A man sat in the middle of his home. The room around him was cloaked in shadows, not due to power failure or negligence, but by choice. Darkness gave him clarity. It dulled the distractions. It amplified the glow of the monitors before him—six, in total—each radiating a faint luminescent hue, bathed in shifting data, code, and diagrams. Their gentle hum was like music to him. He operated better like this. Solitude and silence, broken only by the murmuring breath of fans and the clicking of a keyboard, were his sanctum.
He leaned forward, the dim green light of a small camera blinking to life.
"Log-1098," he muttered, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He cleared his throat, then continued, his fingers steepled in front of his face. "The cellular bio-enhancers I acquired from the black market reacted aggressively to the solution. I don't think it's a matter of the compounds being faulty… more like something is missing. A key. A trigger. A stabilizing agent perhaps..."
His eyes flicked between monitors, watching graphs spike erratically. The hum of the camera continued. For several minutes, he recorded, delving into theories, hypotheses, and recent failures. Then he stopped. The feed cut with a beep, and the video log slid into a folder with thousands of others. Each file a tiny monument to obsession. To persistence.
Some of those files dated back nineteen years. A digital legacy, many of them salvaged and transferred from old hard drives, long discarded but never forgotten. The earliest were crude—childish even—drawn in Paint, written in broken grammar and scattered thoughts. But they marked the beginning. The inception of a dream.
Ethan Bradley had been working toward this since the age of nine.
Even as a child, Ethan was unnaturally gifted. His aptitude for biology, biophysics, bio-engineering, and biochemistry was so extraordinary that most assumed he was being groomed by elite academic institutions. But no. This was self-made brilliance. The kind born from obsession. The prefix "bio" before every field of interest was not incidental. It was intentional. Purposeful. Life itself fascinated him. Not just understanding it. Enhancing it. Evolving it.
He wanted to push it forward.
He wanted to push himself forward.
But that wasn't his only obsession.
From the moment he could read, he fell in love with superheroes. All of them. Vigilantes, caped crusaders, morally grey anti-heroes, world-breaking villains. He didn't just admire them. He studied them. Their morals, their choices, their designs, their powers. The idea of using strength not just to dominate—but to protect. That resonated with him deeply. He believed in it.
So much so, he became a soldier.
He was deployed in the Middle East, thrust into warzones with people he barely knew, ordered to kill people he knew even less. There, he learned the truth. Most soldiers didn't feel like heroes. They didn't feel proud. They felt like tools. Pawns in political games. And so, disillusioned, Ethan left.
He pursued science instead. His brilliance was undeniable. He helped push cancer treatments to new heights. He worked with underfunded labs to combat disease in third-world countries. He saved lives. Quietly. Without recognition. Still, deep inside, a question lingered.
Could he save the world in two ways?
By protecting the innocent… and punishing the wicked?
That dream, however, found no allies in reality. Red tape, bureaucracy, ethics committees—all tried to pull him down. To slow him. But from the age of nine, he'd worked on a single, impossible goal.
A "Superhuman Serum."
Not like the comic books, no. He knew better. Real life didn't follow comic logic. There were no magical formulas. No radioactive spiders or gamma rays. Just blood, cells, DNA, and pain.
"I'll find a way…" he whispered in the shadows.
He was a comic nerd to the core. His office was littered with limited edition figurines, posters, and graphic novels. One notification blinked at the corner of his monitor. He clicked it absentmindedly.
[Absolute Universe - Announcement Trailer Released]
"A new universe?" he muttered. "Some kind of Ultimate Universe copycat?"
He rolled his eyes. He preferred DC anyway. Marvel had its highs, sure—Spider-Man, especially—but he didn't trust the consistency. His favorite publisher had always been Image Comics. Spawn in particular.
He scrolled through the article.
"Darkseid and the Justice League's collision created a new universe that changes their core attributes... Batman is middle-class?!" he exclaimed, almost choking on his water. "What the hell? And why's he so huge?!"
He leaned back in his chair, chuckling.
His gaze drifted to the corner of the room.
A suit hung on a reinforced frame. It looked like a hybrid between medieval knight armor and a state-of-the-art military exo-suit. Sleek black metal with glowing red accents. Bulky yet somehow elegant. Next to it leaned a colossal sword—174 centimeters long—nearly as tall as the suit itself, which stood at 185 cm.
He had named it long ago: Dead Knight.
The concept came from his childhood. A superhero persona he had drawn countless times in notebooks, described in digital documents, visualized in dreams. Dead Knight was strong. Regenerative. Powerful enough that his body constantly repaired itself—flesh mending like something undead. A living dead man who fought with a blade the size of a man and wore armor forged to be his second skin.
It was still a dream. But he hadn't given up.
Ethan stood, walking toward the armor. His reflection glimmered faintly off the polished metal. He looked at himself. Average black hair, cut neatly. Dark eyes. A face that neither screamed handsome nor forgettable. His frame was lean, muscular. 179 cm tall. 178 lbs. Fit, disciplined. He had trained as rigorously as he studied.
On paper, his life seemed perfect.
But the truth? He was cursed.
Everyone he loved left. His foster parents—good, kind people—had died five years ago. He had no siblings, no close friends. Worse, his life seemed plagued by near-death experiences. First time he used a parachute? Almost died. Zoo trip as a kid? Nearly eaten by a lion due to a freak accident. At birth, his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. The doctors said he had a one-in-a-million chance to survive.
It felt as if reality itself wanted him dead.
Still… he survived.
He always survived.
The next morning began like any other. The sun peeked in through tightly drawn blinds. Ethan awoke, washed, brushed, ate a plain protein-filled breakfast, and jogged. Physical fitness was non-negotiable. After his run, he returned home, checked the calendar.
"Work day…" he sighed.
He packed his laptop, equipment, and drove to the [Presence Foundation]. A newly formed scientific institution that had quickly risen to prominence. Funded by shadowy investors, it attracted the best minds—and gave them freedom.
He liked the name. The Presence. A nod to DC's version of God. Subtle. Poetic.
The building loomed over him—tall, silver, unassuming. He stepped inside. The staff greeted him with smiles and nods. He returned them quietly. He preferred silence. He entered the elevator, pressing the button for the 66th floor.
His lab.
Spacious. Cluttered. Chemical vials, nanotech components, exo-suit blueprints. Prototypes of the Dead Knight armor were scattered like skeletons of forgotten dreams.
He got to work.
But today wouldn't be like the others.
He tapped his pencil against the desk. Eyes scanning lines of formulas. His gut twisted suddenly. A sensation he couldn't place. He stood. Looked around. Nothing.
Then—his heart seized.
Pain exploded in his chest. He collapsed.
Gasping. Panicking. Alone.
"No… not like this," he whispered, crawling across the lab floor, reaching, clawing.
His hand brushed against something.
[D.K.006]
The prototype serum. The culmination of two decades of work. He knew it was unstable. It overcharged cells, made them go berserk. It was as likely to kill him faster as it was to do anything.
But he had no choice.
He clawed his way up, barely able to hold the syringe.
With trembling fingers, he stabbed it into his spine.
He felt… nothing. Then… everything.
A rush. Then black.
"So… this is how it ends…" he thought, as his body slumped beside a cabinet, his eyes slowly dimming.
His final thoughts were calm.
Not a bad life, all things considered…
But death didn't take him.
He woke.
Gasping. Alive.
"What the hell…?"
He examined his body. It felt normal. Stronger, maybe. But he couldn't tell.
Then he looked around.
A red sky. The earth twisted like a cyclone had kissed New York and the Grand Canyon simultaneously.
"Am I in… hell?" he asked aloud.
He hadn't been a bad person. Why would he be here?
Then came the voice.
"Hello, Ethan Bradley."
He turned.
A man in a sharp suit. Mustache. Top hat. An aura of elegance. Timelessness.
"You seem familiar," Ethan said.
The man chuckled. "Hohoho! I suppose I should."
"Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I know everything about everyone."
"Santa?"
The man laughed, rich and hearty. "No. But you're not far."
"God?"
The man's smile widened. "A god. The one humanity created."
"…What?"
"I am The Presence. The One Above All. I am Odin. I am every comic incarnation of the divine. The God of Fiction."
Ethan stood frozen.
The silence between them stretched.
"…Did I succeed?" Ethan asked finally.
"In creating a superhuman serum? No."
Ethan's heart sank.
"But…" the man continued, "You were closer than anyone. And now, I offer you a gift."
"What?"
"A chance to live your dream. To enter the realm of your imagination."
"Wait—what?"
"DC. Marvel. Image. Dark Horse.Which one?"
Ethan hesitated.
Image was his favorite. But really only for Spawn and Invincible,the other guys were good as well and in terms of story writing and consistency it was the best. But it had It's weak points.
Marvel? Too unpredictable and inconsistent. Because of the movies it was saturated with avengers content nowadays while The X-men only get love through Logan. I love Marvel to death but they can do better.
Dark Horse? Gritty but limited. It wasn't as vast as the other ones and like its title it was dark,very horror based in a lot of It's works.
DC?
Detective Comics.
A universe of gods. Of gods among men.
When you think of "Super Hero".
In atleast 70-90% of the people you ask.
Three images will flash first.
Spider-Man from Marvel.
Batman from DC.
Superman from DC.
It was the first ever comic book he ever held.
The first time he saw The Dark Knight and The Big Blue Boy Scout hanging out as buddies he fell in love.
In love with the concept of helping those you can.
The nostalgia was strong with that one.
"…DC,Detective Comics." Ethan whispered.
The man nodded.
"So be it, Dead Knight."
And then everything exploded into light.
And Ethan's new story began.
"Just for a heads up,you will be in the Ab-" before The God of Fiction could finish his sentence he had already left.
To make Ethans journey better he had landed him in an unknown universe.
[The Absolute Universe]
"Godspeed,Dead Knight."