Bruce Wayne silently thanked Alfred for always insisting he take his Shark Repellent Bat-spray on every mission.
"You should always expect the unexpected, Master Bruce," his wise old valet had said. "And few things are more dangerous than an unexpected shark attack."
It always sounded eccentric, but Bruce knew better than to doubt the wisdom of his mentor, and that wisdom had certainly paid off. He'd barely processed that he was drowning before that great man-eater had lunged for him.
The last thing he remembered was being locked in battle with Ra's al Ghul. His old enemy claimed he was on the verge of acquiring some ancient books from an old wizard. Books that would finally allow him to reshape the world in his own image. In his early days as a vigilante, the World's Greatest Detective would have dismissed his rantings as irrational. But the Dark Knight had seen many strange things in his long, hard, fabled career. Things that defined the laws of nature as he knew them. If these books were as powerful as Ra's implied, the Caped Crusader needed to take the threat deadly seriously.
But Bruce had no recollection of what had happened between grabbing Ra's by the throat and being immersed in darkness, aware of nothing but the taste of salt water filling his mouth. He'd managed to struggle to the surface, fend off the attacking shark, and was now crawling his way up the beach. He made sure he was well away from the tide before assessing his situation.
There were no signs of civilization around him. The indigo sky above was lit by a blazing purple sun. This wasn't his Earth. He was sure of it. But he had experience with alien worlds and alternate dimensions. Whatever this place was, it couldn't keep him.
There was some damage to his cape and to his batsuit, but it was thankfully purely cosmetic. He'd suffered no injury. As much as he paid Alfred Pennyworth, it would always be less than his faithful valet deserved.
He still had his utility belt. He quickly checked all the tools he had brought in it and found they seemed to be in working condition. He has his "wonderful toys." He'd had it rougher than this before. He'd been in situations without his armor or equipment, needing to rely on just his raw strength and intellect, and had still triumphed.
There was no one-size-fits-all contingency plan for dealing with the multi-verse. He had no idea what kind of adversary he was up against, be it sentient or the environment itself. He'd have to find out. He'd have to adapt and improvise. His greatest tool wasn't on his utility belt; it was inside his skull.
He had to get back to Gotham. It wasn't just that city he had a love-hate relationship with that was depending on him; it was the entire world. His intellect and grim determination would get him there. It was only a matter of time.
As Bruce made his way inland, it wasn't long until he encountered...
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