his name, but he said that he is your friend and Bruce Wayne’s friend,” Jasmine says, shaking her head as if trying to remember something.
“I’ll greet him first. It might be my new prosthetics!” I grin gleefully, wiggling my fingers.
As I move past, she calls to me. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”
I run back and give her a wide hug before muttering, “Thanks, Miss Jo!”
The first floor is bound with activity, florist and bakers and newly hired waiters move with purpose in or around the main hall of the manor. With my lithe and small form, I quickly find my stride to the guest room where my visitor is waiting for me.
To my surprise, Olgar is there, too, alongside a dark-skinned bald man with piercing green eyes and a surprisingly muscular figure.
I nod at Olgar as he takes his leave, posting himself just behind the walls in case of an attack. I scrutinize the man before me, rifling through my memories in search of the reason I find him familiar.
“Hello. I’m Edmund. Who are you?” I greet him.
“Hello, friend.” He says through a familiar voice. “I see that the Ram’Ta Nateka is doing wonders upon your soul.”
My face morphs into shock as I rush forward and hug him. “J’onn! I can’t believe you’re here.”
He laughs like a grandfather on Christmas eve as he pats me on the back, returning my embrace for a moment. “It’s good to see you, too, friend.”
“You know you can just call me Edmund, right?” I say, removing the hug and looking at him with wide eyes.
“Well, alright, then, friend Edmund.” He says.
“Close enough.” I shrug before gazing at his peculiar form. Although I know his powers, I nonetheless ask him for the sake of my cover. “Wow, that’s… how do you look like that?”
“An ability of my species. Rest assured that it will last for the purposes of my stay here.” He says.
I tilt my head at his words, “You’re staying here?”
His eyes grow grim, the smile on his face dimming in response. “I am afraid there was a breach in the Justice League’s database. Every single hero, vigilante, and metahuman data held within has been extracted by an unknown enemy.”
My jaw trembles, “W-What–what does that mean for me? For my family?”
“That means I have been sent here by the League to protect you and your family until the threat has been eliminated or the files are retrieved. I have been chosen since I have a rapport with you.” He says.
“What about… Batman? Isn’t this his city?” I ask, whispering his name.
He shakes his head. “That is the reason I am here, friend Edmund. Batman’s identity is top-priority. If it is revealed, then his list of contacts and allies within the city–including yours and your family–is going to be the supervillain’s top target.”