1 The Overvoid

In the beginning, there was nothing.

A pure blank canvas in which nothing existed except power.

Power, that slowly gave shape and birth to nameless beings of immense power. They experimented with their powers, forging life within the Overvoid. Their early creations were flawed and failed, but they tried and tried again. Forever expanding their scope and understanding of what they could do until they eventually succeeded.

Some worked alone, some cooperated with one another. Sometimes they came together for singular moments. A constant shift that saw the once lifeless Overvoid, the blank canvas become abuzz with life and colour.

Yet, in their pursuit of creation, another being had gone unnoticed by them all.

One who did not exist in the small section of vibrance and chaos of creation, but existed alone within the far reaches of the blank canvas that had yet to be touched. They were weak, barely able to take shape as the rest of their brethren. Instead, only able to watch as others enjoyed what they could not.

Perhaps it was jealousy.

Perhaps greed.

Perhaps anger.

Or perhaps there was no reason for its action other than curiosity, but it too set to work. Using what limited power it could, this being attempted to create life of its own.

It succeeded.

But unlike the first creations of its brethren, its creations did not possess immense power or stability. They were flawed, weak and powerless, the power of the Overvoid, harmless to it and its brethren though it may be, to its creations, it was too much.

They were dying.

Fuelled by desperation to preserve its only success, its only proof of existence, it cast them out.

Amongst the beings of the Overvoid, there were two beings who stood above the rest, two beings whose power and skill with creation resulted in such vast worlds. It was those two that it targeted, their worlds the homes it decided to choose for its creations. Slipping one of its creations into each of the distinctive creations, it slinked away.

Its powers weaker than ever before, but still hanging onto life.

And so it waited.

Forgotten and alone.

But its successes were alive, preserved.

Their continued existence would prove that it was alive.

-X- Line Break -X-

The sounds that reverberated throughout the gym were loud, defeaning strikes as padded gloves rocketed against flesh. Feet shifted along with the mats, sweat slinked off his body as he closed in, fists smashing into the raised guard as he continually closed in upon his opponent, driving them further and further back into the corner of the ring.

As they were cornered, the striker came in even harder, blows raining down upon them even harder and faster than before. It was a brutal and unstoppable assault that saw the guard burst wide open and was followed up with a cross against the jaw.

Even with the thickly padded gloves and the helmet his opponent wore cushioning the blow. the strike held that much power behind it that the blow threw his opponents head right back. They teetered their, uneasily remaining on their feet before they fell to the ground, unmoving.

"I have to admit, he's impressive." One of the coaches noticed from the side, arms crossed, nodding his head, impressed by the showing. "Raw and little undisciplined, but that brutality of his, that'll get him far."

The fight had lasted no more than a single round, the aggressor never once going on the back foot, constantly closing and unleashing a never-ending plethora of powerful blows. There was not many at this age or level that could withstand such a sustained assault and in this case, the other fighter had not been able to either.

"I told you, coach, he's talented." The younger man by his side said, smiling happily. "I've seen a lot of students come through my school, never once have I seen someone with as much talent as him. Tried to get him to play football when he completely manhandled a few of my offensive linesmen. But I figured that you'd probably be able to do much more for him than I could.

"I do, but the problem is his attitude." The coach noted, frowning a little as he watched the cocky, smirk on the face of the young man as he looked on the unconscious fighter as people attended to him.

The young teen was no more than sixteen years old with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Relatively tall, slim, not looking nearly as strong as his surprisingly powerful punches would have one believe.

He enjoyed fighting, that was clear to see.

He was also incredibly talented, the unconscious fighter was one of his best and upcoming prospects, a sure win for the junior middleweight division. Yet he had been unable to land a single blow against someone whose footwork was shoddy and his punching form was awful.

His reflexes, speed and power were what won him the fight. Never once did he give the more experienced and skilled fighter a chance to go on the offensive. By denying him that chance, he was able to just wear down his defence to land that last finishing strike. Brutal, but in this case, effective.

"You'll have plenty of time with him. He's been expelled for excessive violence towards students. He's getting moved to Bayville next year." The other man informed him. "He's never one to shy away from a fight, often starts as many as others do, but he's always the one to finish them."

"So that's why you sent him to me? To sort out his attitude?"

The man laughed. "The teacher and coach in me would love to handle him myself, but I can't. Not only would my team not get on with him, but while I've dealt with difficult kids before, he's a little beyond my experience. From what I know though, you've dealt with worse. So, what'd you say? You going to take him on could definitely be top tier, even a world champion if you gave him a chance?"

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't make promises. He needs to be just as willing to change himself as I am." The coach explained. "What's his name?"

"Esau."

-X- Line Break -X-

Falling back with a grunt, the young black haired teen collapsed against the ground, holding his bloody nose as he looked up at the group of teens before him. They each wore similar clothing, tank tops, puffer jackets and ripped jeans, a stark contrast from the uniform that he wore.

"Man, this fucker is getting on my nerves." One of the thugs, stinking of smoke just like the rest of them were muttered. "Look at him, he's still wearing that shit even though he's the only one."

A fist cracked him across the cheeks, the lip being split as he fell to the side, blood dribbling down onto the muddy ground below him. A hand grasped hold of his hair and dragged him back to look up at the lead figure of this group.

"Do you think you're better than us, Jacob, is that it?" The teenager demanded. "You think those rich fuckers are gonna let someone like you from the East End into the prestigious Gotham Academy. No one in Gotham even gives a fuck about us lot. And seeing you try so hard really pisses me off."

Jacob smiled, chuckling lightly. "You're right, I do think I'm better than you. I'm smarter than you ever could be." Again, another punch struck him across the face, Jacob falling to the ground where the group began to kick at him, taking turns to beat on him. But Jacob with a groan, just pushed himself upright, spitting some blood onto the ground, ignoring the pain of his ribs. "Why does it bother you so much that I'm trying? Are you really that jealous?"

"Why the fuck would I be jealous, huh?" The thug questioned. "I could kill you right now and no one would care. Batman sticks mostly to Gotham Heights, the Police daren't enter the East End half the time. And besides, I've been recruited to join the False Face Society. I'm working for Black Mask."

"Really?" Jacob gasped out mockingly. "I never would have guessed from how you constantly brag about it."

"Whatever." The thug scoffed.

"What's wrong, not gonna kill me?" Jacob taunted. "Oh wait, you can't can you? What with the Joker on the loose, Batman and the cops are searching all over the city for him. This means, you can't do shit except beat me up, just like you always do. And here I thought you'd finally end this boring repetition of events and actually grow a fucking pair."

The thug rounded on him, gun drawn from his back and pointed directly at Jacob. "You think I won't still kill you?!" He snarled out and Jacob just smiled.

"Then do it then."

Before anything else could happen, sirens blared. "Come on, man, let's get out of here. It's not worth it." The lead thug looked down to see cop cars race past the alleyway they were in, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

"Once this is over, I'm going to kill you." The thug warned him and his little posse turning tail and running.

Jacob meanwhile smiled, withholding the urge to wince as his body protested at even the slightest of movements. "Oh, I'm counting on it."