Chapter 85: DAD꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡ | Gotham's Villain Party
Chapter 85: DAD꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡ | Gotham's Villain Party
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Except for Green Arrow, who managed to escape due to the distance, every hero who participated in the battle had been taken. One by one, they had fallen to Dean's power, and now they lay trapped within the secret forest realm, imprisoned in a deep, inescapable slumber induced by the effects of the psychedelic pollen.
This wasn't just a loss—it was an unprecedented catastrophe.
With Superman and Batman already missing, this marked the greatest decline the Justice League had ever suffered since its formation. Never before had the world's greatest protectors been so thoroughly incapacitated. Their absence left a void—one that opportunists, schemers, and those lurking in the shadows were all too eager to exploit.
But while some saw this as a chance to further their own agendas, others knew that now was not the time for division.
"Now is not the time to fight with the Justice League. We must join hands to face the real enemy first!"
Colonel Steve Trevor's voice was firm, his expression tense as he addressed Amanda Waller. The moment he had learned of the disastrous battle, he had immediately demanded that the Justice League of America cease all current operations. The situation had changed—their priority now was stopping Dean before the world suffered irreversible consequences.
Amanda Waller, however, was far from convinced.
In her eyes, the Justice League of America still needed to maintain a cautious, wait-and-see approach. That was what best served the interests of the government.
Still, Amanda was no fool. She understood Trevor's strong moral compass and knew he wouldn't accept inaction without resistance. If she pushed him too hard, it could lead to an outright confrontation—a fight she preferred to avoid.
Back in the early days of the JLA's formation, Amanda had envisioned the group as a counterbalance, a force that could rival the Justice League… and, if necessary, replace them. For that vision to succeed, Trevor had been a crucial piece. He was the one who had united the JLA, the one who had given it structure. Losing him now would be unacceptable.
Her tone softened as she chose her words carefully.
"Trevor, I understand how you feel. Green Arrow feels the same way. He's one of us, a member of the JLA. Before we act, we need to gather all the information he has. We need to understand the full scope of what we're dealing with."
She let her words settle before adding another point.
"In addition, we must contact Atomic Girl and ask about Pandora's Box. If both the League and the enemy are after it, then we have no choice but to claim it for ourselves."
Trevor remained silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. But Waller could tell—she had bought herself time.
Meanwhile, Dean had left his captives undisturbed in the depths of the secret forest realm. His business there was done.
For now.
His next destination—Gotham.
Night had already fallen when he arrived, the city bathed in its usual mixture of shadow and artificial neon. Standing atop the old bell tower, he let his eyes roam the streets below, taking in the sight of his former home.
Then, a presence.
A shadow moved behind him, quiet as the wind.
Dean didn't turn around. He didn't need to. By now, he had learned to feel magic—a sense far more refined than simple sight.
"Starfire and Beast Boy," came a familiar voice, low and calm. "What did you do to them?"
Raven.
She still wore the form of Trigon's Daughter, a shape that had once belonged to her former self, a version she had long since outgrown. Yet, she seemed at ease in it, as though it offered her a kind of comfort.
Dean remained still as she spoke again.
"They are safe," she assured him. "During their stay, we've spoken at length. I've shown them many things. We've learned to understand each other better."
Her lips curved into a quiet, knowing smile.
"If you're concerned about their integrity, don't be. They're always available… as offerings, Dad."
Dean let out a slow breath.
She was obedient, at least. That much was clear. If she had kept Starfire and Beast Boy alive and intact, then they were likely unharmed.
Still…
"Not to mention that I've changed back," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "And there's only the two of us here. You really don't have to keep calling me that."
Raven's lips twitched. Her amusement was subtle, but unmistakable.
"No," she said simply, tilting her head slightly. "I like calling you that. Just like I enjoy listening to you… Dad."
Dean sighed.
Raven had always been a handful, but now? Now she was dangerous.
In her current state, she was even stronger than her former self. Stronger than the Raven who had inherited Trigon's magic.
And yet, despite her power, she was unstable.
Dean could see it.
She had locked away emotions that should never have been suppressed, dangerous feelings that had been left to ferment. Trigon's magic was a catalyst, feeding off every strong emotion she held within her heart. Love, hate, grief—each one had been amplified beyond control.
She could be furious over something trivial, just as easily as she could show mercy on a whim. Her emotional instability was boundless.
Fortunately… she still listened to him.
Dean wasn't blind. He understood what this was.
Raven had never received a father's love. Trigon had been nothing but a looming nightmare in her life. Now, in Dean, she saw something different—something she could reach for.
Trigon had never given her what she wanted.
But Dean? He cared. Clumsily, awkwardly, but he cared.
He worried about her. He scolded her. He tried to guide her toward becoming the version of herself she wanted to be.
And, more than anything…
He stayed by her side.
Dean exhaled, shifting his gaze back toward the city. In the distance, Gotham's skyline stretched endlessly before him.
"Gordon didn't light the Bat-Signal tonight," he murmured.
He didn't give Raven time to reply before continuing.
"I have something to do later. Don't suddenly pop up and ruin things for me."
Raven, with a playful glint in her eyes, stepped closer.
"I'm very good, Dad."
She slipped into his space, raising her arms expectantly. Her message was clear.
Dean hesitated, but in the end, he relented.
Wrapping his arms around her, he gave Raven the hug she wanted—just a simple embrace. Nothing more.
But for Raven, it was enough.
She closed her eyes, resting her chin lightly against his shoulder.
"No matter if you are righteous or evil," she whispered, "you are my family."
Dean's body tensed for a moment. Then, slowly, he relaxed.
"Yeah."
The Outsider had been right. Half of Dean's blood came from Earth-3, a world where evil reigned supreme. That darkness had always been a part of him, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise. When his power began to grow exponentially, there was a time when Dean had felt almost euphoric, intoxicated by his newfound strength. But then… Raven had given his balloon a place to land.
She had anchored him, made him see things differently. It was through her that he came to understand—wavering between good and evil would never be enough to convince the Outsider, nor anyone else. If he wanted to stand for something, if he wanted his actions to mean anything, he had to commit to a path.
But true evil? That wasn't in him. He could never fully embrace villainy. Luckily, there was another road he could walk, one that suited him far better.
The road of the fallen hero.
A path where justice still mattered, but not in the way it once had. No longer the idealistic justice of Superman or the calculated justice of Batman. This was something different. Something darker.
"Paranoid justice."
A harsh, unwavering sense of righteousness that answered to no one but itself.
---
Across Gotham's skyline, a familiar symbol suddenly shone against the night sky—the Bat-Signal.
But tonight, something was different.
Etched within the bright silhouette of the bat was a small, unmistakable question mark.
The moment it appeared, the criminals of Gotham took notice.
Most assumed it was another one of the Riddler's antics. That egotistical fool loved drawing attention to himself, and this seemed exactly like one of his pointless mind games.
"Tch. Won't be long before Batman finds him and knocks his teeth in again."
That was the general consensus. No one took it seriously.
At least, not at first.
Then an hour passed. And Batman still hadn't shown up.
The signal remained, glowing defiantly in the sky, yet the Dark Knight was nowhere to be seen. The realization crept in slowly, spreading from street corners to the criminal underworld's hideouts.
That Bat-Signal?
It wasn't coming from the Gotham Police Department.
Now, that was interesting.
Elsewhere, deep within one of Gotham's dimly lit hideouts, a particular villain fumed.
"Damn it! I don't care who it is—no one gets to misuse my symbol!"
The Riddler slammed his fist on the table, his sharp green suit barely wrinkling from the force. His eyes burned with irritation.
One of his lackeys hesitated before speaking.
"Uh… but, boss, the question mark is, uh… a public punctuation mark, technically."
The look the Riddler gave him could have melted steel.
"Shut up. In Gotham, the question mark belongs to me! I am the Riddler!"
Fuming, he grabbed his signature cane, its gleaming question mark handle catching the dim light of the room.
"Get your coats, boys. We're going to have a little chat with whoever thinks they can steal my gimmick."
Without another word, he stormed out, his crew scrambling to follow. Their destination?
The source of the Bat-Signal.
The moment they arrived, the Riddler felt his intrigue deepen.
"Huh… isn't this the base of the Seven Seas Gang? The new gang that popped up recently?"
One of his men nodded.
"Yeah. Word is their boss is an Atlantean."
That alone was odd. Gotham's criminal scene rarely had outside interference, especially from a place as isolated as Atlantis. But what was even stranger was the number of people already gathered outside.
The Riddler narrowed his eyes as he took in the scene. No way…
He wasn't the only one who had come. Except for a few unlucky ones recently sent to Arkham—such as Scarecrow—and Black Mask, who was rumored to have been resurrected only to be killed again by the devil police, nearly every major villain in Gotham was present.
Two-Face
Clayface
Killer Croc
Professor Pyg
Poison Ivy
The Joker
Bane
The Mad Hatter
Practically everyone who mattered in Gotham's underworld was here—everyone except for Penguin, who was still overseas dealing with his business.
The Riddler exhaled slowly.
"Well, well…" he murmured, twirling his cane. "Looks like Gotham's in for a long night."
A carnival of chaos was about to unfold.
With a smirk, he adjusted the brim of his hat and sauntered forward, his men trailing behind him in high spirits.
At the entrance of the Seven Seas Gang's base, a commotion was already stirring.
The Mad Hatter had been allowed inside, but as the Riddler approached, two gang members stepped in his path.
"Hold it right there." One of them raised a hand. "Where's your invitation?"
The Riddler blinked.
"Invitation? What invitation?"
The gang members exchanged glances before one of them scoffed.
"Are you kidding me? You just waltzed over here without knowing what's going on? Who the hell do you think you are?"
The Riddler took a step back, then slowly gestured to his entire existence.
His emerald-green suit. His question mark cane. His matching hat.
"Gentlemen," he said smoothly, "unless you've recently suffered head trauma, you should recognize me immediately. I am, after all, a rather distinct individual. Perhaps you should try using those limited brain cells of yours to put the pieces together."
He tilted his head and tapped his cane against the ground in a clear, deliberate hint.
The two gangsters looked at each other.
Then back at him.
Then back at each other.
Finally, one of them nodded.
"Yeah, we see it."
The Riddler straightened his collar, a smug smile forming.
"Ah. Good. So then, I assume I can go in now?"
The gangsters didn't hesitate.
"No."
The Riddler froze.
"Excuse me?"
The two pointed upward, and for the first time, the Riddler noticed the enormous neon sign flashing above them.
One side had a giant red prohibition symbol over a dog.
The other had the exact same symbol… over a question mark.
Then came the final blow.
"Sorry," one of the gangsters said flatly. "The boss made it clear—no Riddler. No dogs."
The Riddler stared at them, utterly speechless.
Of all the humiliations he had suffered in his life… this was unacceptable.
---
The original base of the Seven Seas Gang had been an aquarium, a grand structure once filled with shimmering tanks and exotic sea creatures. But when the earthquake struck Gotham, the place was left in ruins—cracked glass, flooded floors, and the stench of decay lingering in the air.
For a while, it remained abandoned, just another casualty of Gotham's ever-present chaos.
Then Orm came along.
After securing the necessary resources, he had the entire facility repaired and reinforced, turning it into the headquarters of the Seven Seas Gang. Now, the once-public attraction had been repurposed for something far less innocent. The aquatic creatures still swam in their tanks, but now they shared their home with criminals, mercenaries, and outlaws who answered only to the Ocean Lord.
Amidst this gathering of villainy, one individual blended in better than most.
Clayface.
Tonight, he had shifted his form into that of a nameless thug, one of the Mud Gang, allowing him to observe without drawing attention to himself. His gaze drifted over the scene, taking stock of the attendees.
Nearly every major villain in Gotham was present.
There were only a few notable absences—Scarecrow, who had been unlucky enough to land in Arkham recently, and Black Mask, whose rumored resurrection had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, supposedly at the hands of the devil cop.
But aside from them?
Everyone else was here.
Two-Face sat in his usual seat, tossing his coin repeatedly, the metallic clink echoing through the dimly lit space.
The Joker, ever the enigma, stood by one of the large glass tanks, watching a starfish devour something on the other side of the glass, his expression unreadable.
Killer Croc, on the other hand, had no such reservations—he was seated near one of the large pools, devouring an entire platter of food with reckless abandon.
Not far away, Professor Pyg gazed up at the dolphins swimming overhead, his mind clearly working through some twisted thought process. He tapped a gloved finger against his chin and muttered to himself.
"Wouldn't they make marvelous additions to my circus? Perhaps with a few improvements…"
Before he could spiral any further into his thoughts, someone finally spoke up.
"What exactly does the Ocean Lord mean by this? He calls us all here, then doesn't bother to show up? What, does he think we came just to watch the dolphin show?"
Clayface perked up.
Finally.
He had been waiting for someone to stir the pot. Now he could see how the others reacted. His gaze shifted toward the source of the complaint—a man with glasses, someone Clayface didn't recognize.
He smirked internally.
Bold move, pal. In a room full of Gotham's worst, and you're the first one to run your mouth? Either you've got guts or you've got a death wish.
Sure enough, the comment immediately rubbed some of the others the wrong way.
But, to Clayface's mild surprise, their anger wasn't directed at Aum for his absence.
No.
They were mad about the dolphin comment.
"What's wrong with the dolphin show? What's wrong with dolphins?"
Clayface turned, raising an eyebrow.
Of course.
The complaint had set off Killer Croc.
The reptilian brute was still lounging in the pool, a massive grin on his face. He had a dolphin tucked under one arm, a killer whale under the other, and he was clearly enjoying himself.
"Turns out," Croc rumbled, squeezing the dolphin's head slightly, "these things are real soft."
Clayface almost laughed.
Killer Croc had been born with a condition that made him look more monster than man, and as a result, he had spent most of his life in the shadows. He had never known the simple joys of amusement parks or public aquariums—never been allowed to.
So now?
This?
This was paradise for him.
But the moment of peace didn't last long.
A slow, deliberate voice cut through the room.
"It's been a while since I last saw you… and you've become even more depraved, Killer Croc."
The moment the words reached Croc's ears, his relaxed posture vanished. He immediately straightened, his muscles tensing like a predator ready to strike.
His head snapped toward the newcomer, his sharp fangs bared.
"Bane."
The way he spat the name made it clear—there was history there.
"Don't provoke me, Bane. I don't mind settling old scores right here."
The tension in the room thickened.
Everyone knew about the history between these two.
Their first fight had ended with Croc's arm shattered. Bane had overwhelmed him with sheer strength, breaking him down in record time.
The second fight had gone differently.
Croc had sought Bane out that time. Despite having his arm broken again, he had refused to back down. The fight had dragged on, brutal and unrelenting, until neither man could claim victory.
A draw.
But the animosity had never faded.
Bane crossed his arms, his expression cold.
"I'm not here to waste my time with a beaten dog." His gaze flicked to the dolphins. "I told you—step aside. You're not the only one who appreciates these creatures."
There was an unspoken truth in his words.
Dolphins had long been regarded as prisoners' best friends.
For those who had once been imprisoned at sea, dolphins were more than just animals—they were allies. Stories of prisoners escaping on the backs of dolphins weren't uncommon, and for men like Bane, who had spent time in some of the worst hellholes imaginable, that meant something.
Before the situation could escalate further, a new voice joined the conversation.
"I'm flattered that you two appreciate my partners so much."
The room shifted.
All eyes turned as Orm strode through the crowd.
He was clad in newly modified armor, gleaming under the dim lights. Instead of seeking out his old equipment, he had taken the opportunity to commission an entirely new set—one better suited for his current ambitions.
His gaze swept across the gathered villains, his expression unreadable.
"Apologies for the delay," he said smoothly. "I had a minor issue to deal with outside. Some fool who refused to take 'no' for an answer. My men handled it, but I had to step out to ensure he fully understood his place."
Everyone in the room immediately knew who he was talking about. They had all seen the neon sign outside. And their reactions came swiftly.
"Well done," someone sneered. "I hate the Riddler too."
"What a coincidence. So do I."
"For once, we all agree. That guy doesn't speak human words. He should just leave."
Even the Joker—Gotham's most unpredictable monster—joined in.
"The Riddler? Pfft. Get out of Gotham, you little dweeb!"
Orm blinked.
He had only meant to humiliate the Riddler by denying him entry. He hadn't expected this level of hatred. By accident, he had just saved the Riddler's life.
Clayface, who had remained silent up until now, finally stepped forward.
"Alright, enough distractions," he said, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Let's get to the real reason we're here."
His gaze flicked upward.
"What does that Bat-Signal in the sky really mean?"
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