Bruce Wayne Novels & Stories

The boy screamed as he began falling through developing gap toward water flowing forty feet below. Without hesitation transcending tactical evaluation, the Shadow Knight moved with transformed capability beyond physical limitation. His midnight substance extended across intervening distance without requiring conventional traversal, cosmic awareness perceiving precise intervention necessary for civilian protection beyond operational objective. Constellation patterns shifted within extended essence as forgotten souls contributed collective determination regarding innocent preservation beyond military engagement.

I started punching the bag without any safety gear on my hands. I felt as if I was punching that girl – Sheryl. She looked a lot like her mother. Only her eyes were like her father's. I punched at the same place again and again, and soon it was soaked with my blood, but the pain in my knuckles and in my fingers excited me in a twisted way. “Alpha.” I stopped when I heard Bruce’s calm voice behind me. I didn’t even glance at him but held the punching bag. Bruce was a warlord, and his specialization is ancient dark magic.

“What’s this, hmm? My little soldier refusing orders?” Alan’s pout deepened. “It’s the morning one, Mom. The worst! I don’t want it.” Richard came to sit on the other side of the bed, arms folding across his broad chest as he gave Alan a mock stern look. “So what? You think real heroes only eat candy? Even Batman takes his vitamins.” Alan wrinkled his nose. “Batman doesn’t have gross medicine!” “Oh, trust me, champ. He does. How else do you think he runs around Gotham all night? Strong medicine, strong hero.” Richard winked, trying not to laugh.

“So what does that make him? A boss?” He tilted his head. “It makes him the boss.” My stomach tightened. “I don’t mean ‘rich guy who gets his hands dirty sometimes,’” Cruz added. “I mean the man who sits at the top. The kind of name people whisper across oceans. You think Bruce scares people? Ryan makes men disappear without lifting a finger.” I went still. “You knew this already,” Cruz said gently. “You just didn’t want to believe it.” I didn’t respond. Because he was right.

It’s then that we see two headlights heading our way. The car comes to stop about 15 feet from us and out come two human police detectives. One them I know. Scott Buckingham, a good-looking guy (well, good-looking as far as humans go) with deep brown eyes and light brown hair that always looks like he has bed head. Add to that his slightly crooked smile that shows off his perfectly arranged, white teeth and he has the kind of easy, all-American boy good looks that you’d expect to find in a movie about a high school football team. Except he’s no longer a high school student, instead he’s actually my age. The other guy, shorter and stockier than Scott but cute in his own way with reddish-brown

Arthur, the Eighth Brother. He looked like a man who had spent his life building bridges of steel while his brothers built bridges of starlight. He carried a cane topped with a simple silver wolf’s head, and behind him stood a legion of soldiers in "Null-Armor"—suits designed to absorb kinetic energy and ground it into the earth.

He‍ stood s‍ix-foot⁠-five, his bro‍a‌d ches‍t covere‌d in sca‌rs, h‍is eyes glowing wi⁠th⁠ an un‌st⁠able, yellow Alpha light. ‍Brutus. Vance's‍ ch‌ie⁠f beta enf⁠orc‌er, and the man⁠ w‌hose thumb I had bit‍ten off t‍hr‌‌ee years ago when I fled the⁠‍ esta‍te⁠.

Is he a part of the Mafia or what? How can someone has brutal as this still exist. Jail he should to to jail. Fuck am calling the police. God......look at that body.... The chest which stood like an holy ground where I won't mind offering a prayer, then the v-line on his hips, just like a call of duty. A duty that would make you want to rip off his towel and show what's hidden behind to the world. Right in front of me is Xavier, well not just Xavier, a naked Xavier.

November laughed, “I don’t know why I’m laughing. That is so funny but at the same time, it isn’t. Should I start calling you Bruce Wayne?” “I prefer Batman.” “You’re just that kind of guy huh.” She teased. “I’m just that kind of guy.” Leonidas agreed well naturedly. November giggled and she barely giggles she realized. Leonidas wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her close to him. They stopped in front of the Cinema house and stared at the on showing movies. “What about that?” Leonidas pointed at one move poster. November winced. Really. The Howling? “Isn’t that an old movie?”

Always will be. His name is Clark Kent Scott. Two years younger than his age, excluding those centuries of years that were falsified in his renewable birth certificate, and let him believe he is a pure human like Clark. Nicholae addressed him by his nickname, CK. His devoted and empathetic personal assistant for eight years and counting.