Chapter 793 "Catwoman's Revenge" (2)
Indeed, despite her animosity towards her adversary, Catwoman maintained a semblance of rationality, a facet of her personality that remained steadfast during daylight hours—a testament to the dual nature bestowed upon her by the enigmatic power of the Egyptian cat Goddess.
By day, she exuded an air of normalcy, marked by rationality and a polite demeanor. However, as night descended, her persona underwent a metamorphosis, embracing a more feral and emotionally charged disposition.
"Let's skip the formalities," Jerry interjected, shaking his head before employing his magical prowess. With a flick of his tail, a dense cloud of smoke enveloped the suited figure, obscuring him from view.
This simple yet effective enchantment, known as the smokescreen spell, unfolded swiftly before Catwoman's eyes. Without hesitation, she retrieved a cat head mask from her compact leather bag, donning it as she leaped into the swirling mist.
Moments later, the cacophony of combat erupted within the haze, signaling Catwoman's engagement with her adversary.
Despite the man in the suit's proficiency as a seasoned bodyguard and assassin, Catwoman's augmented abilities, courtesy of the Egyptian cat god's blessing, rendered her a formidable opponent.
Subduing her foe with ease, she emerged from the fray, dragging the incapacitated man back to their concealed sanctuary. Though formidable in his own right, the man's strength paled in comparison to Catwoman's enhanced physical prowess and heightened senses, courtesy of her divine lineage.
"Speak," Catwoman demanded, her voice laced with fury as she confronted the man in the suit. "You ended the life of a young girl two nights past. A girl with such promise. Why?"
With an assertive flourish, Catwoman straddled the prone figure, rousing him from unconsciousness with a flurry of vigorous slaps. Her gaze bore into his, her nails poised dangerously close to his eyes.
"If you dare to deceive me, be warned that your sight will be forfeit," she hissed menacingly.
"You should count yourself fortunate we're not in the Marvel universe. Fury would have little patience for your ilk." Jerry thought to himself as he saw the menacing figure Catwoman had become.
As Catwoman pressed the man for answers, Jerry couldn't help but inwardly lament the unfolding interrogation. Torturous as it was to witness, it seemed a necessary evil in their pursuit of justice.
After extracting the desired information through less-than-gentle means, Catwoman pinned the blame squarely on George and Laurel.
Rendering the man unconscious once more, Catwoman swiftly made her exit with Jerry perched upon her shoulder.
"Obliviate!" Jerry commanded, casting a spell of forgetfulness upon the suit-clad assailant.
Recalling the dire consequences of sparing the man's life, as depicted in the original movie, Jerry ensured that history would not repeat itself.
By erasing the man's memory, he preemptively thwarted any potential retaliation from Laurel.
"Fret not. I've erased his memory," Jerry reassured Catwoman as they departed, leaving behind a bewildered and disoriented man, unaware of the events that had transpired.
Observing Catwoman's lingering hesitation, Jerry felt compelled to offer reassurance.
"Though Catwoman's demeanor has undergone significant change, her innate kindness remains steadfast, particularly in the light of day," Jerry elucidated, acknowledging her enduring moral compass.
While Catwoman harbored a penchant for theft, her aversion to taking lives remained resolute.
"Your help is appreciated. Without your cooperation, today's success may have been more elusive," Catwoman expressed earnestly as they departed from the Hedarel's Beauty factory, her gratitude genuine.
Jerry, however, adopted a more matter-of-fact tone. "Once our business here concludes, if it's convenient for you, transport me to Gotham."
Gotham, renowned as the epicenter of criminal activity within the DC universe, stood as the stomping ground of the legendary Batman.
Positioned adjacent to Superman's Metropolis, the city teemed with nefarious elements, offering ample opportunity for Jerry to accrue the elusive red stars needed to replenish his magical reserves.
Catwoman's reaction to Jerry's request was one of incredulity. "Gotham? That's arguably the most perilous and tumultuous city in the entire United States."
Robberies, heists, gunfights, contraband, and human trafficking—while prevalent in other urban centers—lurked largely in the shadows. In Gotham, however, such criminal enterprises operated brazenly, dominating the city's headlines with alarming regularity.
However, Catwoman quickly dismissed her concerns after witnessing Jerry's magical prowess. As midnight descended upon the city, Catwoman, clad in a sleek black leather jacket and wielding a petite whip, gracefully leaped across the rooftops.
By her side, a miniature winged cat, scarcely larger than a palm, effortlessly trailed behind her at a distance of one meter.
"Why do you insist on keeping your distance?" Catwoman inquired, casting a reproachful glance toward Jerry as they bounded across the urban landscape.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Jerry retorted, "Because I prefer not to be constantly pestered."
In contrast to her daytime demeanor, Catwoman's nocturnal persona bore a closer resemblance to her feline companions.
Driven by instinct, she often found herself compelled to engage in tactile interactions with Jerry, prompting him to maintain a safe distance by levitating with a spell rather than perching upon her shoulder as he did during daylight hours.
"You're a cat. What harm could a little contact do? Besides, I promise to keep it minimal," Catwoman protested, her expression one of genuine perplexity. After all, she reasoned, she had merely offered a few affectionate strokes upon their departure. Why the aversion?
Jerry simply shook his head, unwilling to entertain the discussion further.
While a gentle back rub might be construed as a pleasant massage, Catwoman's tendency to escalate her tactile affections beyond boundaries left Jerry feeling decidedly uncomfortable.
While Catwoman now inhabited a feline form, it was merely a façade; within lay the mind and soul of a human, with certain boundaries that could not be breached through casual contact.
"We've arrived," Catwoman announced ten minutes later, as they stood before a lavish villa.
Effortlessly surmounting the perimeter wall, they swiftly subdued several patrolling guards before infiltrating the villa grounds. Before long, they found themselves outside a bedroom window.
Upon landing, Laurel, adorned in crimson pajamas, sprang into action, brandishing a golf club in a defensive stance.
"If you're here to pilfer, you've chosen the wrong target. You'll regret crossing me!" she warned her initial impression of Catwoman as a common burglar evident.
Jerry, nestled beside Catwoman, struggled to command Laurel's attention. His diminutive size, coupled with his obscured position behind the bed, made him inconspicuous.
"Pilfering? No, we're here to locate you and your husband. Speaking of whom, where might he be?" Catwoman inquired with a mischievous glint in her eye, noting Laurel's solitary presence with amusement.
George, the company's proprietor, and Laurel, his nominal wife, had long been figures of interest. Laurel, once the face of the company's cosmetics line, had recently been supplanted, raising questions about her role in the company's affairs.
Although the man in the suit implicated Laurel as the one behind the nefarious scheme, Catwoman remained convinced that George, the custodian of the company's secrets, was the true orchestrator.
To Catwoman, Laurel seemed little more than a pawn in George's game, perhaps unaware of the lethal nature of the cosmetics she had long endorsed.
At the mention of her husband, Laurel's expression darkened with simmering resentment.
"He's hardly ever home. Probably off indulging in Viagra-fueled escapades with some young thing," she retorted bitterly, her disdain palpable.
"Unfortunate indeed. I'm aware of the toxic nature of your 'beauty elixirs.' Now, tell me where your husband is, or I'll extract my own toll," Catwoman demanded, swiftly disarming Laurel of her golf club before pinning her to the bed with an assertive display of force.
"I just told you, I don't know where he is!" Laurel yelled furiously.
Meanwhile, Jerry observed the unfolding confrontation from the vantage point of a nearby sofa, opting to remain a silent spectator.
Though Laurel's body bore the physical toll of Beau--line, rendering her form formidable, Jerry remained unfazed. He knew that in a genuine altercation, Catwoman held the upper hand.