Chapter 58: M I C K E Y—M O U S E!
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Dean walked through the maze. As he climbed the towering walls, he saw nothing beyond what was on the map. The Court of Owls had built many repetitive structures, their designs blurring the lines between reality and illusion, distorting one's sense of time and space. No matter how far one traveled, it always felt like returning to the starting point, caught in an endless cycle. But according to the map, that wasn't the case.
For the third time, the Marauder's Map refreshed itself. God only knew how massive this labyrinth was—built to trap even Batman for a week, pushing him to the brink of insanity.
But Dean wasn't at risk of falling into the same fate. He wasn't afraid of darkness, nor did he reject the light. No matter how long this took, his pace remained steady, deliberate, like a tiger moving through its own territory, sniffing out intruders.
A faint, rhythmic sound rang through the maze.
"Ding, ding…"
The plates on a suit of armor clashed together, the noise echoing inconsistently—sometimes near, sometimes far. It wasn't enough to pinpoint the enemy's location, but it carried an unmistakable sense of threat.
This wasn't a random noise. It was a psychological game. The Court of Owls was patient, waiting for Dean to reveal the slightest weakness before striking with fatal precision.
Maybe the sound was nothing more than a pre-recorded trick, meant to keep its victims paranoid and on edge. But Dean wasn't falling for it.
"Now that you've started taking countermeasures against me," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing, "it means I'm getting close to Robin. You're trying to lure me away from him, aren't you?"
Without hesitation, Dean put away the Marauder's Map, his fingers tightening around something else in his grasp—something that wasn't magical, but just as useful.
"The asymmetrical ears of an owl give it a unique auditory structure," he whispered to himself. "One ear sits lower, the other higher. This allows them to pinpoint the location of their prey with deadly accuracy."
But that only worked if the owl was truly the predator. If the one making the noise was a tiger, then the only thing the owl could do—was run.
Dean raised the tool in his hand, his expression unreadable.
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Meanwhile, deep in the labyrinth, Damian Wayne walked through a world of darkness, harsh lights, poisonous springs, and a never-ending maze.
He had no idea how long he had been trapped. Time didn't exist here. His omnipotent utility belt had been stripped from him, leaving him with only his wits.
No matter which path he took, he always ended up back at the same starting point—standing before a massive owl statue, beneath which lay a pool of spring water. One look at it, and Damian was certain it was highly toxic. Since his capture, he hadn't dared to drink a single drop.
His body was beginning to weaken, his senses dulling. His energy was draining fast. And the Court of Owls wanted him to feel it.
At some point, the walls of the maze had changed. The framed photographs of the dead, which had once lined the passageways, had all been replaced—with pictures of himself.
Each image captured him with a different expression of panic.
Damian never even realized he could make such a face.
What a disgrace for an assassin.
Grinding his teeth, he cursed himself and pressed forward. He didn't know which way to go, but he couldn't stop.
Somewhere in the darkness, the Owls were watching.
Damian was reaching his absolute limit. He regretted wasting so much energy in his initial attempts to escape. His reckless sprinting had cost him dearly, leaving him in a state of exhaustion, and now he had no strength left to break anything or fight back.
Yet, despite his deteriorating condition, the Court of Owls had yet to make a move against him. They weren't attacking—they were simply watching. Instead of striking, they filled the maze with more owl decorations, a silent reminder of their presence.
Damian clenched his fists, refusing to let his body's weakness break his spirit. "I come from a darkness far older than yours. Don't think you can make me succumb!"
His voice echoed through the maze, defiant and unyielding. But the only response he received was a hollow silence.
Damian's heart pounded as he exhaled sharply, frustration and exhaustion battling within him. He knew he had made another mistake. Wasting energy on a taunt that yielded nothing was foolish, but in this endless, mind-twisting maze, he had to do something to stop himself from losing his mind.
Then, just when the silence threatened to consume him, a faint sound reached his ears.
"Ha-hey, everybody! It's me, Mickey Mouse!"
"Say, you wanna come inside my clubhouse?"
It was distant, carried by the wind, but unmistakable.
Damian blinked.
Was he… hearing things?
He staggered, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. No, it couldn't be. He had to be hallucinating. His body was beyond exhaustion, and his mind was beginning to fail him.
"Well, all right! Let's go! Aw, I almost forgot."
But then, the sound grew louder. Closer.
It wasn't a hallucination.
Music.
"To make the clubhouse appear, we get to say the magic words."
"Meeska, Mooska, Mickey Mouse!"
"Say it with me. Meeska, Mooska, Mickey Mouse!"
The little assassin's eyes widened as the fragmented tune reached him, a sound so out of place in this cold, suffocating labyrinth that it sent a shock through his system.
It was real.
The moment he processed it, his entire body tensed, and he abruptly wiped his eyes, forcing back the burning sensation welling up in them. No. He wouldn't cry. He refused to let himself break down, especially not now.
Because if that music was what he thought it was… then it meant only one thing.
"Tch. It's him. Of course, it's him. Only he would pull something like this."
Meanwhile, in the control room monitoring the entire maze, the Owls fell into an eerie silence. Their attention was drawn to the screens, where the speakers faithfully relayed the sounds echoing through the labyrinth.
And there, amidst the shadows of the twisted corridors, the music played:
"M-i-c-k-e-y! M-o-u-s-e!
That's me!
M-i-c-k-e-y! M-o-u-s-e!
It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse!
Come inside, it's fun inside!
It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse!"
Dean stood in the middle of the maze, holding a speaker that looped the cheerful, almost absurdly upbeat melody over and over again. The childish tune clashed violently with the eerie atmosphere of the labyrinth, dissolving its oppressive tension in an instant.
A gust of wind rushed past him, and in the same moment, Dean threw the speaker into the air, caught the glint of a blade coming for him, and reacted.
"Roll call! Donald! Present!"
With his bare hands, he clamped down on the weapon mid-swing, stopping the sharp steel just before it could pierce his skin.
"Oh? Getting impatient now?" His lips curled into a smirk as he locked eyes with his attacker.
"Daisy! Here!"
The Talon before him didn't answer, but Dean could feel the shift in their movements. They were growing restless.
"What happened to your psychological tactics?" he taunted, pressing his fingers tighter around the blade. "Did your little owl masters tell you to stop playing games and deal with me already?"
"Goofy! A-hyuck! Here!"
With a calculated movement, he yanked his arm to the left, throwing the Talon's balance off-center. Then, with an effortless kick, he struck the assassin's chest, sending them skidding backward.
As they staggered, Dean reached out, catching the falling speaker mid-air, never once breaking his stride.
"You're not the same Talon from last night."
The realization came instantly. From the moment they crossed blades, Dean could feel the difference. This one was weaker. Slower. Less skilled.
"Pluto! Arf!"
His right shoulder ached slightly from the brief clash, but he ignored it, rolling his neck as he spoke. "Tell the other one to come find me. We have some unfinished business."
The Talon hesitated. Then, as if sensing their own disadvantage, they silently raised their hand.
More figures emerged from the darkness.
Dean was surrounded.
"Minnie! Here!"
But instead of worry, a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.
His plan had worked.
The moment multiple Talons appeared, it confirmed his theory—the Court of Owls was desperate.
Dean had never expected to find Damian directly in this maze. The Court's true trap wasn't just the physical labyrinth—it was the mental one they were trying to build inside Damian's mind. They wanted him to believe there was no escape, to let the isolation break him from the inside out.
So Dean played the music, letting Damian know he was there—that his partner had arrived and that he wasn't alone. That single realization was enough to unravel all the Court of Owls' careful psychological manipulation. Every plan they had laid to break Damian's spirit was now falling apart.
"Mickey! Right here!"
The Court had counted on their maze being inescapable, their mind games unshakable. They wanted Damian to feel trapped, lost, and powerless. They had tried to build a wall of isolation inside him, a prison more suffocating than the physical labyrinth he was trapped in. But all of that became meaningless the moment he heard that music.
Dean had just torn down the wall they had worked so hard to construct.
But now came the real fight.
A one-against-many battle in close quarters was already a terrible idea, but against the Talons, it was downright suicidal. They were not ordinary assassins. They were undead. A swarm of resurrected warriors, reanimated and controlled by the Court.
Even if Dean killed them, it wouldn't be enough. No matter how many times he landed a fatal blow, they would just get up again. Their regenerative abilities made shooting them useless. A bullet wouldn't stop them—it would only delay them.
And unlike him, they weren't getting tired.
Dean clenched his fists. Fine. He wasn't expecting an easy fight anyway.
Reaching for his belt, he pulled out a claw mask from one of the fallen Talons. His movements were swift, practiced. In one smooth motion, he stuffed a high-explosive grenade into the mask's mouth and kicked the body straight into the approaching enemies.
"Boom!"
"It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse!
Come inside, it's fun inside!"
The explosion tore through the air, shaking the ground beneath him. Before the Talons could recover, Dean followed up instantly, not giving them even a second to breathe.
A blue freezing pulse shot from his other hand, cutting through the smoke and debris, spreading across the battlefield like a creeping frost.
The effect was instant.
The Talons were caught mid-motion, their undead bodies freezing into grotesque, blood-red ice sculptures.
Dean exhaled, his breath visible in the sudden drop in temperature. He knew this wouldn't kill them. Nothing could. But at the very least, it would buy him some time.
With a smirk, he casually knocked on the frozen bodies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I know you'll get back up soon. But do me a favor, yeah? Stay put for a little while. Don't interrupt my reunion with my partner, okay?"
He wasn't talking to them.
"M-i-c-k-e-y! M-o-u-s-e!"
His gaze flickered upward, toward the darkness looming above.
The Court was watching. He could feel their eyes on him.
And right on cue, a figure emerged.
A woman wearing an elaborate owl mask appeared on the wall, her presence commanding as she looked down on him. She bared her teeth, her voice laced with contempt.
"Dean, the Court of Owls has declared your death sentence! Prepare yourself—"
"Yeah, yeah." Dean barely glanced at her, his voice carrying a tone of disinterest. He gripped his speaker, stepping forward without hesitation.
"I'm waiting."
And with that, he walked deeper into the darkness, the cheerful, looping song of Mickey Mouse still playing from his speaker, cutting through the silence like a taunt.
"M-i-c-k-e-y! M-o-u-s-e!
It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse! Haha!"
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I have so much fun writing/editing this chapter. Listening to Mickey Mouse Theme Song(in loop) while doing so.
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