Chapter 22
"I am not afraid of an army of lions if they are led by a lamb; I am afraid of an army of sheep if they are led by a lion."
— Alexander the Great
The next day came.
Morning bled across the gray walls of Arkham Asylum like a slow, ominous drip.
Two guards strutted down the corridor, grinning like fools.
They thought today would be their entertainment—watching Matthew break.
After all, last night they'd thrown him into a cell with two women they thought would make him scream.
Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.
"They'll eat him alive," one of them laughed.
"Ain't no man walks out of a cage with those two."
They opened the door.
Their smirks died instantly.
There he stood—Matthew.
Calm. Cold. Alive.
Not only alive—but in control.
Behind him, Harley Quinn leaned on the wall, smiling like she'd just met a god.
And beside her, Poison Ivy—freed from her bindings.
The oversized cuffs and heavy collar once bolted around her wrists and throat? Broken.
Cracked open like brittle glass.
Before the guards could shout, the earth beneath them moved.
Vines slithered up like snakes.
Fast. Hungry. Violent.
Matthew turned to Ivy.
"Kill them," he said softly. "They're not innocent."
Ivy didn't blink.
The vines obeyed, curling around the guards' throats and snapping their necks with effortless force.
Matthew didn't flinch. He walked over the bodies and picked up their weapons.
He found a pair of black metal pipes.
His favorite.
Solid. Heavy. Cold.
He tossed the guns toward Harley without even looking.
"Here," he said. "Guns are boring."
He spun the pipes in his hands and exhaled.
"Time to start the party."
The keys jingled in his hand as the sirens in Arkham howled like mad wolves.
Red lights. Blaring alarms. Screams in the distance.
Chaos had come.
Matthew moved like smoke—room to room, cell to cell.
He looked inside each.
Some prisoners were nothing—petty thieves, addicts, nobodies.
He left them alive. Locked in.
But others?
Killers.
The kind that deserved it.
The kind who smiled when they talked about blood.
He didn't hesitate.
Didn't speak.
Didn't warn.
He rushed in and buried the pipe into their chests, skulls, and throats.
One by one, they fell.
Guards poured in, shouting orders.
Harley and Ivy met them like dancers in a twisted ballet.
Harley giggled while cracking arms and twisting legs in the wrong direction.
Ivy let her vines do the work—no blood, just pain.
They didn't kill.
Not yet.
Just like Matthew told them.
Arkham shook.
A riot without rules.
A war without mercy.
But then—he flew.
Matthew's body crashed through the air and slammed into the ground like a meteor at Harley's feet.
She gasped.
Blood poured from his mouth.
And from the smoke—he came.
Walking.
Towering.
Breathing like a dragon.
Bane.
Every step the beast took sounded like thunder.
Every muscle screamed power.
Even Harley's madness blinked.
Her wild eyes trembled.
She should've run.
Every voice in her head told her to.
But she didn't.
She stood by Matthew.
Trembling hands, lips pressed shut.
Matthew coughed blood and looked up.
Saw her.
Still there.
He chuckled.
"God," he whispered. "That was a wake-up call."
Harley exhaled a shaky laugh.
Poison Ivy crouched beside them, eyes watching Bane.
The titan didn't speak.
Just stared.
Respect?
Or hunger?
Matthew stood.
Wobbled.
But stood.
He let go of the pipe and cracked his neck.
Then he walked toward Bane.
No words.
No fear.
The asylum held its breath.
Even the guards stopped.
Even the killers.
Even the walls.
And then it happened.
They collided like storms.
Two titans.
Punch after punch.
Flesh on flesh.
Bone against bone.
No backing down.
No dodging.
Just raw, merciless brawling.
Blood sprayed.
The air cracked.
Matthew shattered part of Bane's mask.
Bane broke three of Matthew's ribs.
Still, they didn't stop.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
They fought like animals.
No technique.
Just violence.
And after what looked like hours of this crazy brutal fight
Bane landed a final punch—brutal and thunderous—into Matthew's chest.
Bones cracked.
Matthew staggered.
His body tilted.
He was falling—
—but his hand reached out and grabbed Bane's arm.
He didn't fall.
His eyes rolled white, lips dripping red.
But he stayed up.
Bane looked down at him.
And for the first time—he looked impressed.
This was no boy.
No lunatic.
This was a force of nature.
And then—something broke.
Not in bone or flesh.
But something deeper.
A human limit.
The line every man was born with.
This one was Endurance.
Pain tolerance.
The boundary between what we can take and what we can't.
Matthew shattered it.
His eyes snapped open, and his fist moved faster than thought.
It landed on Bane's chest.
Just one hit.
The sound echoed like thunder.
Every window rattled.
Every heart stopped.
Bane flew backward and hit the wall.
His breath caught in his lungs.
And then—he didn't move.
Silence.
The asylum was still.
Everyone stared.
Harley's mouth hung open.
Poison Ivy blinked.
Matthew wiped the blood from his mouth.
Looked down at his trembling hand.
And smiled.
He didn't say it aloud, but they all knew—
This was just the beginning.
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