10

Gotham City

There were a set of rules that his master followed.

Zed Rander was an enigmatic, revolutionary sort of vigilante. A type who did not bother himself with conventional rules of morality, and dispensed evil-unto-evil. He was also free-spirited, sarcastic, a braggart and pervert who did things as he wished, and existed purely as the personification of the human Id. Yet, he followed rules, and amongst those rules, included a law that prevented him from personally sexually assaulting an innocent woman. The terms 'innocent' and 'personally' being the emphasis. It was for this reason, that although he would put the fear of God into Batgirl, he would go no further. This was his design.

Makarov Dreyer on the other hand, was business incarnate. A perfectionist, a master planner, filled with pride at his own accomplishments and with a burning sense of purpose and drive that could not be found on most others. His goals expanded into the long-term, genuine plans to alter the world in the manner as to how he saw it fit to be, to bring humanity to a pinnacle of evolution that would make it the most feared and respected race in the entire universe. Hence, he was offended, with someone like Bruce Wayne – a character who, with all his drive and purpose, was counter-intuitive to development. Gotham should not be a cesspit with a billionaire like Bruce Wayne in it. Correcting this flaw was the start of grander plans. This was his design.

Then, there was the third persona. An assassin and hitman who had taken up a job as a torturer and defiler. Salem Spellman was the name he went by, although, in certain communities, he was known as Horror. The only name which could be attributed to someone like him. Still, to imbue massive shock, awe, fright and more was his purpose. This was his design.

There were three distinct designs. Three distinct personalities and features – and the only thing linking all three of them together, was Isaac Zachariah Cabrera.

Was he all three personas?

Or was he none of the three personas?

With a Max Acting skill – whenever he adopted a persona, it was like method-acting on steroids, taken up to eleven. He believed, for all intents and purposes, that he was a persona. Yet, the very second the persona was removed – he became an entirely different person. A skilled neuroscientist would have been baffled if they had taken the brain scans of Zack as he was Zack, and taken it as he was Zed, or Makarov, or Salem – and they would have been completely different, despite it being the same brain. Perhaps a psychologist would have documented it as a true case of Multiple Personality Disorder.

The real question, however, was the most complex.

Who was Zack Cabrera?

So far, it was impossible to find out. 'Zack' no longer made an appearance. His default character setting now was Zed Rander. One would argue that bits and pieces of the real Zack slipped through, but it wasn't the case. Zed Rander was not Zack Cabrera, yet, at the same time, he was.

Nezumi let out a dry hum as he idly polished a glass with his a handkerchief. The Demon Butler was curious, and he could not help it. He wanted to find out more about his master. He wanted to discover the true Zack – and not to interact with the somewhat caricature-ish personas that his master wore.

Zack Cabrera was his God – and not Zed Rander, or Makarov Dreyer or Salem Spellman.

Zack Cabrera had been the one to create him, from a small, dead rodent, all those years ago – into what he was now, a fully sentient eldritch demonic creature. He would not, and could not forget that fact, and he was intrinsically programmed to be loyal to Zack Cabrera.

It was perhaps a loophole that his master had failed to realize, that he was only truly loyal to the real him, and not his personas, regardless, Nezumi served his personas, because the real him was inside his personas. The real him, was what Nezumi wished to discover – to truly aid and come to understand.

Being a mindless sycophant would cause far more harm than good, and often times, you had to act in your master's best interest, even if said master did not realize that your actions were in his best interest.

Of course, his master was wary of trusting people, and alas, Nezumi had no choice but to perform the role of the sycophantic 'yes-man' butler, until it was time to reveal his true capabilities and reasoning to his master. Of course, if his master ever asked directly, he would tell him the truth – but until then, he had to perform his roles and duties.

So far as his master had given him a task, Nezumi believed that it was up to him to handle it in manners and ways that exceeded every and all possible expectations. To reach beyond what was expected, to surpass it and leave it so far behind in the dust that it would be considered a folly to have set such low standards.

His master had required a hideout before midnight.

There were many questions on his mind that Nezumi desired to know.

Why had his master only chosen now to create a suitable stronghold?

What had his master been doing in the past thirteen years to not have possessed a stronghold before now?

Did his master truly have a grand plan in motion, or was he perhaps making everything along as he went?

A lesser minion or slave would have considered it blasphemous to even as much as question the motives and intellect of his creator, but Nezumi was not a fool. His creator was a man just as anyone else, and as such, he was prone to errors and mistakes. The fact that his master failed to realize the loophole in making him only truly loyal to 'Zack Cabrera' was just one instance that proved that his master would need proper, adequate guidance and an efficient support to cover up any incidents that may occur due to lack of foresight.

In order to efficiently serve his master, he needed to understand his motives. He needed to acknowledge his master's strengths and weaknesses, and to find every flaw his master possessed so that he could cover them up before they were exploited. To claim that his master was perfect and flawless was to be an incompetent minion that would lead his master to an early grave.

Why was his master toying with the heroes and villains when he could effortlessly conquer them?

As it was, Nezumi knew that he could conquer them with perhaps forty percent of his true strength, and his master was immensely more versatile and powerful, so there was no doubt in Nezumi's mind that his master could have already conquered Gotham by midnight if he wished to.

Yet, he didn't.

The only plausible reason was because he wanted to extend and agonize their suffering and perhaps amuse himself in the process before he ended them.

Like a Comic Book Villain.

Nezumi resisted the urge to sigh. His master could be surprisingly ironic in some ways. Rather than take the initiative, break into the homes of every hero while they were sleeping and unguarded, then either capture or kill them in that instant with the upper-hand and element of surprise, he was playing a rather elaborate game of cat and mouse with them instead. He was giving them a chance to actively fight back – which could be a rather dangerous thing.

Possessing confidence in his master was a good thing, but at the same time, underestimating one's opponents was the worst thing one could do.

He shook his head as he kept the glass amongst others in the recently created wine room, and took a step back – teleporting out of the room, in order to examine his progress.

Underneath the bay and deep within the external waters of Gotham, deep below where discarded ships lay, and deeper even still, to the earth beneath, to the crust, and even deeper still – a layer of solid titanium-enforced steel was kept in place.

A rough estimate told Nezumi that he had created the bunker approximately 50 kilometers into the earth's crust. For reference, he discovered that the deepest ever drilled by mankind was the Kola Superdeep Borehole – and it was a measly 12.3 kilometers into the earth. The fortress was easily four times deeper than that, and he estimated that it was at least two or three times deeper than Earth's deepest chasm, the Mariana Trench.

It was essentially inaccessible to any normal human, by any normal means, and once you found yourself in the fortress – you were stuck there, even if you could fly or had super speed. There were no doors, entrances or exists, meaning that teleportation was the only way in or out of the fortress.

Regardless, to call it a bunker would be to refer to a nuclear warhead as a pencil eraser. At his or his master's whim or will, the fortress could be severed from the physical world, existing in a plane that was inaccessible to all others. It entailed a series of external defense mechanisms that would make it immune or downright impervious to the shifting of tectonic plates, and sported an array of defense systems, traps, and semi-atomic missiles which were present in the possibility of dealing with metahumans who somehow managed to burrow this deep.

Needless to say, the bunker was a Fallout/Zombie Apocalypse safe-haven that would leave most enthusiasts soaking wet or raging hard.

And those were just the fortresses' external features.

Nezumi decided that he needed to give the underground fortress the insides of a mansion suitable for a king. There were twenty-three bedrooms, One Master Bedroom, fourteen bathrooms, one grand kitchen, one grand dining room and a lavish living room. The work rooms entailed One Master Control Room, which was essentially he Fortress's core control center, two torture chambers, a slave quarters, an armory, sport rooms, tennis courts, basketball courts, movie cinemas, a stocked warehouse, and a gladiatorial theater.

Electricity was provided by magical gemstone – and likewise was the breathable air, oxygen and temperature regulation in the fortress.

All in all, Nezumi could suitably look at his work and determine that it was good.

Of course, due to how deep into the earth it was, there were some minor inconveniences such as the failure of radio waves to reach the bunker, and similarly satellites and cable television, as well as any form of modern communication device or internet access were thrown out of the proverbial window.

The Demon Butler frowned. Had he perhaps gone a bit overboard with how deep it was? Possibly – but he supposed it would not be hard to find ways of circumventing those minor inconveniences.

The counter-benefit of seclusion also meant that it was nigh-impossible for him, or for the bunker to be found. His magical signature was immense, so much that he was certain that his mere presence alone would make lesser magic practitioners die from merely standing next to him. This way, his magical signature was masked, and most attempts to find him would only end up failing, because there was no magical spell he could think of that would be capable of scanning this deep into the earth.

Still, a fortress such as this required a name. Though, Nezumi did not for even a second presume that it was his place to name it, as that honor belonged to his master, when his master finally returned.

He did wonder what his master was doing though – as he could sense, to an extent, his master's imprint on the world, his actions and decisions – although, he couldn't entirely make them all out.

Regardless, he had completed the initial task that his master had asked of him, and as such, he supposed it would only be right for him to find his master and inform him of his completed duties.

"I suppose the time to return to the surface has come." With a wave of his hand, and a miniscule burst of power, Nezumi vanished. "Greater Teleport."

DC – Remastered Edition

Gotham City

Zed Rander's Office

Being a demonic, cannibalistic entity that had grown strong from consuming other lesser demons or other beings in general, Nezumi had a fine-tuned taste and appeal for humans. Particularly, it was the humans in Gotham City which drew his senses and his palates – he could literally feed on their emotions, sentiments and their souls, and for one reason or another, the humans in Gotham always had the most aromatizing scents, courtesy of their tainted souls.

Hence, appearing in the office of his master's most carefree persona, Nezumi had to force down the instinctual salivation that came from perceiving the scent of the depraved souls in Gotham City. The strongest of which was currently at Arkham Asylum.

A glance to his wristwatch told the time – 11:50. Exactly ten minutes before he was required to meet his master and complete his task. Although, he frowned at the state of the ruined office – a clear indicator that his master had not been here, and instead, other people had raided the place in search for his possible whereabouts.

Nezumi's frown grew as he moved forward, the crackling of an object making him stop, and then he stared down to discover a shattered potted plant.

"Phillip... what have they done to you?"

Most likely this was the result of his master's claims to become the most wanted man in Gotham City by midnight. They had come to his master's office in search of him – they had failed to find him, and so, they had chosen to destroy the place – crushing his master's potted plant collection.

Beep.

Beep.

A cursory beeping drew his attention, which had Nezumi enchanting the remains of his master's only named plant, and peeping his attention over to the table, where, he could clearly spot a device with red numbers slowly counting backwards on it.

Nezumi shook his head and sighed, picking up the rudimentary explosive device, and tossing it into his mouth, which massively expanded and then returned to normal human size.

It was slightly grittier than he expected, and he let out a minor cough as the thing exploded, the flames and shockwave doing nothing more than expanding and reddening his cheeks a little, before he swallowed it all, and burped out a small puff of black smoke.

It wasn't a coincidence that the bomb had been triggered when he entered into the building, so, it was more or less likely that it was being remote controlled, or, there were sensors that told it when to activate. The latter seemed more likely, and Nezumi's eyes rapidly scanned over the room, before he found what he was looking for – a small, tiny device that was most probably a motion sensor, attached to the roof of the office.

He sighed softly. Why in the world was his master humoring these cattle?

"…. go off."

Acute hearing on a level that was literally supernatural enabled Nezumi to pick out certain distinct words of conversation.

"Maybe it was a dud?"

"What? No way – we prepped the explosives properly!"

"Fuck. Well, whatever – if it didn't go off – maybe he's still inside – we could probably catch this fucker alive and get the one billion."

A billion? There was a bounty of a billion on his master?

How…

Insulting.

With a blur of motion that was pure speed than it was any need for teleportation, he found himself on the inside of another building, surrounded by a group of men all wearing masks of one sort or the other.

"What the fuck?!"

"A billion?" Nezumi said, with a chuckle "Apologies, I could not help myself when I heard that you were hunting down Za- Zed Rander, for a billion?"

The gathered men, fourteen of them, in such close premises, all wielding primitive guns, stared at him as though he were speaking French. There was fear present – but it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough –

"To even think or believe for a second, that you fools would dare quantify him with such a paltry sum –"

Nezumi sighed.

"It's unfortunate."

He reached out for the first man, his hands a blur as he grabbed the man's skull, and squished it with the flex of his fingers. Blood, grey matter and white matter splattered all over his hand and the room as the skull was squished like a rotten fruit and his brain leaked out of his ears and nose. He didn't even bother hesitating as he moved to the next man, yet, he didn't rush either.

As far as Nezumi was concerned, they were all moving as though time was in slow motion. So he took his time on the second man, first, extending his pinky and then using it to carve a rectangle of flesh on the man's chest. He opened it, dropping the bloody sack of meat unto the ground, ignoring the blood pouring down on his fingers as he dragged out the man's still beating heart and lungs, before severing it, opening the man's mouth, and slamming it down the man's throat.

Then, he moved to the third man, feeling merciful, he merely punched a hole through the man's chest and obliterated his heart. The action being done at a speed that made sure blood didn't come anywhere near his clothes.

There were eleven more of them, and Nezumi decided to see their initial reactions, so he slowed down his pace, his movement, and his rate of thinking to their laughable mortal levels.

From their perspective, he had not moved, and blood was immediately splattered all over the room, as three men suddenly dropped dead. There was the immediate sound of retching, as several people lost their lunches. Those who hadn't – utterly flipped.

"WHAT THE FUCK – WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK! FUCK! FUUUCK! FUUU –"

He lunged at the man that was freaking out, his left hand shattering through the mask and grabbing his tongue, before ripping it out.

"I do not appreciate your coarse language."

Now, he could feel it – genuine, pure, unadulterated fear – the fear for their existence – the fear for their lives, the realization that they were the excreta of insects that had gained consciousness and were in the presence of an insect killer.

"This emotion you feel – it is what you should feel by a hundredfold when mentioning 'Zed Rander'"

Nezumi smiled.

"Now – would you kindly decide the order in which you are to die?"

DC – Remastered Edition

Gotham City

Streets

12:00 – Midnight

8th of November

Batman was stretched thin.

There was too much happening at once – far too much for him to handle alone. Ignoring the problems that 'Bruce Wayne' had faced a mere three hours earlier with the C.E.O of Legend Industries, he had more important issues to worry about. Thankfully, the Batmobile was nearby along with his other 'attire' so he did not need to return to the Batcave before he could immediately start patrolling the streets.

And patrol it needed. Badly.

The streets were filled with Roman Sionis' men harassing every single blond they could find, slightly capable thugs and assassins such as KGBeast and the Electrocutioner mowing their way down thugs who they felt were a nuisance and, other gangs and crime families that had decided to show up, sowing chaos and confusion in the name of finding the man with the billion dollar bounty.

Said man himself was somehow evading detection, despite sauntering into the Skyline Club and murdering Alberto Falcone – leaving the son of Carmine hanging off the skyscraper as another clear message to his father. It was obvious that his goal was to completely wipe out the Falcone family line in one night.

Then, as if this wasn't enough, the call from the Watchtower had come in about the presence of an Omega-Class entity in his city of all places, a powerful eldritch being that nearly all the world's magical practitioners had felt, and that had been capable of turning Zatanna into a screaming horrified schoolgirl.

No matter what he did, no matter which option he chose to follow in order to try and bring about peace, he knew for a fact that it would lead to people dying. If he hunted down the thugs and local low-lifes using the bounty as an excuse to harass and mug people, he would be letting The Consultant get his way with killing Falcone's progeny and be letting a world-destroying entity roam around freely in his city. If he chose to hunt down The Consultant, he would be leaving innocents as lamb to the slaughter, and he'd be letting a world-destroying entity roam around freely. If he chose to focus on the world-destroying entity, he would be letting The Consultant get away scot free, and he would be abandoning the people of Gotham regardless.

It was a lose-lose situation irrespective of his decision.

HONK-HONK!

Or, that was what he thought before he caught the sight of a green power bike tearing down the road.

"Green Arrow to Batman –Black Canary and I have got the streets covered – we'll take care of most of the rabble around here – so you don't need to worry about it."

That eliminated one significant problem, but it still wasn't enough.

Flipping on the switch on the Batcomputer installed into the Batmobile, the dark knight immediately called home.

"Alfred – I need you to contact John Constantine and Jason Blood. Demonology is their specialty, and they may be able to find this being that we're looking for."

Nothing. There was silence on the other end.

"Alfred – Batmobile to Alfred – come in Alfred."

"Master Bruce! I… trying … contact … evening – the signal s… I can … Miss Gordon… Skyline…"

It was impossible. Outright impossible for there to be connection issues in the Batcomputer of all thing – a machine with a processor speed that was easily the fastest on the planet, and had its own private satellite to boot. The only possible explanation, was that someone was jamming the communication system.

"Alfred? Alfred if you can get this – I need you to – " he stopped, his mind easily remembering the snippets he had heard, particularly the urgency that had been in Alfred's voice, and the fact that 'Miss Gordon' and 'Skyline' had been mentioned.

He scowled. No – could she? Could Barbara have gone to the Skyline Club in some attempt to catch the Consultant? That was both incredibly risky and dangerous for her to do. It was the only reason he would believe that she did it.

"Lost comm… might… danger…"

The Caped Crusader didn't hesitate as he slammed on the breaks, turning the Batmobile around in one swift drag of the steering wheel, and altering his course straight for the Skyline Club.

Or at least, that was his intention, before he suddenly found the road blocked by a man blond man dressed in casual clothes.

He slammed the breaks once more, veering as hard as he could to avoid crashing into the man in question, and immediately finding the vehicle slamming into one of the streetlamps instead, and properly ploughing through it. The impact caused little damage to his knees and shins, but with his seatbealt on, and with the numerous measures on the Batmobile present to allow it to take that much damage, it was hardly an inconveince. Rather, Batman ejected himself from the seat of the car, flipping out of the machine and landing smack dab in the middle of the street, opposite the blond man who had blocked his path.

This was when he began to notice, that the street was strangely devoid of life, motion or activity, as though cars had chosen to avoid this path, and people had all but left it. Despite it being midnight, and despite the chaos going on in the city, this part was serene. Too serene.

He immediately locked his gaze on the form of the blonde haired man, and for a second, he had drawn comparisons with Makarov Dreyer, but they were far too dissimilar. Posture wise, dressing wise, size-wise, age-wise and even hair-wise. Makarov was golden blond, whilst this man was a cool platinum blond that almost appeared silver. Not to mention that the young man in front of him could be no older than twenty-two or so, and his casual attire of a Japanese themed shirt with red flame like designs at the bottom, plain jeans and sneakers did not enable him to possess the same level of sophistication or flair as the Legend Industries C.E.O.

Yet, Batman knew this face. How could he not? Considering that it was being run by certain news channels, and it was the face that accompanied a video of a woman being raped to death by a horse.

He was The Consultant.

In person, he was significantly less intimidating. Yet, Batman was cautious – wary. This was the man that half of the city was looking for, and he just chose to appear before him? When somehow, no one could find him?

"So. Batman… we meet at last."

Batman did not bother returning the greeting. "Surrender peacefully Consultant, this is not a game."

The man snickered, as though he found the sentiment funny. Then, he slowly reached out into his backpocket, and Batman was already moving, ready to dodge, or intercept, or to close the distance and take down the man before he could spring whatever –

"Here, catch!"

Although prepared for a bomb, a grenade, or any other explosive or incendiary device, the Dark Knight was suitably surprised when a plain 9mm was thrown at him, yet, out of caution, he did not move to get the weapon, and allowed it to land harmlessly on the ground, six feet away from him.

He never let his attention waver from the Consultant, at the same time, he kept his keen senses on the gun in case it was a trap.

"I want you to pick up that gun – and kill me."

It was the second time an utterance had made him momentarily confused. In one night, by two different people. Still, wariness and a calm air which could only be attained by confidence and experience tempered his surprise. He was tempted to ask 'why', because he rarely often ever got a request like this, yet, at the same time, he knew what his answer was going to be regardless of the reason he got.

"No."

"I'm dead serious." The man stretched out his arms. "Kill me."

Batman could tell. There was no joking, or amusement in the man's voice, only resolute steel. "If you want punishment for your crimes, I'm not the one going to dispense it to you. You're going to go to jail instead."

The man chuckled. The second time he'd done that.

"Punishment? No – I think you misunderstand." The Consultant said, shrugging. "This is the only chance I'm going to give you – if you pull the trigger and kill me – or if you just do anything to try and kill me – you'll win." He stretched out his arms once more, wider than the last time. "Here. Now. Before it's too late. Even if I survive, which is highly likely, I'll give up on attacking Gotham – on committing any more crimes in this City, and on leaving you to do whatever it is you want, without you ever hearing from me again."

There was an underlying arrogance in his tone which Batman caught, one, which also made it contradictory, in his decision to let an enemy shoot him. Still, the Dark Knight didn't have time for this. There was still an Omega-Class threat on the loose, and whilst the Consultant's sudden appearance was a hidden boon, he needed to wrap this up quickly.

"You're coming with me."

"If you don't kill me," there was something that sounded like a sigh, "I will rape Barbara Gordon and Selina Kyle."

The sudden shift in temperature was one that Batman could not have seen coming, and one that he could not explain, as the temperature got ridiculously colder, yet, he could feel his blood boiling faster and faster at the apparent and clear threat of rape.

"I will torture and massacre innocents whenever I feel like it." He added, as though casually speaking about the weather. "I will raid Arkham and kill or enslave everyone there. Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and others that catch my fancy will be used as toys for my sexual gratification. Then, I will kill Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, capture their female friends, and do to them what I'll do to Barbara and Selina."

It was clear to anyone, with even the slightest amount of knowledge in emotional and psychological manipulation, that the Consultant was trying to get a rise out of him. The Consultant was deliberately targeting certain spots that he somehow knew would get a rise out of him – and Batman was doing his best to prevent it from working.

Except, it was. The Consultant knew their secret identities, that was why he didn't mention Batgirl or Catwoman, or Nightwing or Robin, but their real names. The fact that there was someone out there, present, who knew their real names and was willing to use them to do harm was slightly troubling. Then, there was the message that he'd gotten from Alfred, cracked as it was, about losing connection with Batgirl. It sent shivers down Batman's spine, along with a rush of anger that he tempered.

"And then, once all of that is complete, I will ruin you – destroy you – physically, emotionally, psychologically – after which, and only, after which, I will kill you."

"I've heard enough – you won't be doing much once you're behind bars."

He rushed forward, covering the seven feet distance between them in a rapid blur, his fist already poised for a precise liver punch that would take the Consultant out –

Only for it to be caught in an open palm.

Amused blue eyes stared at him.

"This is not an idle threat, Batman. Kill me – now, while I'm still giving you the choice. Beating or imprisoning me is impossible, because for all your skills and intellect and whatnot – all of them are ultimately useless if you cannot use them to end me, permanently."

It was clear now – The Consultant knew about his no-killing policy, and he had said all those thing in an attempt to get him to break it. Somehow, Batman got the distinct feeling that the Consultant wanted to die – and he wanted to die by his hands. Yet, the dark knight knew better, he knew better than to take that step, to cross that threshold and take a life, and he knew that he could not make it, could never do it, because he would never be the same afterwards.

He leapt back from the Consultant, re-establishing his threat level, particularly as to how the younger man had effortlessly caught his attack, which seemed to belay much greater strength than such a lithe figure would allow.

"I'm not going to kill you."

The Consultant sighed. A thick, heavy sigh practically overflowing with disappointment.

"At the very least – I was being courteous. I highly doubt any other enemy you've faced would have been so kind to give you a warning beforehand."

There it was, the subtle, underling motion that he felt he was capable of outwitting, evading, or destroying him. Yet, in an ironic way, he was also willingly putting himself in a position where he could be grievously killed.

"Why?"

"Why?" There was a chuckle. The third one so far.

"All right, Batman. Let's say, for instance – you found yourself suddenly transported into porn movie."

The imagery was one that was not entirely pleasant, yet, so bizarre that he found himself listening to his opponent despite all the warnings telling him not to.

He'd never faced an enemy that only killed villains before.

Nor had he faced an enemy who wanted to die by his hands. The Joker notwithstanding.

Against his nature, he found himself curious – wanting to solve the mystery of the Consultant.

"You woke up with no memories of how you got there, and an almost guaranteed fact that you are never getting out. So, what do you do? Do you, A, decide that there's nothing left but to make the best of it, and try to make the porn world a better place by abating their minds away from sex, and rising to the top as a president with goals of planetary, interstellar travel – Or do you, B, laugh at the stupidity of the first option, and grab yourself the nearest sexy woman you can find, fuck her senseless, and then repeat the process?"

There was a crude underlying meaning there. One that Batman felt anyone could gleam at, as the metaphorical comparison was almost too obvious.

The Consultant hummed, taking on a lecturing tone as he strutted around the street. "Some would argue, that they are real, and not just fictional characters, because they have sentience and thoughts and dreams and hopes and whatever bullshit ideological excuse. The fact however, is that they do not possess free will. They are not human. Their thoughts and dreams and hopes, were inputted like a man would type a set of code, and press enter to run it. Everything they do is predetermined, and their existence is one which exists for people's entertainment."

He chuckled. The fourth time.

Batman had finally identified the emotion – bitterness.

"Again, someone would argue, that this might be the case for me, and who am I to decide that they are not human? Except, I am aware of this fact, which makes them even less human." He smiled. "The possibility that I don't have free will, that my successes and failures only exist and happen because someone wanted it to happen – it gnaws at the back of my mind every day and every night and it's enough to drive someone to insanity."

Batman frowned. Clearly, it has.

"For all I know, my entire life is being written down as entertainment by some fat, useless slob, and being read and consumed by equally deranged fuckers trying to find an outlet for their demented curiosities and suppressed desires. Hell, the very words I'm uttering right now, the very fact that I hate the idea of me being entertainment, could have been written by someone to make me that way."

Another chuckle. More bitterness. More resentment, yet, strangely enough, resignation and acceptance. Batman's mind churned at the implications of the man's words, although he found himself doubting them. He was not a religious person, and he was skeptical of the concept of some higher being controlling his every action.

"If such is the case, am I really to blame for all the suffering and anguish I cause? If, I am, after all, merely a product of a higher force, acting and doing things as it wants me – am I then, responsible for my actions? Or should all the blame go to this higher force, absolving me of any guilt? Should you then, not also hate this higher force, who decided that it was necessary for your parents to die and for you to have deep-seated issues, fears and problems? All because it would make you a more compelling character?"

The manner in which the bomb dropped was enough to make Batman's eyes widen, and his brows shoot up behind his mask.

He knows.

He knew who he was.

It was the most bizarre way for anyone to have come out and revealed the fact that they were aware of his secret identity – and then the context, the context in which he'd mentioned it –

"Funny how I've seen and read hundreds of materials focused on people from the 'real' world getting thrust into 'fantasy' worlds that they know only exists as a result of someone's imagination and writing. Yet, they never stop to pause or ponder or think, if they're being in those worlds is also a result of someone else's imagination and writing. The irony and egotism is so laughable."

Batman's brain was spinning. Rapidly thinking. His secret identity had to remain secret for a reason, and although the Consultant did not seem the type to sell that information to the highest bidder, he was the type to casually mention it as though it were an obvious fact.

"Anyway – I think I've ranted more than I intended to. No doubt your brain is already trying to come up with logical solutions and conclusions as to whether or not I really am from a world where your existence is mere entertainment, or whether or not I merely believe I am, and have used this delusion as an excuse for whatever evil I commit."

Honestly, that was least most troubling issue on the Dark Knight's mind. For all he knew, The Consultant could merely be a deeply deluded and troubled individual who had conjured up the concept of the world around him being a fictional one – yet – he was aware of the fact that Batman thought that this would be a possible conclusion.

It was a well maintained delusion, but one nonetheless.

Other than the surprise knowledge of knowing his true identity and that of other heroes, there was no overwhelming evidence to prove that The Consultant really was from another dimension – a dimension in which his life, and everyone in the world were mere fictional characters.

It was insane –

Yet, it was still possible.

Alternate worlds and dimensions existed, as the cosmic-warping imps from the Fourth Dimension could attest to. The Multiverse theory was true, and there were infinite universes out there.

When infinite possibilities existed, didn't it become less unlikely, and more plausible that there was a universe where their lives had been compressed into medium of entertainment? Their adventures chronicled and spread into the pop-culture of the people, who had no idea that they were real?

Or, was he overthinking all of this, and merely dealing with a person who had severe case of schizophrenia, but was convincing enough to make his arguments valid?

With the Multiverse Theory, every delusional person on the planet could objectively be right.

"Well, I would say that it was nice talking to you, Batman, but I'm afraid it hasn't been. I knew people said you were a dark and edgy brooder, but I at least hoped you'd engage me in conversation. Or is it that you have some rule against battling philosophical ideals with criminals?" The Consultant snorted "Perhaps Falcone will provide a more interesting insight to the way the world works before I kill him? Though, that's highly unlikely."

The casual mention of murder immediately snapped Batman's attention back to the present, and back to the fact that the man in front of him was a criminal, irrespective of whatever justifications he used for it.

"I'm not going to let you."

The man's eyes roamed over him, and there was another chuckle – the sixth one.

"You're going to stop me? You?"

Irritation.

"Allow me to point out story-telling 101, Batman. If I am to follow the theory that my life is in fact, entertainment, then there must be conflict to make it interesting. The three types of conflict, are man versus nature, man versus man, and man versus self."

The Consultant blurred forward. The sudden blur was something that Batman could only attribute to speedsters going at their lower capabilities, and suddenly facing an opponent that was as fast as a speedster with little to-no warning or preparation caught him off guard.

This allowed a sudden, violent twisting of his right arm, and a sickening snap that followed. The Dark Knight bit down on his mouth, yet, he couldn't stop himself from screaming out in pain.

"Against nature – I might as well be a god. Against man? The only people that could probably pose a threat to me would be Kryptonian-level races, Lords of Chaos or Order, the Guardians of Oa, the New Gods of Apokolips and perhaps the God-level beings of this planet. For all your skill and bluster – against an opponent that won't hesitate to rapidly kill or cripple you – you are but a mere man."

He blurred to the other side, grabbing the other arm, and snapping it half like a twig.

"A dedicated man."

A blur again, as a fist smashed into his left knee, causing the joint to shatter like glass.

"But a mere man nonetheless."

Agony – it was all the Dark Knight could feel. Blinding, pure, pain and agony. He could no longer control his arms, and he was now aware of the fact that his left leg was bent forward in a hapless manner that no limb had any right being in. His estimation of his opponent's strength level sky-rocketed tremendously, and likewise did his estimation of his opponent's level of danger.

He wasn't someone that Batman could win against alone.

"Hm. I suppose being crippled on both arms and one leg will finally make you invest some money into cybernetic limbs or workable means of cellular regeneration – rather than spending billions on a floating tower in the sky, and millions more on a super car."

The Consultant shook his head as he put his hands in his pockets.

"Falcone comes next – and honestly, Bruce – you really should have killed me while you had the chance."

Broken, his secret identity exposed, his limbs rendered useless, his vision blurring, PAIN flaring, and his opponent looking down at him with as much apathy as an infant would stare at a crushed caterpillar – he could not help but feel the same.

"Instead – you're now going to have to fight off major bounty hunters, thugs and assassins from your rogues gallery, with only one working limb. But don't worry, maybe they'll subscribe to your 'no-killing' policy after seeing you in such a state."

He shrugged.

"Or, then again, maybe not."

And then he was gone.

Gotham City

Rooftops

12:34

Nezumi would admit to being immensely annoyed at the concept.

Assassins, coming after his master?

That was like saying that a horde of killer bacteria were going hunting against a bottle of antiseptic disinfectant.

It just did not happen. It wasn't meant to happen. But somehow, his master was allowing it to happen. Nezumi hopped from rooftop to rooftop in single, long movements as he kept his eyes peeled for any more fools that had it in their heads to go after his master. He had long since realized that his master was wiping off the last of the Falcone bloodline, killing Falcone's sons and sole daughter, hence, Nezumi had decided that he would allow his master complete his task by taking out the impetuous fools that would prove as empty cannon fodder for him.

The streets were almost literally riddled with them. With idiots possessing delusions of grandeur – and it was taking him a few seconds to stop, appear, punch a hole into their hearts, and then move on to the next target. They had guns! Guns! And the fools actually believed, in one way or another, that the guns would be of use!

Why hadn't his master conquered this entire planet already?

Honestly – Nezumi was not amused with the lackluster performance of these beings – these humans. It was a genuine wonder as to how they evolved to become the dominant species on this planet, when the planet was filled with demonic or angelic beings or even godly presences – what could a mere human do to –

A torrent of flame barreled into the side of the demon butler, flame that he realized, with some annoying condescension, could actually harm him. Except, it didn't, because, years and years ago, when he was a measly rat, his master had enchanted him to be fireproof.

He rolled to a stop, idly noting his position on one of the numerous rooftops in the residential area of the city, and turning his gaze to find the one that actually dared attack him.

"At first I doubted, if this was the one, but he survived my attack, and that's never been done."

Nezumi stopped, and stared, at the comical, almost laughable creature that was in front of him. With bright orange skin and horns, dressed in red spandex, green external underwear, and possessing a red cape –

"The Rhyming Demon – Etrigan."

Nezumi would admit, he had not been expecting to meet another demon in the city.

"Blimey mate! What if you'd been wrong? You'd have toasted some poor sod on a whim."

There was another man beside him, blonde hair, brown trenchcoat and a roguishly handsome charm to him, yet, Nezumi couldn't sense the innate magical power within him – no, he was not like his Master, he was just a lesser magician who relied on artefacts, trinkets and tricks. Yet, he knew who he was, because his master knew who he was, and that knowledge had been transferred.

"John Constantine."

The man appeared somewhat surprised.

"Well, that's a first. Never met an Eldritch Demon that knew my name before."

Nezumi rose a brow.

"Come to think of it – I've never met an Eldritch Demon who looks human. And is dressed like… a butler." He admitted "Not to mention going around and saving people by punching out the hearts of thugs and gang members. Definitely a first."

Saving people? Nezumi almost snorted at that. Clearly his intentions were misconstrued.

"So this is a real weird one innit? I mean – every single magical thing on the planet felt you when you arrived, hell, you gave Anna-girl a massive panic attack just by entering into this realm – but you don't seem so… evil-ish… up close."

Nezumi frowned. His presence had been detected by the entire magical community of the planet, and worse, they had been actively searching for him. This was bad – he had effectively countered his master's intentions for stealth and staying under the radar, without even realizing it.

He turned his eyes to the duo, and it was clear that Etrigan was the bigger threat, although, the magic user, Constantine… there was something off about him, and Nezumi knew that leaving that man alive was a surefire guaranteed way to eventually end up dead, or worse, sealed forever into some object.

"John Constantine."

He only hoped his master did not have any greater plans in mind that he was upsetting.

"Yes?"

"Your soul is mine."

Nezumi blurred forward, at a speed that would have easily made him capable of being considered a speedster, before he backslapped Etrigan with his exposed right hand and sent the demon crashing through several buildings, and he grabbed Constantine with his left hand, his fist aiming for the man's heart –

Only to immediately frown as he met a glowing yellow magical barrier.

"Whoo! That was a close –"

He shattered the barrier with brute strength, only to frown once more as the 'Constantine' he grabbed disappeared into a series of talismans. Explosive talismans.

Pointless, however, as he was both fireproof and explosion proof.

"Thy foul demon shall fall, by the might of Etrigan's call!"

The fist which impacted to the side of his face would have done serious damage, and judging by the residual shockwave and burst of air from the impact, Nezumi realized that the Rhyming Demon had significant superhuman strength behind his attacks. Against him however…

"I am perhaps, the worst possible opponent for you."

He grabbed Etrigan's hand, licked his lips and took a long, delightful crunch, straight out of the muscles, bone and meat that made up the demon's elbow.

The distinct look of shock and disbelief that rapidly engulfed Etrigan's face made it abundantly clear, that it was not expecting that. He leapt back, leaving Nezumi to properly chew and then begin to swallow the meal, idly realizing that Etrigan had a somewhat bacon like taste, albeit extremely charred.

He swallowed, loudly, before licking his lips a bit.

"Hm. Delicious."

For once, it seemed that the Rhyming Demon was all out of words.

DC – Remastered Edition

Falcone Estate

1:00 AM

Falcone knew that his time had come.

There had been something whispering in his ear for the longest time. A certain something which told him that the insane man called the Consultant would spell his end. The soft voice at the back of his head which had told him that he could afford spending his entire fortune on a bounty to catch this man, otherwise, he wouldn't even have a fortune left to spend.

Now, the aged patriarch of the Falcone family sat in the silence of his bedroom, already having seen the news, and already knowing, that his sons were dead, and his sole daughter, Sofia, was most likely either being mounted by a gorilla or a wolfhound, before she would be killed as well. Everything he had spent decades to build, his reputation and his legacy – all of it would be undone in a single night.

His children were all gone – so who was going to inherit his wealth?

His empire?

His idiotic lieutenants, filled with greed as they were, would immediately change the name and legacy, to try to make it theirs, that is, assuming the Maroni family doesn't burn them all to the ground first.

He sighed as he looked over his room – a lavish bedroom, large, sturdy mahogany doors, a kingsized bed, a flat-screen TV, a desk and chair for when he was too tired to go to his study, a small bar for when he felt like getting a drink, and all of it, all of it, was his – his alone.

And it was all useless.

He was glad, in a way, that his wife had passed on a few months back, otherwise there was no doubt that the Consultant would have come after her, and likewise made her engage in a disgusting sexual act with another wild beast in order to prove a sick point.

What point was it, anyway? That crime didn't pay? Falcone almost scoffed at the notion. Crime paid, and as long as you went uncaught, it paid big time. The only difference between him and the rich fat billionaires and politicians, was that he had not bothered to be overly subtle with his enterprise as they were. All they needed to do, was to assign some extra 'zeros' to the back of certain checks and documents, while for him, it was significantly more complicated.

The Consultant was just another foolhardy vigilante – the only difference between him and the Batman was his willingness to get his hands dirty.

"Hello, Carmine."

He was certain, that up until a second ago, the desk in his bedroom had been unoccupied. Except, now, it was no longer the case, as a young blonde male with blue eyes sat there, legs crossed, hands steepled, and giving him a calmly amused smile.

His first instinct should have been to call for the guards. His second, should have been to lunge straight for the shotgun kept underneath his pillow. A third, perhaps, would have been to lunge at the young man in a wild frenzy, as he was in a room with the man who had killed all his children and his entire extended family.

Yet, he did none of those things. As a matter of fact, none of those things even crossed his mind. He was strangely calm – serene even, inexplicably so. There was no bubbling anger or rage, just strange, unnerving tranquility. The type, that Falcone knew, he should have no business possessing in a situation like this.

"What did you do to me?"

The Consultant, a boy of no more than twenty, shrugged, and smiled once more. "I am a master enchanter. I basically Enchanted this room with a command – three commands per geographical location, to which time, space, reality, and even myself, am subjected to. In this case – the first command was: Nullify Emotion."

Carmine knew when he heard something that was true, and now, he felt it, there was a strange sense of bitter amusement that should have been present, at the realization that The Consultant was a charlatan of some sort, and hence, it was inevitable for him to be capable of outwitting and outperforming the normal man. Yet, this emotion, whilst Carmine was aware of the fact that he should be feeling it, he was lacking it.

"Although – the command is kind of redundant for me anyway. I feel nothing, yet, vaguely, I am amused by the fact that I feel nothing. Strange isn't it?" the Consultant then shrugged, "Anyway, come, sit down Falcone and let's have a cup of tea. I personally prefer ginger and honey tea – although, I haven't actually eaten anything in years… huh, how long is it? Seven, eight years? Strange how you forget about not eating when you don't need to."

"You said the first command," Falcone said, feeling strange to be so calm "What are the others?"

A pot of tea appeared in the boy's hand, along with two cups, and Falcone knew that he was dealing with one of those… freaks. He could have been skeptical about the information he received, believing it more likely to have been drugged, but unless the drug was also capable of hallucinations, then the fact that a pot and two ceramic cups had appeared out of thin air was enough to confirm that the Consultant truly was a shaman of some sort.

"Neither of us can leave this room or call for help as long as one of us remains alive," The Consultant said, "And no one in this room can tell a lie."

That sent some warning bells immediately into Falcone's head. "What?"

"Don't believe me?" The Consultant smiled, "Alright, let's put it to the test. How many times did you cheat on your wife before she died?"

Falcone frowned. "At least fifty times." His eyes went slightly wide as the words escaped his lips.

The Consultant nodded. "Ever had sex with an underaged girl?"

"Yes." He wanted to growl at himself for answering, yet, he couldn't. He couldn't feel anything except from a detached apathy.

"Ever raped an underage girl?"

"Yes."

The Consultant hummed.

"How young was she?"

"Fourteen." Falcone said, "I was twenty one at the time."

The Consultant put his hand on his chin and looked very intrigued. A form of sickening intrigue that Falcone couldn't place.

"Oh? Do tell – go on, don't spare any of the details."

What was the Consultant's endgame? What was the point of doing this? Did The Consultant hope to torture him by making him have a casual conversation with the very man who killed his children? Did he hope that he could break his resolve by preventing him from exacting his revenge?

"She was the local Baker's daughter – she was attractive enough, so much so that you'd think the little thing was probably four years older. I made some passes at her and she refused. Back then, I didn't have as much to do cause my old man was the head of the Falcone family. I was spoiled, rotten – I felt that I could do anything and get away with it. So, when she refused my passes, I got angry, and me an' a couple of my boys back then planned to do the deed. We broke into the baker's shop – I shot the baker myself, and we dragged her out and stripped her clothes bare. I whipped her with my belt for some time because hearing her cries made me feel more excited. I went first. She was a virgin – but that was expected cause she was young. Once I had my feel – I let my boys go at her one at a time."

The Consultant sat, slowly sipping his tea.

"And then…?"

"What else? I killed her – set fire to the entire building, and made it look like they'd died in an accident."

There was a chilling silence that Falcone couldn't place. Particularly in the manner that The Consultant was watching him, observing him, with eyes that saw more than they had any right to.

"That wasn't the last time you raped someone, killed their family, and then framed it up as an accident, was it?"

Falcone frowned. "No. I did something similar many times."

"Anyone stick out most prominently?"

He paused. He struggled to answer, particularly because of an ominous feeling that answering would spell disaster, yet, he could not help but speak the truth.

"The Cabrera Family – about, twenty-five years back or so."

The temperature seemed to have dropped by several hundred degrees, and Falcone noted, that the man's eyes were still curious, still sharp and observing, yet, they were haunting in a manner that made the mob boss shiver, watching as his breath formed a cloud of mist in front of his face which proved that the colder temperature was not merely his imagination.

"So," The Consultant was merely turning a spoon in his tea, a spoon which had not been there a second ago, "What made the Cabrera Family stick out?"

He almost snorted. Almost. "They were an idiotic group – mobsters that wanted to help the people and give back to the community. They founded their family based on the old, ancient traditions of the earliest Mafioso, and I knew, that if given enough time to grow, they'd have become as influential and wealthy as the Waynes. They'd already gathered the Waynes interest because of their policies – and I couldn't just sit back and watch them take over Gotham. So I killed all of them – tortured them for the trouble and to send a message to anyone with similar ideas."

"You killed all their men?"

Falcone frowned. "Yes."

"You raped all their women?"

"Ye–" he stopped. "No." He couldn't answer that question as a yes, because it wasn't exactly true.

"Oh?"

"There was one that got away – though I didn't know it at the time. Ella – or something I think. I found out about fifteen years ago, when she went on trial for child molestation and abuse. She was a loose end."

"Eva."

"What?"

"Her name… was Eva."

The eyes. Those eyes which stared at him would come to haunt Falcone for as long as he lived. He had a feeling, that if there was not a force, actively preventing the boy from displaying any emotion, he would have lunged at him, and torn him into a million gory pieces.

The Mafia Boss was quick on the update, and he noticed it, the eyes and the hair, those two defining features –

"You – you're a Cabrera."

A wild grin.

"Yes."

It – it wasn't possible. There was no way – he'd made sure to eliminate all the men, and there was no way that a twenty-something year old male Cabrera should exist – the only other Cabrera that should be running around was the final loose end, the woman's abused and molested son who had escaped from the hitman on that night – but, that was just fifteen years ago, there was no way that –

"You – you're her son?"

A wilder grin.

"Yes."

"That's – you shouldn't be this old –"

No sooner had he spoken those words, did the visage of a twenty something year old fade away. In his place, was a much younger person, with slight baby-fat on his face, calmer looking eyes, and slightly duller looking hair – it was unmistakably a teenager, and unmistakably a Cabrera.

"Carmine Falcone." The voice was softer, yet, it had an edge to it "I have waited, for almost thirteen years, for this moment. I thought I would kill you quickly, and be done with it, or I thought I would torture you agonizingly, and make you experience the same ignominy – but none of these options are quite as good as what I have planned for you. First – let us make sure you can feel again."

It was like someone had pulled an invisible carp over his head, and all at once, he could feel the blood pumping in his veins, hear his erratic heartbeats, feel the sweatiness of his palms and the beads of liquid coalescing on his brow. Then, all at once, adrenaline pumped into his system in the form of the primal emotion of rage, as the loss of his children and sister came crashing back unto him like a wild tiger unto unsuspecting prey.

"I'LL KILL YOU! YOU BASTA –"

All of his unrivalled fury, all of it, was pointless and useless in the face of what he had forgotten, was some sort of sorcerer. Thorny vines rose from the ground, piercing into his heels and hooking around his feet, stabbing into his palms and piercing his wrists, wrapping around his mouth, and slamming him to the bedroom floor, pinning him in place.

The Cabrera stared down at him, eyes devoid of all mirth. "Congratulations, Falcone. You will be the first in my series of ritual experiments."

Falcone couldn't speak, still frothing at the mouth, staring at the gall of the boy in front of him, the boy who had cost him everything! Everything!

He was too busy frothing to take note of the manner in which the blood from his wounds had spread out from his body, curving and turning until it formed a hexagon linked within a circle around him, and slowly, more and more words began to form from the blood.

"Blood Ritual: Voodoo Branch."

He did notice, however, when the Cabrera brought out a two vials of blood, and roughly forced it into his mouth.

"Blood of the father, blood of the son. Blood of the sister, Blood of the one."

Falcone's eyes widened with disgust at the realization that he had just swallowed the blood of his deceased relatives, and his anger, which had been fueling him to insane irrationality, slowly began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of ill foreboding and trepidation.

"Enemy mine, lie here defeated. Before all time, my vengeance requited."

In a flash, the Cabrera stood over him, his hand buried deep into his chest, before he ripped it out, holding a bloody, still-beating heart in his hand.

"And henceforth, the enemies of my enemy, the friends of my enemy, the acquaintances of my enemy, past and present, connected by blood, the ritual compels you –"

Falcone's consciousness only remained awake, barely, so he could hear the final words.

"Begin thy purge."

DC – Remastered Edition

Gotham City

Screams rocked through the air in Gotham City.

Barbara Gordon knew that she was not entirely a religious person, but even she would admit, that all those who witnessed such an event, would convert to religion and believe in God.

"T-this… this… what could do this!"

She stared, sickened beyond all measure, unable to hold her lunch in as she immediately retched over the side of the gargoyle she was sitting on as a vantage point, courtesy of the sight which stood before her.

Like all great events of disaster, it happened unexpectedly, suddenly, and completely without warning. Like Noah's flood or the Passover, those who were marked were vanquished, and those who were not were saved. She saw, as all over Gotham, one by one, men fell, their hearts violently ejected from their ribcages as though something or someone had reached out into their chests and pulled it without warning. The people who died seemed to be at random, except, it wasn't. Barbara knew it wasn't. They were Falcone's men, or Ibanescu men, or Maroni men, or Moxon men, or members of the Black Mask's crew, or Two Face's Gang, or Penguin's gang, or – or –

It didn't matter who they were, all that mattered, was witnessing how their hearts suddenly ejected from their ribcages, how they screamed and gurgled blood from the pain, how their eyes stared, disbelieving in their final moments as their brain came to the realization that it had lost a central organ, as they collapsed to the ground, gurgling, gasping, with desperation in their eyes in their final moments. Their still beating organs lay beside them, almost mockingly.

One, by one, they fell, by the dozens, but the hundreds – all of them – all of them –

Barbara retched again, the sandwich she'd eaten earlier that evening getting stuck in her throat and almost choking her, as pieces of partially digested lettuce and tomatoes forced itself out her nose, the sensation sending burning pain through her nostrils. She paid no heed to the fact that parts of her vomit had stained her uniform and hair, even as she hacked, and coughed, and forced more of her partially digested food out her throat.

A part of her didn't know how, or why, but she knew, she knew, that there was only one person who could be behind this.

She grit her teeth, ignoring the taste of vomit in her mouth as she almost practically roared out in agony, the moniker of the one responsible for the massacre.

"Batgirl – come in Batgirl!"

She stopped, panting, breathing heavily as she held up her communications device, wiping her vomit-stained mouth with the back of her hand.

"Night…wing?"

"There's been an emergency situation."

She seethed. "I know. I think everyone knows – considering half of Gotham is littered with fucking hearts!"

"No. Not that." If he was disturbed by her uncharacteristic swear, he didn't show it. "It's… Bruce."

Her heart sank.

"He – he's been…" Nightwing stopped. "The situation has gone out of what we can manage. Bruce ordered me to get you to safety."

"What?"

"He believes you're in great danger. He wants you safe, now."

She snarled. "I'm perfectly safe! What happened to Bruce?!"

"No, you're not! Barbara, I know the sight out there must be horrible, but listen – you're in danger! It's not safe out there!"

"What. Happened. To. Bruce?" she ground out.

"He's –"

"Safe."

It was only the calming, reassuring quality of that voice, which she'd heard hundreds of times beforehand, that stopped her from turning around and attacking, or leaping away in fright.

The hollow looking smile of the tall man with the giant S on his chest, did very little to soothe her mind.

~ DC – Remastered Edition.

Falcone Estate

It is finished.

I stared, slowly, at the body in front of me, watching the lights go out from his eyes once and for all, feeling the wet, warm, and grossly fleshy organ in my palm, hearing the screams of Falcone's men and guards as the ritual took place, and they would experience the same thing that I had done to the man himself.

Part of me could not believe that I actually came this far. Part of me did not believe that I actually did it. Part of me was still waiting, for Falcone to somehow rise up, and snort, telling me how I was a fool for thinking I could be rid of him that easily.

Yet, none of those things happened.

He… was dead.

Along with over two thousand or so other men.

Revenge Mission Completed!

Blood is Thicker

Carmine Falcone and the Falcone Family completely wiped out most of your family. It is only fair that you return the favor.

Main Objective:

Kill the Entire Falcone Family, down to every last henchman, every dog, every goldfish, and every unborn child. [Completed]

Bonus Objectives:

Do Not Get Caught [Completed]

Only Reveal Your Identity to Carmine Falcone in his last moments [Failed]

Organized Extinction: Eliminate all of Falcone's enemies, allies and acquaintances. [Completed]

Fast Track: End Falcone's Legacy within twenty-four hours [Completed]

Rewards:

You have gained $75,000,000!

You have gained Falcone Family Territory!

Massively Increased Reputation in Gotham!

Massively Increased Influence in Gotham!

Massively Increased Reputation with Villains of Gotham! You are now: Dreaded!

Massively Increased Reputation with the Gotham Underground! You are now: Dreaded!

Massively Decreased Reputation with Heroes of Gotham! You are now: Loathed!

Massively Decreased Reputation with Gotham Police Force! You are now: Loathed!

You have unlocked: Mafia Operations!

You have unlocked Achievement: The Godfather

You have unlocked Title: The Godfather

Bonus Rewards!

You now own all the properties of Gotham's Crime Families!

Achievement Unlocked: Mook Genocide!

You have gained 24032 EXP!

You have leveled up!

Strange as it was, I realized that this was the first quest I'd actually completed. Even stranger, it was one of the first quests I'd ever gotten.

Not that it mattered, as I stared down at Falcone's body – slowly dissipating away into particles of light, no evidence left behind whatsoever. I knew, that the same would be the case for the thousands of men who had died this night. All of the major heads of crime families were affected and would be dead. Effectively, I'd crippled organized crime in Gotham, in one night, doing more damage to it than Batman and the police had done in over twenty years.

Unfortunately, the Penguin, the Joker, Two-Face and Black Mask did not count as Falcone's 'true' enemies, so only their hired muscle had been killed. The men themselves would be unaffected.

Still, still, I realized…

I'd just opened up a lot of apartments and job opportunities for people.

That'd be good. 'Makarov' would make use of the opportunity for more PR, and to quickly aid the homeless and the unemployed populace.

I chuckled. The amusement was thick, because now, Falcone was dead.

He was dead.

Gone.

Forever.

I didn't… feel any better, for killing him.

It didn't make any difference.

She didn't come back to life magically and kiss me on the cheek to congratulate me for avenging her.

I just felt… hollow. Bland.

Empty.

It wasn't like I set out some grand plan for revenge or anything, or as if I focused primarily on attaining revenge – but still – I suppose I expected to feel… more.

I sighed. Ah well, I suppose it's to be expected. I didn't have time to stand here and contemplate whether or not my actions made any difference in the long run – it was irrelevant. All that was left for me to do, was to focus on destroying Batman and the Justice League, and of course, enjoy myself to the fine collection of wome –

New Main Quest Unlocked!

I stared at the notification in disbelief. A quest? I haven't gotten any of those in years. I'd almost even forgotten about the whole quest system, if not for the Revenge Mission and the Ultimate Quests.

To Temper Justice With Mercy

Congratulations! With an estimated three thousand, seven hundred and forty eight kills, a bounty of one billion, feats including, but not limited to, the jamming of the Batcomputer, the evasion of top assassins like Deathstroke, Deadshot, and Chesire, the crippling of Batman, and the Death of Carmine Falcone all in one night, you have now officially been registered as a serious threat by the entire world, and the Justice League!

Okay?

As a result, the entire Justice League is here to beat you into submission and put you away for a long, long time!

I blinked. What?

And – that was when a green train promptly slammed into the building.

DC – Remastered Edition

They were on edge.

How could they not be?

They had all seen the devastation created by one man. Even if all the bodies and evidence had disappeared immediately afterwards, there was no forgetting the sight of streets littered with hearts and dead bodies. Worse, they had no idea, how a person called a consultant of all things was capable of wreathing such damage.

Thankfully, Batman had the decency to attach a vitals monitor to the Batcomputer and to the Watchtower computer, immediately alerting the Justice League to his location in the case of a severe accident or injury, in which he was on the verge of death. They'd managed to rush him to the medical facilities, but most of the damage had been done. Batman's knee would not be healing any time soon, and neither would his arms. With how badly they were broken, causing internal bleeding, and having the jagged bones stick out of his skin – intense surgery was required. Regardless of the outcome – the Dark Knight would have lost a great deal of mobility in his arms, and he would essentially be crippled – forever.

The thought of it had sent their blood boiling.

Wonder Woman, aka Diana of Themyscira, wished for her blade to sing with the blood of the one responsible. Even now, as she was in the City, as she had seen the streets of hearts and dead bodies, her desire for blood was ever stronger. Her bloodlust was only slightly tempered by the Man of Steel, Kal-El, who, despite possessing a calmer appearance, she could tell, that his eyes were sharp and dangerous, and he was more than willing to use the required force to bring down their enemy.

Hal Jordan and J'onn J'ozz, the Green Lantern and the Martian Manhunter also stood at the ready, or, in their case, flew at the ready, as the Green Lantern was the first one to launch the attack, summoning his constructs and sending a bullet train made of the hard light of condensed willpower launching into the mansion where they knew their opponent stood.

In a blur of yellowish lightning, the final member of their team arrived, clad in red, and often faster than the eye could see. The Flash.

Normally, he'd make a quip, but the mood was far too somber for that to happen. The person they were after was someone who had hurt one of their own – levity had no place here.

"Well, talk about one hell of an introduction."

The young man shot out from the dust, brazenly standing on the roof of the Falcone Estate, his hands in his pockets, as he spotted a wild, almost savage grin on his face.

"Justice League!" He took a long bow, "My name is Zed Rander – pleasure to meet you."

Diana was about ready to snarl that the pleasure was not reciprocal, when a comment from the Man of Steel threw her off guard.

"You're… a kid."

Silence.

"What? What are you talking about?" Green Lantern said, frowning "He's old enough to be an adult – he's at least twenty –"

"Woah, woah, woah! Hold up here!" The Flash added, pointing "What are you talking about? I know a teenager when I see one – and that's definitely a teenager."

Diana frowned, turning to the villain in question, who, truly, looked like a young man of at least twenty or twenty one –

"You – you can see past my –" the young man stopped. "Of course you can. Different types of vision. Manipulating light wouldn't work on you, I get, but The Flash? How…"

It was with flourish that the 'young man' vanished, the illusion fading away and revealing a young persona within it. A young boy who still had baby fat on his cheeks, and was suitably somehow short for a teenager –

And it was a teenager.

There was no way the person in front of them could be any older than fifteen at the very most.

The silence stretched on even longer, and most of their rage and anger had morphed into confusion and disbelief.

"Wait… you're telling me, that Bats was almost done in… by someone who's not even old enough to drink?"

They had approached, ready to face an evil on the same level of perhaps Darkseid, or a foe such as the Joker. Yet, they had never faced an actually competent foe who was so young before – never. Most of the time, such skirmishes only occurred between the younger members of the Justice League, such as the Teen Titans – so this was entirely new territory for them.

Fortunately, it was new territory, for him too.

XXXXXXXX

Name: Kal-El/Clark Kent

HP: EX

MP: N/A

Level: EX

Age: 30-ish

Race: Kryptonian

Occupation: Reporter

Title: Man of Steel

Current Alias: Superman

Affiliations: Justice League, Justice Society of America, Daily Planet, Krypton, Metropolis

Base of Operations: Metropolis

Alignment: Good

Identity: Secret

Citizenship: American

ATTRIBUTES

Strength: EX

Vitality: EX

Dexterity: 2.17M

Charisma: 967k

Intelligence: 1.24m

Wisdom: 543k

Luck: EX

I almost wheezed. Almost. Superman's Dexterity score was in the millions. The millions. His Strength and Vitality were both EX ranked. I'd been fairly confident about my ability to handle him before today, except, the stats did not lie, and if I was to go on stats alone, I stood no chance against the Man of Steel. Especially when I realized that his name…

It was written in Gold.

My eyes whipped over to the Flash, hoping to see something more comforting –

Name: Barry Allen

HP: 755K/755K

MP: N/A

Level: 730

Age: 32

Race: Human

Occupation: Forensic Analyst

Title: Fastest Man Alive

Current Alias: The Flash

Affiliations: Justice League, Justice Society of America, Central City

Base of Operations: Central City

Alignment: Good

Identity: Secret

Citizenship: American

ATTRIBUTES

Strength: EX

Vitality: 1.2M

Dexterity: Mathematically Incalculable

Charisma: 9213

Intelligence: 10.2M

Wisdom: 14k

Well… fuck.

I kept my calm, mostly because of Gamer's Mind, and partially because they were still bickering amongst themselves as to what to do with me, because I was not yet an adult. My mind was instantly drawn back to my latest quest, which, as I had discovered, was essentially reality's way of smacking me in the face.

To Temper Justice With Mercy

Congratulations! With an estimated three thousand, seven hundred and forty eight kills, a bounty of one billion, feats including, but not limited to, the jamming of the Batcomputer, the evasion of top assassins like Deathstroke, Deadshot, and Chesire, the crippling of Batman, and the Death of Carmine Falcone all in one night, you have now officially been registered as a serious threat by the entire world, and the Justice League!

As a result, the entire Justice League is here to beat you into submission and put you away for a long, long time!

Main Objective:-

Survive or Escape the Justice League

Bonus Objectives:

Attempt your most futile struggle against them

Futilely manage to wound one of them

Escape with half of your health remaining

Rewards:

Freedom

You live to fight another day

Failure:

Incarceration and/or Death

Bullshit.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit!

BULLSHIT!

I'd trained – I'd haxed my way for thirteen years without food or sleep – and you're telling me, that with all the power at my fingertips, I'm not as strong as the Justice League? I don't have as much power as they do?

UTTER FUCKING BULLSHIT!

"Status."

Name: Isaac Zachariah Cabrera

HP: 35.4k/35.4k

MP: 45k/45k

Level: 48

Age: 16

Race: Human (Homo Magi)

Occupation: Private Investigator, Consulting Criminal

Current Title: The Consultant

Current Alias: N/A

Aliases: Zeddicus Zul Zorander/Makarov Dreyer/Salem Spellman

Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Gotham Nightlife Association, Gotham Criminal Underground, Gotham Magical Underground

Base of Operations: Gotham City

Alignment: Neutral

Identity: Relatively Known

Citizenship: American

ATTRIBUTES

Strength: 912

Vitality: 2732

Dexterity: 1093

Charisma: 1023 [TOGGLED – ON]

Intelligence: 840 [TOGGLED –ON]

Wisdom: 403 [TOGGLED – ON]

Luck: 349 (+50) [TOGGLED – ON]

If it were based on pure stats alone, then I knew that I had no chance – but – I had skills, I had maxed out skills – all of which would work in my favor – all of which, I could use to my advantage.

Skill Trees

Alchemy Skill Tree

Intermediate Alchemic Rituals (Passive) Lv. 86

Master Alteration (Active) Lv. Max

Master Animation (Active) Lv. Max

Master Conjuration (Active) Lv. Max

Master Enchantment (Active) Lv. Max

Nature Magic Skill Tree

Intermediate Nature Rituals (Passive) Lv. 74

Master Summon Grass (Active) Lv. Max

Master Summon Pebbles (Active) Lv. Max

Master Summon Leaves (Active) Lv. Max

Master Summon Vines (Active) Lv. Max

Master Animal Discourse (Active) Lv. Max

Master Animal Manipulation (Active) Lv. Max

Blood Magic Skill Tree

Intermediate Blood Rituals (Passive) Lv. 56

Greater Blood Drain (Active) Lv. 83

Greater Blood Manipulation (Active) Lv. 39

Soul Magic Skill Tree

Intermediate Soul Rituals (Passive) Lv. 53

Greater Astral Projection (Active) Lv. Max

Master Body Possession (Active) Lv. Max

Master Voodoo (Active) Lv. Max

Soul Conditioning (Active) Lv. Max

Soul Slavery (Active & Passive) Lv. Max

Soul Bondage (Active) Lv. Max

Soul Music (Active) Lv. Max

Necromancy Skill Tree

Intermediate Necromantic Rituals (Passive) Lv. 64!

Master Soul Drain (Active) Lv. Max

Superior Create Undead (Active) Lv. Max

Superior Reanimate Corpse (Active) Lv. Max

Musical Mastery Tree

All Maxed

Piano Mastery

Guitar Mastery

Violin Mastery

Percussion Instrument Mastery

Flute Mastery

Trumpet Mastery

Other Skills

Acrobatics (Active & Passive) Lv. Max

Cheerleading (Active) Lv. 94

Dancing (Active) Lv. Max

Double Jump (Active) Lv. Max

Homestyle Cooking (Passive) Lv. Max

Housekeeping (Active) Lv. Max

Instant Dungeon Creation (Active/Passive) Lv. Max

Pickpocket (Active) Lv. Max

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

You can do this.

This is what you've been training for.

Gamer's Mind kicked in, sharper than ever before, and my eyes narrowed as I worked out my plan.

First, I would need to transform the environment around me into a Kryptonite forest. Alteration made sure that I could turn anything into anything, as long as I knew that the material I was transforming was non-living. While the Kryptonite weakened Superman, and everyone was still surprised by it, I would turn the ground into ice to make sure that The Flash lost his footing against me. Then, my next target would be Martian Manhunter – fire was his weakness. With Alteration I'd snap my fingers and use Mustang style – which would be enough to disable him for a while. Green Lantern and Wonder Woman were the odd ones out, she was nigh-invulnerable hence she was the bigger threat. I just had to watch out for Green Lantern's attacks, and get close enough to use Pickpocket to steal his ring. Wonder Woman could be subdued by tying her in her own rope – a tactic that she'd fallen for hundreds of times as much as I can remember.

Failing that, Plan B would be to create an undead army with Superior Create Undead, summon demons from hell with Conjuration, or get close enough to use Master Body Possession or Master Soul Drain.

Plan C would probably involve using Alteration to create a diamond/kryptonite golem, and using Animation to command it to move and attack. Creating enough of these should be what I need to give me the numbers advantage.

Plan D was to convert all the breathable air and oxygen around me into Cyanide. Except… Superman would be unaffected mostly, the Flash would outrun it, I had no idea how Cyanide worked on Martian physiology, and Wonder Woman was part-goddess. Only Green Lantern might be affected – except, his ring came with its own personal atmosphere which enveloped him, and allowed him to travel through space unaffected by lack of oxygen and harmful dark matter.

I scrapped Plan D and went on to Plan E. Getting their blood, hair, or other personal artefacts to use as foci – and then utilizing Master Voodoo to make them fight against each other. Far easier said than done.

Plan F and G were both busts, so I skipped to plan H – Hidan. Using Master Voodoo on myself, and inflicting damage on myself so that it transferred to them. Problem was, I needed a foci, and I doubted they'd be willing to just lend me parts of their clothes or hair.

Plan I – Instant Dungeon – send them to my personal dimension and leave them locked there, where I could manipulate their sensations of time, increase the heat and atmosphere of the dimension, and was a literal god. Problem was, getting them in to the place. Though, it was workable.

'Alright – let's do this!'

Warning!

You are about to commence a Boss Battle against Five Bosses tremendously above your level. Your estimated chance of success is 0.00000000000001%.

Do you wish to proceed?

(Yes – I wish to die)

(No – I like living)

Stop Mocking Me!

You have chosen to die.

I went with plan A first, slamming my palm into the ceiling of the Falcone mansion, willing my mana, and watching as cement, wood and other materials began to convert into the glowing green form of the radioactive material that was Kryptonite.

'Alter: Kryptonite Fore –'

–12034HP!

I didn't know where it came from. I didn't know how it happened. I wasn't even sure who had been the one to do it. All I knew, was that a devastating punch had sent me flying into the sky. I wasn't even sure if it was a punch, an uppercut, or a kick, the world merely rushed by, as I ascended, higher, and higher, and higher, Falcone's estate appearing ever smaller in my vision.

And then I was caught – by the back of my jacket, like a stray cat.

"You – created Kryptonite."

Let it be said, that people underestimate how terrifying the Man of Steel is. Having him look at you, gaze at you as though he was trying to figure out something, with that coiled hair and chiseled chin, and the eyes which ominously glowed red –

But, he was holding me now. He was holding me. That, was his biggest mistake.

'Soul Dr –'

I was back on the ground.

I couldn't explain it. One second, Superman was holding me in the sky, the next, I was on the ground, my hands roughly tied behind my back with glowing ropes that I knew belonged to none other than Wonder Woman.

How?

HOW?

What is – what was –

I wanted to scream.

HOW?!

Codex Entry – The Flash

Barry Allen, or in this case, The Flash, is literally the fastest man alive. His top speed cannot be calculable, but he is indeed several times faster than the speed of light. However, to utilize this speed effectively, The Flash's speed of cognition needs to be higher than his speed of movement. This makes the Flash capable of thinking and processing thoughts in mere attoseconds. Essentially, to the Flash, a single second, is approximately thirty years. This however means, that he knows what you will do the very instant you start doing it, and has already developed a thousand counters for what you will do when you start doing it. The Flash's speed of comprehension is equal to that of Superman, as the Man of Steel can stretch out a single second into numerous decades in his mind, and both are capable of having a conversation whilst, to them, the world is frozen solid.

Essentially, it doesn't matter what you do. They already know you're going to do it, and they've already thought about how to stop it, before you can even start it.

Be thankful they don't kill.

My jaw clenched shut.

Speed of thought.

I was infinitely slower than them in thinking – a second, stretched out over thirty years? It was… impossible.

But – but – this made no sense – if they were this capable, how were foes like Captain Cold and Lex Luthor actually going to give them a challenge? How in the world did they face off against people who could comprehend information like gods?

Bad writing and character nerfing?

That couldn't all be it… Could it?

"So, what do we do with him?" I heard Green Lantern ask.

"He's too dangerous to be put into any of Gotham's prisons," Superman responded, "At the same time… he's just a kid. I'm not even sure if putting him into any prison is a good idea."

"He killed thousands of people! He crippled Batman!" Hal Jordan said with a snarl, shooting a dirty look in my direction.

"Criminals."

All of the Justice League was staring at me now. I'd envisioned this moment on top of a throne of bodies, with sexy naked women at my side or on my dick, and the Justice League in chains – yet, irony hit me, as I found myself being the one, bound by the Lasso of Truth, a prisoner.

Hubris seemed to truly be my magical flaw.

"What?"

"They were all criminals," I said, shrugging. "Every single person who died tonight – not one of them was an innocent man. They were all criminals, and they died."

"They were people!" Hal yelled.

Not to me, no. "That's up for debate."

"Be that as it may," the oddly serene voice of Martian Manhunter was something I never thought I'd hear "We cannot merely pardon him because of his age. He needs to understand that his actions have consequences."

Oh, I'd definitely learned that tonight. I'd learned that I wasn't strong enough to face the Justice League head on, and that Batman was one of the weakest members of it, despite what his fanboys and useless hype would tell you. The Flash and Superman were two of the deadliest members, and the only way I was going to beat them was if I was on an equal footing with them. As it stood, I was nowhere near capable of running faster than the speed of light, or increasing my speed of thought to god-like levels, and all my previous delusions of godhood had shattered like a glass condom on Valentine's Day.

This was… an interesting experience, but I'd lost far too much here. They knew my real face, they knew my real age, and they didn't know my real name, but they'd gotten some clues as to how my abilities worked. Imprisonment was not an option – not now, not ever.

Thankfully, this was a situation in which I had the right skill for. A skill, which, for the most part, I had thought useless, but now, it was the only thing I could use, without tipping off either the Man of Steel or the Flash, and it was the only thing that could guarantee my escape.

Without any warning, or without needing to vocalize the move to use it – I activated it.

'Greater Astral Projection'.

My body hit the ground, unconscious, as my soul was freed from a mortal shell. I turned my attention to the Justice League, grinning in satisfaction at the realization that none of them could see me, because none of them were particularly attuned to the supernatural.

Attempting to possess any of them was far too risky in such a situation. They were on guard, and they'd no doubt not take any invasion well, so instead, I turned to my body – my interesting, mortal body –

"Animate: Self Destruct."

And I blew it up.

XXXXXXX

Nezumi calmly used a handkerchief to wipe his lips, eliminating the stain of the blood that was on them, and letting out a silent burp from the delicious meal he had enjoyed. He looked down, to the remaining bones, and promptly brought up two skulls, one, large and demonic, and the other one, distinctively human.

Perhaps their skulls would make for useful items in a potion or ritual?

At the very least, they would be good ornamental pieces around the mansion.

Still – he had felt his master's magic activate whilst he was fighting – and he had felt several of the incompetent humans around him die. That was good, his master was finally starting his plans of world domination.

Now all Nezumi needed to do – was help him in earnest.

He blinked, turning his attention to the side, as a massive explosion occurred off in the distance, leaving a giant mushroom cloud shape that went several meters into the sky.

Nezumi shook his head, particularly as he felt a soul anchor itself to his location.

"Are you in need of a new body, Master Zack?"

…

"No, Master Zack, I was not, in fact, being sarcastic."