DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

Gotham.

Night fell again under a dense layer of clouds, faint arcs of lightning flickering in the sky.

The wind carried the promise of rain, as if heralding a storm, while the heavy clouds hung over the city like a shroud of death.

By the roadside near Gotham University, the cold evening breeze brushed over fallen leaves scattered on the ground.

A tall figure cloaked in white walked steadily along the dimly lit path. Beside him was a woman in a red evening dress, leaning gently on his arm. Her fiery presence contrasted starkly with the somber, cold wind that seemed to blend them into a hauntingly vivid scene.

Bardi.

Pamela Isley.

They had reached the university dormitory.

Today was the happiest, most fulfilling day of Pamela Isley's life. Yet it was also the hardest, most reluctant moment she had ever experienced.

"Are you sure this is okay?" she asked softly, looking up at him. "I could stay in the dormitory, but… maybe we could find a hotel? I just want to spend more time with you, or we could watch The Mark of Zorro, or… anything. Anywhere. I just want to be with you."

Her voice trembled with both hope and hesitation, her moist eyes brimming with reluctance as they searched his face.

To Pamela, meeting Bardi felt like the greatest blessing of her life. He was everything she could ever dream of: gentle, considerate, mature, steady, handsome, and extraordinary. He even avoided stepping on the green plants she loved so much, taking care of her mood in the most thoughtful ways.

He was like a prince straight out of a fairy tale, while she saw herself as a mere Cinderella, hopelessly intoxicated by his presence.

"There's no need," Bardi said with a soft chuckle. He gently ran his fingers through her fiery red hair, his touch light and tender. "It's beautiful," he added.

Pamela's face fell, her disappointment plain as her eyes dimmed. "Why? Am I not beautiful enough? Is my figure not good enough?"

The desolate wind blew past, tugging at her loose, fiery hair, making it seem as though flames were dancing around her tense, desperate face. She longed to throw herself into his arms, to be held tightly by him.

"Focus on your studies," Bardi said, his tone calm but firm. "And put your effort into the plants you love so much."

His words struck her like a blow. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her expression crumbled into sadness.

But then, in the next moment, his follow-up words ignited a warm, fiery spark in her chest.

"I don't want just a fleeting moment. I want your future."

To Bardi, the true value of Pamela Isley lay in her inevitable transformation into Poison Ivy. She was destined to become a formidable force, and he couldn't afford to squander such potential on something as fleeting as physical gratification.

Every step of his plan was calculated, and he played her emotions like a master musician plucking the strings of an instrument.

To Pamela, he was the perfect Prince Charming. To Bardi, she was a seed he was carefully cultivating, ensuring she would grow into something much more valuable in time.

If he gave in to her now, she might consider it enough and move on. But leaving her wanting more, leaving her longing for him would keep her tethered to him, her desire for him fueling her motivation to seek him out again.

"I'll take care of the rest of your tuition and living expenses," Bardi continued, his smile calm and reassuring. "You don't need to work at the Carmine Hotel anymore. All I need you to do is focus on your studies and the plants you love so much."

Pamela blinked in surprise, her emotions shifting again. She hesitated for a moment before asking with a shy smile, "Is this… is this you taking care of me?"

Bardi tilted her chin up gently and leaned in, his lips capturing hers in another deep, lingering kiss. When they finally broke apart, her breath was shaky, her eyes glazed with emotion.

"Call it whatever you want," he murmured in her ear, his voice low and magnetic. "I want your future."

Pamela wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself close to him as her lips sought his once more.

When they finally separated, both their clothes were rumpled and disheveled, testament to their passion.

Bardi, however, was the one to stop things from going further. "Go back to your dormitory," he said, his tone steady but warm. "Study hard. Focus on the things you love. And, in the future, come and help me."

Pamela nodded reluctantly, biting her lower lip to hold back the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She didn't want to leave him, didn't want this moment to end.

"In the future… how will I find you?" she asked softly.

"Metropolis," Bardi replied with a confident smile. "Very soon, everyone in Metropolis will know my name. You won't have to look far to find me."

Pamela hesitated before stepping away, turning back to glance at him every few steps. Her heart ached at the sight of him standing there, tall and radiant even in the dark night.

"You look stunning in red. I like it," Bardi called out to her. "But I know you love green, so I've sent a green evening dress to your dormitory. It should arrive soon."

Pamela couldn't hold back any longer. She turned and ran straight toward Bardi, throwing herself into his chest. She collided with his firm frame and kissed him again, a deep, suffocating kiss filled with passion and regret.

When she finally pulled back, her voice was decisive: "After I finish college, I'll go to Metropolis."

Bardi looked at her with satisfaction, his expression calm yet meaningful. "No matter what happens, I'll be waiting for you."

To become Poison Ivy.

Pamela finally turned and left, her steps firm and resolute.

Bardi stood silently, watching her retreating figure as she entered the dormitory. Then he turned around.

In an instant, the gentle and composed expression on his face disappeared, replaced by cold indifference. A faint but chilling aura of murderous intent emanated from him.

He strode out of Gotham University. His white figure, stark against the dark night, moved like a ghostly presence, appearing suddenly and vanishing just as quickly.

Once outside the university and farther away, his steps suddenly grew heavier.

Boom!

With a single stomp, Bardi's white Martin boots cracked the ground beneath him, creating a massive, web-like crater.

He stood in the center of the crater, his white trench coat fluttering behind him in the night breeze. Dust and dead leaves scattered in the air, while the nearby streetlights flickered faintly. His tall, slender figure remained unmoving, stark white and impossibly clean against the shadowy surroundings.

The next moment, he vanished, launching himself into the air with immense force. He soared forty meters high, the height of a ten-story building, his white trench coat billowing as he moved through the night like a streak of light.

The cold wind lashed at his face as he rose and fell, leaping across Gotham's rooftops. His feet never touched the ground as he continued his swift, relentless movements, leaving cracked tiles and sunken corners in his wake.

The night deepened, the sky heavy with clouds. Thunder flickered intermittently above, as though teasing the rain that refused to fall. The only sound was the howling of the desolate wind.

Bardi's white trench coat fluttered incessantly as he flew through the city.

Boom!

Another leap, and the corner of a roof collapsed beneath his landing. The structure groaned, but its foundation held steady.

Inside the building, a lively banquet was underway. Guests sipped red wine and chatted merrily, their laughter filling the room.

Then came a thunderous crash from above. The ground beneath their feet trembled slightly as chunks of the roof caved in, steel and concrete debris scattering across the floor. Dust rained down, coating their fine clothes and drinks.

The room erupted in chaos.

"What the hell was that?" one guest yelled, brushing debris from his suit.

Suddenly, someone near the window gasped. "What is that?"

Everyone turned to see what he was pointing at.

Through the broken ceiling and the dim light of the night sky, they saw a white figure leaping gracefully through the air. Each jump covered dozens of meters, his form moving in and out of the shadows before disappearing entirely.

"My God! What is that?"

"Is that a person?"

"Is it… a ghost?"

"It's a ghost! A white ghost!"

"Ghost!"

The murmurs turned to panicked whispers. Some people trembled with fear, their imaginations running wild.

That night, many in Gotham caught glimpses of the white figure. The story spread quickly, evolving into rumors of a supernatural event. People called it "The White Ghost," and the legend began to grow.

Meanwhile, Bardi finally reached his destination: a large warehouse in a rundown industrial district.

He landed with a loud crash, his boots slamming into the ground and forming yet another crater. Dust billowed around him, his white trench coat flaring out dramatically in the swirling air.

He stood tall in the center of the pit, his pristine figure gleaming even in the shadows.

Bardi's cold eyes locked onto the closed doors of the warehouse. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, the trench coat trailing behind him swayed slightly, brushing against the ground as he walked.

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