Novelas y relatos de Batman Monologues

His voice cracked, but the madness in it was undeniable. “I AM CALLOWAY! DO YOU HEAR ME? I BUILT EMPIRES WHILE YOU WERE STILL CRAWLING AT YOUR MOTHER’S FEET! PEOPLE LIKE ME DON’T ROT IN CELLS. WE OWN THE PEOPLE WHO BUILD THEM!” His words still echoed down the corridor, wild, unrestrained, it sounded like it came from the throat of a mad man. “I’M UNTOUCHABLE! DO YOU HEAR ME? UNTOUCHABLE!” The veins in his neck bulged, his face red and slick with sweat as he smashed himself against the bars like a man possessed.

“I am a bad man… but I don’t want to be bad anymore. How about that?” He blinked at me. “You… don't want to be bad anymore?” “Not anymore.” I nodded. He stared at me for a second, like he was trying to decide if I was lying. “You won’t beat him?” he asked. I knew he meant Brian. Of course, he’d taken my Delta's side. “I won’t.” I said. He paused again. Then his small chin lifted slightly. “If you scare him…” he said, pointing at me, “…I’m like Batman. I’ll beat you. I have superpowers. See my hand.”

If the Alpha could kill a trusted man in an instant, who among them could speak of safety? Left alone with the clawmarks he’d left on furniture and a pulse ravenous with rhetoric, Damian began to pace and to talk — not to his men so much as to himself, to the emptiness that might hold answers. “How could he defeat me?” he kept saying, as if the repetition might stitch the impossible into sense. “That can’t be right. No one can beat me.”

Once, the darkness teased him while they were strolling in Taguig, told him that he had a ‘type’, making it seem like all the men he chose – and even the women he looked at – looks exactly like ‘him’. The same fluffy blackish-brown hair, the same soft pleading eyes, and the same rounded cheeks. That was awfully unfair. That wasn’t the darkness’ fault. The darkness only looked the way it did because he had given it that shape. He chose what he wanted to see, and he wanted to always see a shape of ‘him’. ‘Do you remember,’ he asked, ‘when only you were just darkness and shadows?’ ‘Jett,’ he chuckled as he replied in a deep voice, ‘I am the night. I am batman.’

His mouth twitches, and amusement flickers across his face as he runs a hand through his hair lazily. “Do I look like the staff?” he asks, voice heavy with arrogance. I hesitate, my heart still pounding in my chest. “Then who are you?” He tilts his head, his smirk widening, and then drops his voice into that familiar rasp from every childhood movie. “I’m Batman.”

LEONARDO's POV. For the bajillionth time, the soldier’s baton hits my jaw. I spit out more blood, laughing, as if this is just another Tuesday in my life. Roman, seated at his throne, stops his soldier to ask me. “Is something funny?” The soldier forces my head up as I reply, "Everything about you is fucking hilarious, Sinclair. Did you really have to chain me at the center of the palace?" His sadistic smirk answers before he even opens his mouth. "How else do I use you as a scape goat to warn other courageous idiots?"

“Well, my dear Goddess of love. Take care.” “It’s not the Godde-” I look up, seeing that he is already gone. I breathe out, finishing my sentence in a whisper. “Not the Goddess of love.” Who is he? Batman? “Thank you, Mike!” I shout into the tunnel, my voice echoing from the walls. But more than the burble of the water, nothing else reaches my ears in response. I climb out of the dirty passage with a deep sigh and after putting my newly bought gadget into the inside of my coat.

Anthony Gotham Everyone wouldn't stop fucking talking to me. Was it too much for a man to ask for a little peace and quiet? I gripped the sides of my head, spitting into the porcelain bowl of my washroom as more knocks banged away on the gold double doors of my chambers. “Bloody hell, show yourself!” I roared, glaring at the uniformed guard who stood pale-faced as the double doors swung open. I recognized him as one of the chumps that guarded the gates and turned back to the mirror with a barely concealed sneer.

Alex exhaled deeply, his chest heaving with the weight of his words. With a voice tinged with desperation and fervor, he implored, "Oh, Dear God, grant me the entirety of Your Might, the strength I need for this final onslaught. A thousand moons fang attack, fueled by 500 million dollars." The people started to yell, "Great attack!"

He can wax lyrical about Peter Parker for hours and I’m hoping this will be enough to distract him. “Peter’s only a boy,” Jackson says with a giggle, like I’m the silliest person on the planet. “But Batman is old like you.” Ouch. I’m not sure that 26 can be classified as teetering on the edge of the grave, but I guess to a 4-year old, it must seem pretty ancient. On par with middle-aged Batman, in fact. “Oh look, there’s your school up ahead. Are you excited to see all your friends?” I ask desperately.