Wotan stepped into the school and explored its' wide corridors. As he entered another corridor painted in bright colors, he found a collapsed Sportsmaster. His body slightly bruised, but it was the mind that told a different story: an amalgam of fractured thought and psychic detonation, even the man's the soul frayed at every edge
Wotan narrowed his eyes and raised a hand, casting a soft diagnostic spell—cool violet light swept over the fallen man, pulsing gently. The results returned in silence
'Not even Psimon's been so brutal', Wotan thought, 'they told me of a boy who shied from violence. I thought I was here to capture, some wayward Robin'
What he found instead, was something much different
His fingers tightened. With a word, a forked staff coiled into his hand. He slammed its base to the tile, and from its head flared a spectral ring of light—golden arrows locking into one unified direction
He carefully stalked his prey, but as he entered another hallway, he saw the saw the boy waiting on its' opposite end
Wotan prepared. The lights above the east hallway flickered once, then exploded in sequence—pop-pop-pop-pop—plunging the corridor into trembling shadow. The tiles beneath Wotan's boots cracked as his arcane presence flared, humming with raw intent. He raised both hands, fingers curling in precise, ancient mudras and from beneath his cloak, six talismans floated into the air, orbiting his body like golden moons. Each one was etched in blood-inked runes, humming an eerie note
From his belt, he unhooked a rod carved from basilisk spine. Whispered a scripture older than Atlantis. The air shrank, And ribbons of black lightning arced from the ceiling to the floor. The walls began to bleed symbols against the bulletin boards
"By the sealed eye of Marduk", Wotan intoned, "By the torn veil of the Ninth Gate, by the flame that devours thought…"
A massive summoning glyph carved itself into the floor beneath him, then another, and then another. Layer upon layer of spell-craft etched into existence, yet Marek stood thirty feet away, unmoving
Wotan raised his staff overhead. A third eye—reptile-like and hideous—opened upon his forehead
"Pretender", the sorcerer snarled, and the spell ignited
The air collapsed inward before exploding; a wall of shrieking flame, and raw kinetic force surged forward like a tsunami of impossible. Lockers were obliterated midair. Doors vaporized. The floor peeled upward like paper, and the entire hallway detonated, launching stone, smoke, and magical shrapnel in every direction
The shockwave traveled as windows shattered, and steel melted
Smoke roared like it was alive, curling and writhing around the ruin
And then—
Marek stepped forward, unscathed
The boy smirked, eyes glowing red, "nice warm-up"
Wotan's face twitched, 'was it an illusion I attacked?', for the first time… uncertain
"You've been a thorn long enough, boy", the ancient being hissed, "time to pull the weed"
Marek moved. A flicker of feathers and shadow, and the destroyed hallway erupted. Shuriken slammed into Wotan's shield, sparks hissing off its' runic shell. Marek was already behind him, dagger in hand, a low sweeping cut aimed at the sorcerer's hamstrings
Wotan spun, slamming a scepter of bone and iron into Marek's side—only for Marek to vanish in smoke
'F**king illusions', Wotan growled, his cloak snapping as he spun, finally catching sight of the real Marek darting into a nearby classroom
He gave chase, and the moment he crossed the threshold, Wotan snapped his fingers. Lightning bloomed, wild and hungry, leaping from desk to wall to ceiling, turning the walls to slag as a storm bled through the ceiling
They crashed through the wall and into an adjacent classroom. Desks exploded, and boards shattered. Marek flung stationary coated in cursed energy. Wotan staggered, his left sleeve burning to ash. He raised a palm, summoning a gout of ice that spiraled into a crystalline serpent. Marek ducked, rolled, and flung himself across the desks, fire roaring from his fists. The fire bending was crude, yet effective as a whip of flame coiled through the serpent's heart, shattering it
Marek locked eyes with Wotan, and the world shimmered. A thousand Mareks stood before Wotan now, all identical, all whispering the same word:
"Run"
The illusions lunged
Wotan roared and invoked one of his artifacts—a brass orb etched in black scripture. It exploded in a pulse of null magic, wiping the illusions from reality like dust in a gale, but that was all the time the real Marek needed. He dropped from the ceiling, twin daggers in hand. One kissed Wotan's cheek, drawing the first blood, and an another buried itself in the man's shoulder
The sorcerer spit, "You dare—"
Marek responded by flipping away and hurling more stationary coated in cursed energy. One hit Wotan's right foot. Another broke a relic at his hip, and the last pierced through an ancient scroll hanging from his belt—an artifact that tore with a scream
"Too slow", Marek taunted
Wotan's eyes flared with eldritch light. The spell he chanted next wasn't a word, it was a curse. The walls peeled, and black roots of dead language clawed through space, trying to ensnare Marek
Marek's sharingan spun. His body turned to crows. They scattered—then reformed behind Wotan. His hands glowing with heat. A column of searing flame engulfed the sorcerer. The floor melted, and the ceiling groaned and collapsed. Wotan's scream echoed as his cloak was consumed, and one of his rings cracked and fell
'Firebending takes away too much of my stamina', Marek grimaced
When the fire parted, Wotan remained. Slightly burnt, and without his cloak
He raised his staff and struck it against the ground. A summon circle exploded outward, and skeletal hounds of charred bone and ember poured forth, leaping for Marek with broken, snarling maws. Marek gritted his teeth and fought like a phantom—blade flashing, fire erupting, illusions confusing, and illusionary clones striking in synchronized chaos
One hound exploded. Then two. Then six
The classrooms couldn't hold them
They tore through the west wing, chairs hurled, ceilings caved, walls split, and into the cafeteria
Crashing through the double doors like a meteor, Marek leapt from table to counter, dodging Wotan with everything he had
His sharingan ignited new shapes, and enhanced his perception just enough to dodge incoming ice spears, and killing hexes
A tired Wotan stepped over the jagged corpse of a vending machine, boots crackling against glass and charred wood. His breath was ragged, and his pulse was loud in his ears
'I'm bleeding, more than that, I've already lost a ring'
"ENOUGH", he screamed, reaching into the satchel tied around his waist. From within, he pulled an iron-bound scripture, pages etched in blood of forgotten priests. The winds in the hall died. No light dared flicker, and no pipe groaned
Wotan whispered, and the pages began to turn themselves, and each turn lit another rune in the air—black light and dying gold, forming a vertical circle that hovered above his palm. Symbols bled out like veins across the walls and ceiling, threading the academy's very structure into the spell
'This is bad!', Marek's instincts screamed, and he ran, out the cafeteria and into the winding hallways
"Noctis absum. Umbrae silent. Solum ruina manet", Wotan chanted over and over again
His free hand reached into his chest, piercing the fabric of his tunic—fingers coated in blood, pressing against the sigil carved into his heart. With a groan of pain, he yanked it free—a sliver of his soul, raw and burning. The circle above his palm howled and the spell began to breathe
The world recoiled
The spell ignited in pulse of power, a shockwave that tore through brick, concrete, and steel like wet parchment
Walls folded, and classrooms vanished in a blink. The entire east wing, and parts of the southern wing attached to it vanished beneath roaring lights, vaporized in a breath of death
Wotan stood at its center, shoulders heaving, "now", his lips curved in a venomous smile, "let's see if you're still breathing"
——————————————————-x
Marek dragged himself forward
His right arm and leg were gone, cauterized to blackened stumps. His back was a raw, blistered mess, peeled and weeping from Wotan's final blast. Blood slicked the floor beneath him in long, uneven strokes. His breathing came in shallow gasps, each one was a knife twisting in his ribs, yet he moved
Fingers dug into the tile, nails splitting, palms leaving streaks of red as he pulled himself forward—inch by inch
Both his eyes still glowed, burning
Not because he thought he would win, or because he believed rescue was coming, but because he had to survive
Somewhere out there—in Constantine's shadow, within the Light's reach, in a future he swore to shatter—
Fiona was waiting for a brother she hadn't met
He could still see her in his mind's eye. Small hands and silver hair. A life he had to protect
'I've got a family at last. No one will take that away from me'
So Marek dragged himself towards the gymnasium's doors— To end it
For Wotan stood between them
———————————————————x
The Batcave was a cathedral of flickering data. Monitors pulsed in silence, casting fractured light across cavern walls. Dozens of digital feeds fed into the Batcomputer—satellite pings, police scanners, League comms, surveillance grids, drone telemetry. It was the seismic sensor that triggered first—registering an energy spike equivalent to a low-yield missile detonation—centered on Gotham Academy
Robin landed in a crouch, his black-and-yellow cape snapping behind him. With practiced grace, he flipped across the steel beams and landed cleanly in the main chair, fingers already dancing across the keyboard
"System—bring up the satellite visuals"
The screen shimmered into focus, revealing the shattered remains of Gotham's most prestigious academy. An entire wing had caved in, reduced to a jagged skeleton of stone and steel
The Batplane icon pulsed in the upper corner—incoming transmission, and when Robin tapped it, the cockpit snapped into view
Batman
Still airborne, gliding fast over the East Coast, the glow of Metropolis' distant skyline behind him. The jet was dark, sleek, and silent. Batman's cowl glinted in the low red lights of the console
"Status," Batman said, voice low and clipped
Robin answered as taught, precise and efficient,"Seismic activity. Magic-based discharge. Gotham Academy—completely compromised"
"Visuals?"
Robin tapped again. The footage from the school's internal surveillance network populated the center screen. Most feeds were static or destroyed. But a few remained
On one: an injured Wotan dragged himself across scorched tile, eyes still glowing
Several: Ruins of twisted metal
On another: the gymnasium, and a boy caked in blood, missing an arm, and a leg, yet alive
"Should I go in?", Robin asked quietly
"No", Batman said instantly, "Stand down"
Robin blinked. "But he's just a kid—"
"He's not just anything. And that's Wotan in the corridors"
The name alone turned the cave colder
"Wotan is a Justice League-level threat", Batman continued, "He's killed before. Nearly rewrote reality itself on two occasions. If he's moving freely in Gotham, then something is very, very wrong"
Robin's fists clenched. "But the boy—"
"We're too far out", Batman said grimly, "I'm still ten minutes from Metropolis. Superman needs backup with Toyman's mech army"
A pause
Batman's voice softened just a degree, "Monitor the feeds. If Wotan leaves, you notify me. If he makes another move, you do nothing. That's an order"
Robin stared at the screen, just as the boy stirred and his head tilted back with effort. Then suddenly, the boy's eyes snapped open, and he looked straight into the camera, his lips curling into a mischievous smile
Batman's voice hummed through, "we're not looking at a victim, Robin"
———————————————————x
Wotan followed the blood trail and found the boy in the empty gymnasium. Propped against the far wall, Marek Drakon lay broken. One eye barely open, his breath came shallow and stuttering. Blood pooled beneath him like spilled ink, his right arm and leg were gone, cauterized to blackened stumps by the final spell that had torn through him. His torso was a map of burns, some still glowing faintly with residual arcane heat
"You're still breathing", Wotan said in awe, "tenacious thing"
Marek didn't answer because he couldn't. His lungs rasped like sandpaper, he felt his heartbeat in the open wound at his shoulder
Wotan stepped closer, "I've seen a thousand rebels. Warriors with fire in their blood and prophecy in their eyes. Everyone of them thought they were special", he mockingly gestured at the dying boy, "they all burned"
Marek coughed, and blood stained his lips. His left hand twitched, reaching weakly towards his empty belt
Wotan saw it and scoffed, "don't bother. You have no tricks left. No more crows, fire, or illusions", he crouched before Marek, his face inches from the boy's, "I will admit your illusions were… effective. The birds, the clones, and the flickers of shadow. You are clever, but cleverness is parlor magic. A lie used by cowards"
Marek's eye narrowed faintly. His lips parted, "domain expansion", he whispered, "Morrigan's Murder"
He raised his remaining hand, fingers curling into a gesture of silent command
Middle and index fingers extended, the others folded inward, thumb pressed to ring finger—a seal of revelation. A sign of the third eye. The crow's claw, and the gate of dreams
A pulse of cursed energy rippled outward—not clean, not perfect. It was fractured, unstable, and beautiful. It latched onto the gymnasium's structure, and transformed them
'Incomplete Domain Expansion. Since I can't superimpose an artificial space of a different scale onto real space, this'll do'
And the world changed
The gym rotted and bloomed at once. Vines surged from broken tile. Gravestones burst from the ground like bone through skin. The walls twisted into gnarling trees bearing rusted names on bark. The ceiling above vanished, and was replaced by a violet sky choked with ash
And in the silence—
The crows came
A single caw tore through the void, then a hundred more. Then millions
They flooded the graveyard sky, and each bore glowing red eyes, casting its' own illusion, their shadows bleeding into the air like ink spilled over
'The gym's become my barrier, I need to finish this before he realizes this weakness'
Wotan staggered, staff raised instinctively. Illusions—millions of them, some happy and some terrifying. One where Wotan was a king, then a God. Another where he was still a woman, alone, dying in a snowy cave. A version of his life where he married, had children, grew old in peace
A world where Zatara forgave him
Another where he never touched magic
One where he begged for death, and was denied it
Visions of agony. Euphoria. Madness. Love, and Horror
Too many
Wotan screamed and struck out with a surge of raw magic—but the illusions reformed instantly
They didn't just cast illusions, they attacked
Black-feathered bodies dive-bombed Wotan, bursting on contact. Others pecked through his shields. One gouged into his cheek. Ten more burrowed into his flesh
Wotan blasted again—lightning, fire, voidlight—but it never stopped
The crows swarmed. They pierced his legs, his sides, his back. They didn't just rend his body, they peeled his soul too
Each crow that died took a piece of him. A secret. A memory. A fear. A sin
His birth
His first love
His first murder
His thousandth
His regrets
Wotan fell to his knees. His voice broke—not in rage, but in denial. He couldn't even scream anymore; not over the beating of wings. Not over the laughter of illusionary children. Not over the sound of his own flesh unraveling
Wotan collapsed, dead, and in the heart of the corrupted forest, a new grave emerged. It rose from the soil like it had always been there, WOTAN etched on the headstone. With a shimmer, an echo of the ancient sorcerer rose in front of it. An echo that held all of Wotan's memories and a fraction of the original's power. For all those who died in Marek's domain were remembered
The price for failing here, was not just defeat, but
Immortality through memory
An echo of Wotan would now remain in Marek's Domain to serve the boy as he wills
And through it all—
Marek remained motionless in the center of the domain. With a single arm, a single leg, and eyes still burning red, he watched
————————————————x
With a sound like splintering bone and a rush of windless pressure, the twisted forest of memory and illusion folded inward, collapsing into itself. Gravestones crumbled, and the crows vanished. The violet sky cracked like glass
Only the gymnasium remained
Marek collapsed beside Wotan's body, the last of his strength bleeding out with each ragged breath. His skin steamed, his remaining arm trembled as it pressed weakly against the floor. His vision wavered
He coughed. Once. Twice. Then violently, and blood poured from his mouth in thick, wet gurgles, splattering the tiles beneath him. His body convulsed. His had used too much cursed energy in his weak state, all to sustain a domain
He reached for breath—but only copper and agony filled his lungs
That's when it flared: Wotan's amulet. It pulsed once—dimly. Then again—brighter. A sudden burst of golden light erupted from the jewel nestled against the dead sorcerer's chest. Runes spiraled around the corpse, forming a containment sigil, a failsafe trigger designed to whisk the body to a hidden sanctum, where reincarnation could begin anew.
But something went wrong, and the light faltered in response.
**Marek's blood. His presence. His cursed energy—**still thick in the air, soaked into the floor, etched into the very spiritual fiber of the gymnasium—fought back. Wotan's magic, so carefully bound to obey only him, met resistance. Then interference. Then something it had never encountered before: Rejection
Marek's body, even on the edge of death, recoiled against Wotan's spell. His very cells—shaped by Limitless Potential, tempered by agony, soaked in cursed energy—refused to let the old sorcerer rise again.
The spell stuttered, and flickered, latching onto Marek instead.
There was no time to react, as a blinding light consumed the boy
In an instant, Marek was teleported across universes