The bodies had been reduced to ash, but as the son of the world's greatest detective, Damian could always find traces. The truck driver had been among the dead—every victim without exception had been tortured to death, and the ground bore no signs of resistance. They'd been killed without putting up a fight.
"This is just a temporary meeting point. Everything looks normal—except for the bodies." Jon swept the surroundings with his super-vision.
"Enchantment magic. Extremely powerful enchantment magic. The victims were all physically strong men from different walks of life—a driver, a lawyer, gang members... It seems like the man was badly injured and performing some kind of ritual to heal himself?" Damian laid out his deductions.
He kept his face set as he analyzed. The gulf between him and beings at the New God or Old God level was immense—Thea certainly hadn't bothered briefing him on cosmic theology. Working from the available evidence, though, his assessment wasn't far from the truth.
What he didn't know was how long Kalibak and Circe would spend looking over their shoulders after each meeting.
Back when Thea had first tapped into the divine power of Death, she'd held back slightly—and Kalibak's life force was resilient enough that the blow had left him at death's door rather than finishing him outright. As Darkseid's eldest son, his father had grudgingly arranged for his recovery, despite looking at him with undisguised disdain. But that was the extent of paternal affection.
How much he recovered from there—whether he could return to full strength—was entirely his own problem.
As for the ten million lives, that was pure bluster aimed at Circe. Quantity couldn't make up for quality.
Kalibak wasn't stupid. The moment he regained consciousness, he'd dispatched subordinates to cast a wide net across the multiverse, hunting for Old Gods. As Darkseid's eldest, most people still considered him worth serving—even if his father didn't agree. Among the fellow fugitives was Circe, freshly escaped from the Underworld and just as skittish. She'd come onto his radar at just the right moment.
Circe knew Thea now controlled the Underworld. Neither her patron Hecate nor her own mother—Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, who'd cuckolded Hades—could shield her anymore. She'd made her decision without hesitation and fled straight back to Earth.
The Old God route was a dead end. Her only option was to seek out the New Gods. And right on cue, Kalibak's people found her. The partnership fell into place naturally.
Circe would locate Old Gods to restore his divine power; Kalibak, leveraging his status as Darkseid's heir—self-proclaimed or otherwise—would sponsor her entry into the New God ranks.
Their alliance was fragile and backed by nothing, but under Thea's overwhelming pressure, the two managed a serviceable semblance of unity.
Privately terrified, Kalibak wanted nothing more than to never set foot in this universe again. Slaughtering people in some other parallel timeline would be so much safer and simpler. But he was Darkseid's eldest son. Before the Lord of Apokolips, he couldn't admit fear. So he grit his teeth and came looking for trouble.
He needed to project an attitude: Sure, you one-shot me last time, but I'm not actually scared of you. Whether anyone else bought it didn't matter—as long as Darkseid did.
Fortunately, Darkseid knew exactly what his son was worth. The only requirement was that Kalibak not disgrace the name of Apokolips. No ultimatums, no death threats.
Kalibak's luck was genuinely good. He'd picked a window when both Thea and Diana were off-world, found Circe as a local guide, and was now tiptoeing around Earth causing havoc—all to prove his "valor." Circe's enchantment didn't work on him, but having a beautiful woman around did ease the tension somewhat. Without her, he was fairly certain the psychological pressure alone would make him pass out mid-sentence.
Circe, for her part, was petty by nature and assumed everyone else held grudges the way she did. She had no idea Diana hadn't given her a second thought, or that Thea was too swamped to care. Circe was scaring herself—jumping at every shadow, flinching at every rustle. Kalibak only needed to show his face on Earth now and then to prove to Daddy he wasn't a coward. Circe didn't have that luxury. She had nowhere to run. Her nerves were fraying.
Desperate to find an Old God as proof of allegiance, she wracked her brain.
Her circle of Old God acquaintances was small—the same handful, over and over. The Underworld deities were beyond her reach. Hades and Zeus were out of the question. But the Greek pantheon was sprawling enough that after sifting through it repeatedly, she found a viable target.
Heracles. Brimming with divine power. A loner with no allies. And—critically—a man. Circe had absolute confidence in her enchantment.
Still, Heracles was no pushover. She'd need a plan.
While the adults pursued their schemes, Damian and his partner launched their own investigation. The two boys agreed unanimously: no calling their parents. The Justice League was ruled out from the start.
As for the Teen Titans—Jon wanted to bring the whole team in, but Damian shot that down, insisting that the two of them—the Super Sons—were more than enough for the job.
A month slipped by.
The Flash, with his buddy Elongated Man's help, cleared his name and walked out of prison.
Green Arrow was off playing caveman with his wife on Lian Yu.
Thea was busy every waking moment. The Underworld's affairs were a tangled web, and even with everything on track, she couldn't afford a second's inattention.
Gotham, meanwhile, had entered a power vacuum. Penguin had been hauled off to mine ore. Two-Face had died under unexpected circumstances. The Joker had tumbled into a ravine. The city's criminal throne sat empty.
Evil might be late, but it never fails to show.
Black Mask rose to fill the void. His empire was vast—wealthy, well-connected, a marksman rivaling Deadshot. And most critically, his mask possessed mind-control powers.
Batman's formidable willpower had seen him through multiple encounters, but he'd gained no decisive advantage.
He'd just knocked out a criminal with a few punches when his earpiece erupted with urgent calls. Alfred.
The old butler spoke rapidly. Batman forced himself to listen to the end, then abandoned all thought of Black Mask and raced home.
He burst into the Batcave and had barely removed his cowl when Alfred rushed out to meet him.
"Master Damian, he's—" The butler managed only a few words before his voice broke.
Superman and Jon emerged from the inner room. Jon was still kicking himself over his friend's disappearance.
"Damian doesn't appear to be on Earth. Jon's been staying with Damian's mother these past two days." Superman fumbled for the right words of comfort, his explanation coming out stiff and wooden.
"I'll find him." Batman's voice was steel—a promise to Alfred, to Superman, and to himself.
He pulled up every record Damian had left behind. A dozen screens lit up simultaneously, and Batman began dissecting the data piece by piece.
At first, the footage showed two children adventuring together. But three days ago, Lois had called Jon home, and Damian—rather than stopping—had pressed on alone.
Batman had never seen Kalibak or Circe. He pointed at the screen and turned to Jon. "Who are they?"