More chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
500 powerstones by the weekend and I'll drop 5 full chapters. Let's do it guys.
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(General P.O.V)
Deep in the Batcave, the flicker of candlelight illuminated intricate runes etched into the floor.
The magic circle hummed with latent energy, but Zatara, seated cross-legged at its center, sighed in frustration, a look of resignation settling over his face.
"Blocked, yet again."
He muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Standing a few feet behind him, Alfred, ever composed, offered a sympathetic nod.
"I'm sure you'll find him sooner or later, sir. Hiding a twenty-foot dragon does present some challenges, I imagine."
He adjusted his cufflinks,
"In the meantime, Master Giovanni, you have a visitor."
Before Zatara could ask, a familiar voice filled the Batcave,
"If I'd known you'd be calling me to this dreary shithole, Zatara, I would've asked for a bloody fee."
John Constantine strode in, his trench coat flapping slightly as he passed by Alfred.
The smell of smoke and whiskey preceded him, even though there was no cigarette lit—yet.
Constantine's eyes darted around the dark recesses of the Batcave, taking in the atmosphere- a mixture of high tech and gloom.
"Reckon I can smoke in here, old mate?"
He asked, a cigarette already dangling from his lips.
Alfred, in his usual dry manner, replied with an emotionless, "No," before swiftly making his exit.
Constantine watched the butler leave, an amused grin curling his lips.
"Thought butlers were supposed to be hospitable?"
Zatara, still kneeling near the circle, ignored the remark, his attention shifting back to the locator magic formation.
Constantine's eyes flicked over it, narrowing at the runes on the ground. A low whistle escaped him.
"Top-level construction as always."
He remarked, crouching down beside Zatara to inspect the spell.
"But what are you so desperate to find that you had to tap into the leyline for extra juice?"
Zatara's voice was flat as he answered,
"Manhunter."
Constantine straightened, looking Zatara dead in the eye.
"Manhunter? As in J'onn J'onzz? The Martian?"
Zatara nodded, eyes heavy with worry.
"He's missing. Kidnapped."
And so Zatara told him about the Ghost Rider and the havoc his presence had invoked on Gotham.
"I suspect J'onn may be involved. I've tried reaching out to him magically, but everything's blocked. His presence is... shrouded."
Constantine stood, crossing his arms.
"Bullocks."
Zatara pressed on, ignoring the doubt.
"I called you here because I think this Rider might be a demon. And you're the foremost expert, John."
Constantine scoffed.
"Demons on dragons? You're gonna have to do better than that, mate. What makes you think this Rider's a demon and not some overblown, magic-wielding nutter?"
Zatara hesitated.
"The flames... they weren't natural. More mystical but it's not magic. If anyone could identify the signature, it's you."
Constantine rubbed his chin thoughtfully,
"And the Bat? Where does he figure in all of this?"
Before Zatara could respond, the roar of engine filled the dreary cave. The Batmobile drove through an opening and stopped at the edge of a ramp.
The door hissed open and Batman stepped out, cape barely whispering as it shifted behind him.
His presence in the chamber was palpable—cold, calculated, and watchful.
On his shoulder, slung like a sack of flour, was a bound man, Jimmy Tribbiani. His face was pale, hands tied behind his back, struggling weakly against the restraints.
Zatara smiled,
"He was plan B incase plan A failed."
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Michael stood on the edge of the rooftop, staring down at the chaos below.
Blue flames licked at the remnants of destroyed shipping containers, the eerie glow casting an unnatural light on the water.
Firefighters struggled to put out the Rider's fire with hoses to no avail. Those flames would only die when Michael allowed it.
His gaze shifted from the firefighters to the police cordon.
Beyond the yellow tape, paramedics tended to a group of girls huddled on the sidewalk, blankets draped over their shoulders.
Their faces—exhausted, scared, and hollow—told the story of what they'd been through. The sight filled him with rage.
They were of different ethnicities: Asian, African, South American. All trafficked from across the globe and thrown into the hands of monsters.
J'onn had telepathically sensed their fear, informing Michael of their desperate cries for help.
Michael had wasted no time and called out the Rider to deal out his punishment.
The traffickers hadn't stood a chance.
"Black Mask's men huh?"
Michael muttered, the information relayed to him by J'onn- having read the Trafficker's minds before the Rider turned them to ash.
After Jimmy had failed to show up, Michael had gone looking for him. He hadn't expected they would stumble upon a human trafficking ring though, but here they were.
Thanks to J'onn, they had acted quickly. He shuddered to think what would have happened if they hadn't coincidentally been around.
"I have Black Masks' location, Michael. In case you want to follow up."
J'onn added, his telepathic voice tinged with cold resolve.
Michael's anger simmered just below the surface, barely held in check.
"Guess we have our new target, J'onn."
He said to the thin green snake coiled around his neck—J'onn in his shifted form. The snake hissed in agreement.
Jimmy would have to wait. Black Mask was the priority now.
Michael leaped from the rooftop, green bat-like wings molding across his back before he could hit the ground.
With a flap, he rose into the sky and vanished through the night, headed toward Black Mask's lair.
But just as he left, a silent figure dropped from the shadows onto the rooftop he had vacated.
Catwoman straightened, sharp eyes scanning the destruction at the docks before narrowing in the direction Michael had disappeared. She had seen enough.
"It's time for answers."
She muttered before silently following him.
(Michael's P.O.V)
I seethed as I landed across my target, fists clenched tight.
Some of those girls had looked barely older than Emily. Ripped from their homes and sold like property. The image wouldn't leave my head, stoking the rage burning in my chest.
I'd always heard stories about Gotham's worst criminals, and Black Mask ranked among the most despicable.
But now I'd seen his cruelty firsthand, and it was taking everything I had not to let the Rider's rage bubbling inside me explode.
Ahead of me, the building loomed—a five-story structure with "Janus Cosmetics" spelled out in bold letters.
Perfectly disguised as just another corporate office in the business district. A sick joke, considering what was really going on inside.
"Talk to me, J'onn."
I muttered under my breath.
"I can sense 89 minds."
J'onn's voice echoed in my head, calm and steady.
"Of them, 22 are Black Mask's people. 30 appear to be guests. The rest... are young. They're in torture chambers and holding cells. It's a slave auction, Michael."
The bile rose in my throat as flashes of those kids' memories flickered through my mind, sent by J'onn.
Chains, terror-filled faces, men placing bids like they were buying cattle.
My vision blurred, the Rider's fire creeped up, begging to be unleashed.
But I couldn't lose control. Not now. If I let the Ghost Rider out full force, the innocent victims inside might pay the price.
"Michael...she's back."
J'onn's warning cut through my thoughts.
I turned slightly, hearing the faintest sound of Catwoman landing behind me, her black form practically dissolving into the shadows.
"Usually, when someone's out for a heist, they go for a bank."
She said with that casual tone of hers.
"Didn't think you were the robbing type."
I turned fully, staring her down.
"You're right, Selina, I'm not."
I said coldly.
Her eyes widened, shocked I knew her name. But that surprise quickly turned into fear as my flesh began to peel away, the flames of the Rider igniting around me, bathing the rooftop in an eerie blue light.
I could see the wariness flicker in her eyes as I shifted fully into the Ghost Rider. Michael's psyche retreated slightly and whoever or whatever I was now could sense her soul-gray with sins.
"I EXACT VENGEANCE ON SINNERS LIKE YOU."
The Rider's voice rumbled from deep within me, fire swirling in the air.
Selina took a cautious step back, her earlier confidence wavering in the face of the Divine Monster I'd become.
She swallowed hard, regaining some of her composure.
"Vengeance? For what? I haven't exactly—"
My hollow eyes burned into her soul, exposing every misdeed like flipping through the pages of a book. A tragic life, made worse by bad decisions. Bold, but bad nonetheless.
"YOU HAVE SINNED, SELINA KYLE. NONE CAN DECEIVE MY GAZE."
I heard her heart skipped a beat.
She knew she had crossed lines before, stolen, manipulated, and betrayed, but she didn't think herself deserving of my wrath. None of them ever do. Her next words were carefully measured,
"I steal, yeah. But I don't hurt people, Rider."
I cocked my head, the flames dimming around my skull slightly, assessing her words. Mortals always have excuses.
"REGARDLESS, YOUR CRIMES WILL BE JUDGED."
Her hope that I would spare her dimmed. She panicked but refused to show it. Instead she turned my attention elsewhere,
"Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but it's got nothing to do with me. Black Mask... he's the one you want, right?"
For a long moment, I stood still with indecision. I could punish her with a Penance Stare but the part of me that was Michael rebelled against that idea. Besides, she was right about one thing- My Vengeance was slated for Black Mask.
Michael's Psyche grabbed control and I let him. The was still time to fully awaken my true self but for now, I allowed him to lead us.
The heat receded from my head as my flesh re-emerged and the Rider went back to sleep- ready for when he was needed. I was fully Michael once more. And Selina's presence had given me an idea.
While I knew she had questions, Black Mask took precedence. And even if she tried to hide it, the Rider had sensed her hatred towards him.
"We're after the same man, Selina. What do you say we work together and take down this Asshole?"
I suggested.
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