Raven teleported over immediately. After hearing Damian's account, she knew this was serious. In her experience, personality shifts this drastic usually meant demonic possession—at least, that was how the girl reasoned it out.
Physically staking out the Batcave was out of the question. The place was a maze of traps; they'd be caught before reaching the door.
Fortunately, Damian was very much his father's son. He'd installed his own surveillance devices inside the cave—the kind only he knew about.
He pulled up several hidden feeds. The image cut to the Batcave's interior.
No blood-soaked floors. No demonic summoning circles. Bruce was simply... running tests on his own blood samples.
"Such dark power..." Raven—Her Highness the Demon King's eldest princess—had extensive expertise in dark forces. Even through a screen, a glance at certain markers was enough for a rough read.
They'd both been through enough to have outgrown reckless impulses. Damian quickly drew up Plans One, Two, and Three—all of which hinged on one prerequisite: subduing his current, distinctly abnormal father.
Raven was out. Her magic was too heavy-handed. The rest of the Batman Family were non-starters—batons, whips, and throwing darts weren't going to cut it against whatever Bruce had become.
With Thea off doing who-knew-what, finding the right backup required some creative thinking.
Damian's first call went to his friend Jon Kent, asking him to bring in Superman.
When Superman swept into the deepest chamber of the Batcave, Bruce blinked in surprise, then immediately put the pieces together.
"So he didn't believe a single word I said. That kid is way too suspicious—actually called you in..." Bruce was getting a real-time lesson in what it felt like to have a paranoid person in the family. It was mildly depressing.
Superman didn't lower his guard. "Are you all right? If there's anything unusual, you can tell me."
"Clark, you're a very good friend..." Bruce set down the tools he'd been working with. The gesture and tone made Superman tense—fists involuntarily clenching—because in his experience, villains always said exactly that right before they transformed. Then came the "but..."
"But I'm really fine." Bruce's assurance only ratcheted Superman's alertness higher.
Bruce pressed one hand to his forehead and sighed. "What do I have to do to convince you people I'm okay?"
"You were right there when we divided Darkseid's godhood. Why would you still have doubts? Didn't you feel any changes at all? Not even a little?"
Superman shook his head. "No. I feel no different. Pretty much the same as before."
"You're saying my change is that obvious?"
Superman neither nodded nor shook his head, but his meaning was crystal clear.
"Old friend, I'm really fine. If you don't believe me—there's a hidden compartment on that wall. Power-dampening cuffs inside. I don't know if they'd even work on me now, but you're welcome to use them."
In the end, the situation didn't spiral anywhere dire. Superman actually thought the change was a good thing. The old lifestyle—all secrets, all shadows—had been too dark, too warped. Now they could sit face to face and talk like normal friends without worrying that Bruce might pull a chunk of Kryptonite from some hidden corner at any moment. Superman found that genuinely refreshing.
"How do you do it? Maintain a normal perspective when you have this kind of power?" Bruce already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Clark say it.
Clark's response was exactly what everyone in the Justice League had heard a hundred times. Family. Friends. The people you love.
Any other day, the motivational talk would have gone in one ear and out the other. But today, something shifted. The Godhood of Darkness hadn't done much for his vision, but the boost to his hearing was staggering—if he wanted, he could hear everyone's inner voice. Clark's voice was sincere. Every syllable was honest.
In an instant, Bruce understood the effort behind Clark's ordinary life. The restraint it took—not easy, not by any measure. Things that came naturally to regular people required Superman, and now Bruce himself, to approach with excruciating care. One lapse in control could mean catastrophe.
"You're a remarkable person, Clark. I owe you an apology for years of misunderstanding." He meant it.
Superman shuffled, visibly embarrassed. Today's Bruce was so far from the usual version that it was almost disorienting. But he accepted the apology.
"Go back to your family. They're where your strength comes from." Superman, now a fully realized master of the inspirational speech, poured Bruce a generous helping of motivation, then took his leave with characteristic grace.
With the big guy's personal guarantee that his father was fine, Damian and Raven finally crept out of hiding.
"I proposed to Selina today." Bruce figured his son should know.
Damian glanced at Raven. Two teenagers, both a little dazed—one minute it was a demon-possession thriller, the next they'd landed on a family drama channel.
He felt a twinge of regret that his father hadn't ended up with his mother, Talia, but he had no legitimate grounds to object. He offered his blessing, and the matter was settled.
At midnight, the entire Batman Family assembled once more. Among the sea of form-fitting suits and dark capes, Bruce—in his tailored suit and dress shoes—looked completely out of place.
Seated at the center like a mob boss, he waited for everyone to arrive before delivering his opening line.
"I'm done being Batman."
Reactions varied. Some assumed exhaustion. Some thought the dark world had left lasting damage. Every theory under the sun.
"Then I'll take over." Nightwing stepped forward. Red Hood, sitting alone in the corner, let out a cold scoff—contempt, or something like it.
"No, Dick. You're Nightwing. You have your own path, your own life. You shouldn't have to carry this. If I'm the one who built this, then it should end with—"
"This responsibility should be inherited by me."
Damian rose to his feet. At thirteen, he'd shed the last traces of boyishness. He wasn't tall, but no one would mistake him for a child.
"Out of the question. You're too young—"
"I can do this. I've always been preparing for this day." His voice left no room for argument.
Bruce had intended to retire the mantle entirely. But his son's resolve gave him pause. He had to at least consider the possibility.