Gotham City Port
Gotham City. A place where the most dangerous and vile villains thrived. Drug dealers ran rampant, and crime was nearly impossible to stop.
To combat this plague infecting a city most would avoid, one man stepped forward. A rich billionaire, broken by the murder of his parents in a dark alley, dedicated his life to justice. After years of relentless training, he returned to the city and became the one thing criminals feared.
Batman.
From the lowest street thug to the Black Mask himself, all feared him. Merely gaining his attention was enough to send shivers down the spines of the city's underbelly. Because of this, most assumed anyone who didn't want to be found would steer clear of the one place that housed the world's greatest detective.
But assumptions were often wrong.
Out on the docks of Gotham, where all sorts of deals—legal and otherwise—were made, something shimmered into view at the edge of the pier, where the water swayed.
A figure emerged from thin air, his form warping into sight as if peeled from reality itself. Deoxys examined himself and nodded in satisfaction. It had worked. The invisibility had actually worked. He had never used it before, but after an hour of flying over the ocean, testing methods, and adapting his powers, he'd finally found a solution.
By manipulating a Light Screen around himself, he had created a cloak—an illusion that bent light and rendered him effectively invisible. Whether it could bypass advanced sensors remained uncertain, but for now, it served his needs. Especially since he had a lingering suspicion that someone had been following him.
'I know it hides my heat signature pretty well,' he thought, 'but I don't know if it hides it perfectly... further testing is required.'
There was nothing more he could do to test the ability here, and so Deoxys turned his attention to the question he'd been avoiding.
What now?
He had spent most of his life in space, drifting through the void aboard a meteor, with one goal: Earth. And now that he was here, what was his purpose? His past self might have played the hero, maybe even built a harem of beautiful women for his amusement.
But now… those ideas felt hollow.
Why help the weak, when the strong dictated the rules? Why chase after fleeting desires that sparked no emotion in him? These questions lingered in his mind, questions most humans either avoided or were too distracted to ask.
He had contemplated them all—alone in the silence of space. And through that introspection, one truth had revealed itself: power defined freedom. If you were strong enough, you could do whatever you pleased. It didn't matter whether you called yourself a hero or a villain. One side would love you. The other would hate you.
Enemies would come either way.
Villains, from what he recalled of human memories, were often broken souls succumbing to instinct. Heroes weren't so different—many threw away peace, love, or stability for some lofty ideal or the attention of a single girl.
Motivations, reasons, values… all of them existed on both sides. Good and evil were subjective illusions, societal constructs used to control the powerful.
Take death, for example. If a man killed a child, most would cry out in horror. But if it came to light that the man had done so to protect his infant from the armed child, the tone would change in an instant.
Those who saved lives while taking others were often condemned. It was common. And it all reinforced one simple truth: morality was merely a tool to guide—or cage—those with strength.
Deoxys was not most people. And because of that, he started walking deeper into the port, moving away from the lapping waters and toward the shadowed buildings, his mind weighing the benefits of each path.
'If I choose to be a good guy, I'll get ridiculed if I kill someone,' he mused. 'But if I choose to be a villain, I'll be hunted constantly. I can't even walk into a store without drawing attention from heroes or cops… What a tiring situation to be in.'
The dilemma had no easy answer. And for now, he decided to set it aside. There was a more immediate concern: shelter.
To live in this world, he needed a home. And to get a home, he needed money—something he didn't have. Currency ruled the human world. Without it, he couldn't participate in society at all. Given that he technically hadn't existed until a few hours ago, acquiring any through legal means would be impossible.
But Deoxys didn't panic. He had no need to.
Instead, he relied on the most powerful weapon in his arsenal—his mind. With his psychic abilities, no obstacle was insurmountable. He could simply find someone with a house, use a touch of mind control, and claim the residence as his own.
Simple. Efficient.
Still, the longer he remained exposed, the higher the risk. The Justice League, or anyone with half a brain and enough surveillance, could track him down with ease. He needed to blend in.
Stopping in his tracks, Deoxys focused his energy inward. His form shifted and contorted, melting and reshaping until his glowing gem became a necklace and his alien body transformed into a set of clothes. A moment later, standing in his place was a man with messy black hair, pale skin, and light white eyes.
His true, imposing form was now the fabric that clothed him. The transformation was complete.
[IMAGE]
He looked down at a puddle, observing his reflection with quiet approval.
This new appearance was a blend of his old human appearance and his current body—a perfect camouflage.
'Now that that's taken care of,' he thought, 'I should start looking for a suitable home before it gets dark.'
With his new objective clear, Deoxys stepped away from the dock and vanished into the shadows of Gotham, ready to make his own place in this world.
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Sorry for the late update! I've been sick on and off this entire week and last. Now that I'm starting to feel better I decided to finally finish this chapter. The next one should not take as long as this time.
Hope everyone understands! I'll see everyone in the next chapter!
Power Stones for my hard work? (-.-)Zzz・・・・