The swamp was not welcoming. It did not open its arms or greet him with warmth. It simply was, as it always had been—an ancient presence, patient, unmoving, yet alive in ways that humans could barely perceive. Eli Mercer had spent his life surviving the chaos of Gotham, but here the chaos was different. It didn't need sirens or shouting or burning buildings. It pulsed beneath his feet, in the water around him, in the trees that leaned slightly as if curious, not hostile.
He waded into the murky water, boots sinking slowly into the soft mud beneath the surface. Each step tugged at his legs, each movement reminded him that the earth itself was alive. He could feel its tension under the weight of his feet, a faint pressure that wasn't pain, but attention. His gray skin, the first gift—or curse—he had noticed in Gotham, seemed to respond to it, prickling where it shouldn't, as though the swamp recognized him as an anomaly.
"You should not have come here alone," a voice rumbled, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Eli stopped.
Swamp Thing emerged slowly from the water, moving with a grace that belied his massive frame. He did not stride or roar. He simply was, and the swamp parted for him, its plants and mud bending subtly without effort. His eyes—green as the moss on old bark, sharp and thoughtful—locked on Eli with an intensity that made Eli's chest tighten.
"You are alive," Swamp Thing said, his voice calm but measured. "And yet the Green knows you."
Eli swallowed. "Yeah," he said. "I feel it."
"You were not chosen," Swamp Thing continued. "You were not prepared. You were… noticed."
Eli frowned. "Not chosen? Not prepared? That sounds like a warning."
"It is," Swamp Thing said. "The Green observes what it cannot ignore. It senses potential. And potential must be tested."
The sensation under Eli's feet deepened. Not roots. Not vines. Not plant matter overtaking flesh. Just pressure, like invisible threads connecting him to something vast, something eternal, something older than memory. He felt them tug, not forcibly, but insistently, suggesting, coaxing, tempting him to let go of himself and let the Green guide his hands, his instincts, his choices.
"I don't want this," Eli said. "I don't want to be anyone's tool. I don't want to be… like you."
Swamp Thing tilted his head. "Like me, you say? I was once human too. I have lived what you now resist. You are… fortunate, in a way. You can still choose."
Eli felt a shiver. He looked down at his hands, imagining what it might feel like to surrender. To let go of the decision-making, the restraint, the constant calculation that allowed him to survive. There was comfort in the idea. There was also fear.
The Green tugged again, softer this time, almost coaxing. It whispered of ease, of rest, of peace in submission. It didn't shout commands. It didn't promise power. It promised freedom from responsibility—freedom from thought, from choice, from consequence.
Eli shook his head. "No. I can't."
"Good," Swamp Thing said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Resistance is a test. A hard one. And yet, the Green respects it."
Eli glanced around. The swamp seemed to lean closer, to listen. He realized that even the distant trees, the insects, the water itself, were aware of the choice he was making. The Green was patient. It would wait. It would not abandon him. But it would not stop trying, either.
"I'm not your servant," Eli said quietly, almost to himself. "I'm not anyone's weapon."
"You are not a weapon," Swamp Thing replied. "And yet, that is what the Green would see you as, if you allowed it."
A cool breeze swept through the swamp, disturbing the water at Eli's knees. He felt the pressure lessen slightly, as if the world had acknowledged his refusal. But even as it receded, the memory of the tug remained, a subtle vibration beneath his skin, under his muscles, under his very consciousness. He understood instinctively that it would not stop. The Green would continue to probe, to test, to whisper. It was patient. It could wait centuries if it had to.
"You will be tested," Swamp Thing said. "You will be tempted. You will be offered control, ease, absolution. And it will all seem… natural. Persuasive. Beautiful."
Eli's lips tightened. "And if I fail?"
"Then you will be like many before you," Swamp Thing said. "Lost. Assimilated. A shadow of yourself. But not yet. Not today."
He stepped closer, massive hands resting on the water's surface without sinking. "Remember this: power is not a gift. It is a responsibility. You may bend it. You may wield it. But you cannot let it bend you."
Eli nodded, swallowing hard. He felt the tug again, faintly, reminding him of the warmth of surrender he could never allow. His heart pounded. For the first time, he realized that the struggle wasn't external. It had always been internal. Staying human, staying himself, would always require vigilance. Every step forward was a choice. Every moment of restraint was a declaration.
"Why me?" Eli asked finally. "Why now? Why notice me at all?"
"Because you still choose," Swamp Thing said simply. "Even in a world that tries to erase choice, even in a city that would make you another weapon or another corpse, you continue to decide. That is why the Green is interested. That is why you matter."
Eli exhaled slowly. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep doing that."
"You are," Swamp Thing replied. "Stronger than you think. Stronger than most who resist even their own nature. But that strength must be tested. The world will remind you every day that you are fragile. The Green will remind you that you are more than fragile. Both are true. And you must balance them."
Eli felt the weight of those words. They pressed against his shoulders, not like physical weight, but like a truth too large for words. He understood that his life in Gotham, his gray skin, his unusual strength—all of it—was just the beginning. The real challenge was invisible. Constant. Internal.
"I'll try," he said, voice steady. "I'll try to keep choosing."
Swamp Thing watched him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Then you are… on the right path. For now. Be aware: the Green notices even what is not spoken. Even what is refused. Stay awake."
Eli stepped back toward the trail that would lead him home. The swamp seemed to pulse around him, a living entity breathing just beneath his awareness. The tug of the roots lingered faintly, a sensation he could not shake. He didn't fear it anymore. He simply recognized it, acknowledged it, and kept walking.
For the first time since Gotham had called him to action, he realized something fundamental: survival wasn't just about avoiding bullets or burning buildings. It was about resisting the pull, the temptation, the easy choice. It was about staying human in a world that wanted him to be more than human, less than human, something other.
And as he left the swamp behind, his boots sinking into soft mud for the last time, he understood that this was only the beginning.