As mentioned earlier, the Court of Owls' "Amber Gold" is a transparent, colorless liquid metal. It always shimmers with a mesmerizing silver glow, resembling a dazzling starry sky. In the prime universe, Bruce Wayne unknowingly drank some of it. Amber Gold was one of the five metals that transformed Bruce into a conduit between worlds. But aside from that, Amber Gold had other remarkable uses.
First, as a liquid metal, it wasn't just refreshing to drink—it was sweet and thirst-quenching.
Second, regular consumption of Amber Gold slowed aging, increased physical strength, and, depending on its concentration, granted mild regenerative abilities. Drinking it also induced delightful hallucinations.
Lastly, if you found a skilled enough blacksmith, Amber Gold could be forged into weapons or armor. It had excellent malleability and flexibility, and was particularly effective against magical creatures like ghosts, dryads, and werewolves. As an armor additive, it provided substantial protection against magical damage and curses.
However, from what Michael (Slade) knew, only two figures in the DC Universe could forge liquid metal: Hephaestus, the god of smithing, and the cosmic Weaponers. Other powerhouses focused on creating or reshaping worlds, a much more advanced level of crafting.
That said, Michael already wore armor made from Promethium, infused with trace amounts of Nth Metal, which enhanced his resistance to magic. He saw no need to upgrade his armor further.
As for weapons, his current gear would suffice for now. Alternatives were hard to come by.
Michael's earlier close inspection of the Talon's corpse confirmed that the assassin did not possess regenerative abilities. Amber Gold, evidently, did not exist in Earth -11. If it had, the Court would certainly have used it to enhance their Talons.
Blowing up the Talon's corpse was Michael's way of delaying the Court's discovery.
Returning to the group, Michael informed them it was time to move. Cindy put away her weapons and merely shrugged, having realized that Michael was gathering intelligence during the fight. She too had made mental notes about the enemy.
Barbara, concerned for Michael, glanced at his waist where the Talon had struck him, and only relaxed when she saw he was unharmed.
As for Pete, he lived up to everyone's expectations by vomiting. The moment Michael had detonated the corpse, a piece of indiscernible organ had splattered across his camera lens, and that was the final straw.
Now, Pete was retching and sobbing simultaneously—crying and vomiting in the same breath. Vicki, meanwhile, sighed and slung the camera over her shoulder, waiting with a twisted grimace.
"The Court of Owls is involved. Time is running out. We need to find the Bat—quickly," Michael said as he brushed off the scratch on his armor, speaking calmly to Cindy. He removed his helmet, letting the rain cool his heated thoughts, as the thrill of battle had left his mind too sharp.
"The entrance to the underground lab… We just need to find fresh footprints. A large group moving together—there's no way they've cleaned up every trace of their passage in this storm," Cindy suggested, patting his shoulder. Rain streamed down her armor as she glanced around, formulating a plan.
Michael nodded, exhaling slowly. He lit a cigarette, using his helmet to shield the flame. "I'll leave it to you. I need to calm down. The bloodlust is getting to me."
"Something's off with you. If you're feeling hunger, it's because your healing factor is demanding energy. Your body is converting that need into a primal craving for flesh and blood. Maybe you sustained internal injuries without realizing it, possibly even in your brain," Cindy said, feeling along Michael's head as if searching for an unseen injury. Her tactical gloves were cold against his skin.
"I don't feel injured, except for a headache," Michael replied, tapping his skull and chest, running a quick mental check on his body.
"That's what makes it strange. I can't figure it out either," Cindy muttered, pulling away to search for tracks. In the rain-soaked mud, footprints looked like circular pools filled with murky water.
Suddenly, Pete let out a scream, startling everyone. Michael instinctively drew his gun and pointed it toward the noise.
It turned out Pete had been vomiting into a low-lying pit. The rain had caused soil erosion, and the deluge had unearthed something disturbing—a skeletal corpse.
The bones, washed out by the floodwaters, had risen to the surface right in front of Pete. As he puked, he suddenly found himself face to face with a grinning skull, its hollow eyes seemingly staring at him from the puddle.
That was enough to make him shriek.
Before Michael could react, Vicki smacked Pete, sending him stumbling. "Get a grip, Pete. It's just a skull, and an old one at that. No need to scream like that!"
"But… but it's a skeleton! What if this place is haunted?" Pete wailed, his face slick with rain and tears, or maybe just more vomit.
A hulking man, easily over 6'4" and weighing at least 300 pounds, was now whimpering like a child to a much smaller woman. The scene was too absurd for Michael to watch. He feared his reflexes might betray him, and he'd accidentally pull the trigger.
Vicki, in a strange act of comfort, picked up the skull and began tossing it like a toy. "See? No ghosts. It's just a skull. Stop being such a baby."
Though her method was unconventional, it showed she did care for her partner. Unfortunately, her plan backfired—Pete shook his head frantically and backed away even more.
With the camera resting on one shoulder and a skull in the other hand, Vicki sighed dramatically. She looked up at the sky as if silently pleading for divine intervention, convinced her partner was hopeless.
She could almost feel the weariness in her soul. Pete was afraid of everything, from blood to ghosts, and yet, he ate enough food for ten people. Worse, as the tradition went, it was always the host or anchor's duty to treat their camera crew to meals—a rule that was utterly breaking her budget.
Then something caught Vicki's attention that made her forget her frustration.
"Hey, this skull's got gold teeth! Not bad. I'll keep this—maybe turn it into a ring or necklace later," she said, gleefully pocketing the gold teeth she had pried from the skeleton's mouth. Her blue eyes sparkled like coins as she pocketed her treasure.
Pete blinked in disbelief. How had he missed the gold teeth? He had been inches from the skull, yet Vicki had pulled riches out of it like magic. The whole thing felt even more unsettling now.
At that moment, Cindy returned from the shadows. Her silhouette, distorted by the downpour, seemed ghostly and unreal.
"I found the tracks. The way in isn't easy, though," she reported, approaching Michael.
"No problem," Michael replied, hoisting Barbara's wheelchair effortlessly. "Once we get underground, things will be easier."
"You think Falcone's spotted us already? We've been making quite the racket," Barbara asked nervously, ever since seeing how Gotham's surveillance systems worked, she had been paranoid about being watched.
Michael walked steadily despite the mud, following closely behind Cindy's footsteps. "Relax. This is the homeless district. Falcone couldn't install surveillance here even if he wanted to. These people would strip down and sell anything remotely valuable, even a radio hidden in one of these wrecked cars."
Cindy added as she scouted ahead, "Falcone being here is a secret. He can't afford to stir up the homeless community, so he's likely operating on the down-low. But once we're underground, things could get a lot worse."
"The Roman's not interested in letting the League in here. He's just trying to lure them into the city," Cindy said, voicing her thoughts about their current situation.
As the group discussed potential outcomes, they soon found themselves at the mouth of a flood drainage tunnel. But strangely, the area was bone dry. Despite the heavy rain, no water pooled here.
The smooth concrete floor and overgrown vines around the entrance made it look like the mouth of a cave deep in the woods. In this setting, however, it seemed utterly out of place.
This part of Indian Hill was all wrong. The stench, the ominous air—it was no wonder none of the homeless chose to stay here despite its apparent shelter from the rain.
At the far end of the tunnel, a massive green metal door loomed. No signs, no words adorned it, only an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Any ordinary person who ventured this close would be consumed by dread.
Standing before the door, Cindy prepared explosives, setting them near the lock and attaching a remote detonator. The group took cover as she positioned herself to trigger the blast.
"Ready?" she asked, her finger hovering over the red button.
Michael chuckled, his red visor gleaming faintly in the darkness. "You're kidding, right? Deathstroke's always ready."