She watched the figure in the darkness retreat, studied it for one more moment, then turned to Bruce.
"Take Alfred and head back to Gotham. I think he's been genuinely provoked this time. He'll probably make a move."
"Why not strike first—like the last few times?"
"Because the timing for the cosmic fusion isn't right yet. This fusion has a strong chance of elevating everything to an Omniverse, which benefits us—and now that includes you. If I rush into a fight now, a lot of powerful entities will jump in to stop me. One or two I can handle. Too many, and it becomes a problem."
If she had the option, she'd just blitz Barbatos and be done with it. But she wasn't the most powerful being in the cosmos, and picking a fight prematurely would bring down collective opposition.
"Deep under Gotham, Damian found a cave system—identical to what I saw in that world. But I remember scanning Gotham's terrain ten years ago, and those caves weren't there." Bruce had been turning this over for days without finding an answer.
Thea gave him a look. "You're still thinking the old way. Remember the Bat Tribe? If I'm not mistaken, they're the ones who dug it. From your perspective, that cave didn't exist ten years ago—but from the overall timeline, the Bat Tribe has been excavating down there for thousands of years."
Bruce considered this. The explanation sounded absurd, but he didn't have a better one.
He seemed to land on another thought. "Judging by what they left behind, the Tribe still has extensive connections to Gotham City."
Thea nodded. "Court of Owls, right?"
The Court had actually provided her with significant financial backing when she was at her weakest. Unfortunately, their internal structure was far too loose—essentially an oversized social club. The two proxies she'd cultivated had long since perished in their internal power struggles.
The Court of Owls had its fingers in every layer of Gotham. Bruce had struck at them multiple times, but never in a way that truly stung.
The Court was the Gotham edition of HYDRA. No matter how firmly you believed you'd destroyed them, they always popped back up to prove you wrong.
The Waynes were said to own half of Gotham. Beyond the marquee Wayne Enterprises, there were commercial properties, resorts, construction firms, chemical plants, weapons factories—all nominally under the Wayne name. But the real controller had always been the Court of Owls, who had spent centuries building and dominating the city.
Thea thought for a moment. "Let's sort them out. Round up the die-hard Bat Tribe members. The outer-ring affiliates—let the government handle those."
They settled the Court of Owls' fate briskly. Bruce returned to Gotham to monitor their every move, and Thea headed to the Underworld to calibrate her Underworld Tower for the approaching multiverse fusion.
Despite all their caution, Barbatos struck.
Whether driven by rage or long-term planning, he made two moves—one spectacularly terrible, the other a genuine stroke of brilliance.
A Batman who had injected himself with Doomsday cells slipped into Metropolis. He called himself the Devastator.
In that world, Superman had lost control. Left with no choice, Batman injected himself with Doomsday cells and easily killed Superman—but there was no coming back from it.
The Devastator's arrival was briefly spectacular. The entire city seemed to tremble at his feet. But the swagger lasted about three seconds. When Superman arrived at the head of one hundred and fifty Kryptonian kinsmen, the outcome was never in doubt.
The scene was genuinely pitiful. A hundred and fifty Kryptonians, led by Superman—the newly ascended God of Power—surrounded the Devastator and delivered a beating for the ages. The kind that made onlookers wince and listeners tear up.
He was hopelessly outmatched. If he'd retained Batman's intellect, he might have put up a fight. But by now he was more beast than man.
A hundred and fifty sun-empowered Kryptonian warriors practically sang their way through the battle, hammered him to the ground, and each delivered a commemorative stomp. The injuries were catastrophic. Doomsday cell regeneration couldn't keep up—the cells didn't know there were a hundred and fifty opponents out there. They could only evolve to surpass a single Kryptonian's strength, which was completely useless when you could drop one and still face a hundred and forty-nine more. A classic case of quantity decisively crushing quality.
The other front was far less amusing.
A deep-crimson figure materialized in Central City—an immensely powerful speedster.
Unlike ordinary speedsters, who left multicolored afterimages when running at full tilt, this one trailed dense, dark-red bat-shaped energy phantoms wherever he passed.
The moment he hit Central City, he made straight for the former S.T.A.R. Labs site. The dimensional barrier here was paper-thin. Despite Thea's multiple reinforcements, it still couldn't be called robust. He ran laps at the weakest point, attempting to tear open a passage between the two universes.
The Flash rushed out to stop him, but his opponent was a Batman who wielded the Speed Force and had absolutely zero moral restraints. Barry was beaten badly in just two exchanges. If not for the Reverse-Flash—lurking in the shadows as always—intervening at the last possible second, Barry would have had his heart run through.
Even the two of them together were routed.
By the time Superman and the rest of the League arrived, the speedster had already vanished—and had successfully torn the dimensional barrier wide open.
He rampaged through Central City, then streaked back into the Dark Multiverse, leaving behind nothing but a devastated city.
Repairing the barrier. Rescuing the wounded. Treating Barry. The League spent the entire day on cleanup.
The Devastator's Doomsday cells were extracted. Superman used the technology in the Fortress of Solitude to send the cells into the Phantom Zone, while Bruce collected the barely recognizable body.
"Aren't we being too passive? Can't we go on the offensive?" Superman had had enough of these Batmen crawling out of the woodwork. He didn't know whether they were Bruce's nightmare, but they were fast becoming his. After a full day of rescue work, he put the question to Thea that evening.
Thea had been equally busy. Destruction was easy; repair was hard. Central City's location was a natural weak point—congenitally fragile, and now further damaged. Restoring it to match everywhere else was a major project even for her.
After all, she was Death, not Life. Her power was not built for patching things up.
"About one more month until the two multiverses complete their fusion. That's when the real battle begins." She gave her assessment after a careful examination.
"They can attack us—so why can't we hit them back?" Superman didn't understand.