The Oblivion Bar existed in a space between spaces, accessible only to those who knew the right words, the right gestures, or the right people. It was a sanctuary for the magical community—a place where sorcerers, demons, and entities of every conceivable origin could gather without fear of mundane interference or supernatural conflict. The establishment's neutrality was enforced by wards older than human civilization and by the understanding that anyone who violated the peace would face the collective displeasure of every magical practitioner on Earth.
Bruce had learned about the Oblivion Bar through careful research and judicious bribery of minor magical entities who operated in Gotham's supernatural underground. Getting an invitation had required considerably more effort—the magical community was notoriously insular, and a vigilante in powered armor was not their typical clientele.
But Bruce had something that the magical community valued above almost everything else: information. Specifically, information about a series of artifact thefts that had been occurring throughout Gotham, targeting items of genuine mystical significance that had been masquerading as ordinary antiques in various private collections.
The thefts had caught his attention during his regular monitoring of Gotham's criminal activity, and his investigation had revealed connections to supernatural elements that his conventional resources couldn't adequately address. That investigation had also revealed the existence of the Oblivion Bar and its potential as a resource for addressing a significant gap in his operational capabilities.
The Beyond suit was formidable against physical threats, technological adversaries, and even most metahumans. But against magic—true magic, the kind that could rewrite reality or bypass physical defenses entirely—it was essentially useless. Bruce needed magical protections, and that meant making contact with people who could provide them.
He stood now at the entrance to an apparently abandoned building in Gotham's old district, wearing civilian clothes over a compressed version of his undersuit that would provide basic protection without revealing his identity. The address had been provided by a contact who had assured him that speaking the proper words at midnight would grant him access to the Bar.
"ORACLE," he said quietly, "maintain monitoring but don't attempt to trace or record anything that happens after I enter. Magical establishments tend to react poorly to technological surveillance."
"Understood, sir. I'll maintain a communication link but keep my presence minimal. Please be careful—my ability to assist you will be significantly limited in a magical environment."
"Noted."
Bruce spoke the words he had been given—a phrase in a language that predated human civilization—and watched as the abandoned building's door shimmered and transformed into something that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago. He stepped through, and reality twisted around him in ways that his scientific mind found deeply uncomfortable but had learned to accept.
The Oblivion Bar was larger on the inside than any building had a right to be, its interior stretching into impossible dimensions that hurt to look at directly. The clientele was equally impossible—beings of every size, shape, and apparent species occupied tables and booths throughout the space, engaged in conversations conducted in languages that Bruce couldn't identify and probably couldn't pronounce.
The bartender—a being of indeterminate gender and apparently infinite patience—looked up as Bruce entered and raised what might have been an eyebrow.
"New face. Human, mostly. Touched by something old and powerful, but not corrupted by it." The bartender's voice carried harmonics that suggested multiple speakers talking in perfect synchronization. "You're the Bat's other face. The one who thinks he can prepare for everything."
"I prefer to think of it as being appropriately cautious," Bruce replied, approaching the bar with measured steps. "I'm looking for two specific individuals. I was told they might be found here."
"Many individuals might be found here. The question is whether they want to be found by you." The bartender gestured toward a booth in the corner of the establishment, partially obscured by shadows that seemed to move independently of any light source. "Constantine's in his usual spot. Zatanna's with him, which is unusual—they don't typically socialize. Whatever you want, it must be interesting."
"It is. Thank you."
Bruce made his way through the crowded bar, carefully avoiding contact with patrons whose physical forms seemed to shift and flow in unsettling ways. The booth the bartender had indicated was occupied by two figures who couldn't have been more different in their apparent demeanor.
John Constantine lounged against the booth's worn leather, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite what Bruce assumed were the establishment's fire safety regulations—though magical fire probably followed different rules than the mundane variety. His trenchcoat was stained and wrinkled, his expression was one of calculated disinterest, and his eyes carried the weight of someone who had seen far too much and regretted most of it.
Zatanna Zatara sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her appearance immaculate, her stage magician's costume somehow seeming entirely appropriate in this context. She was watching Constantine with an expression that suggested both affection and exasperation—the look of someone who cared about a person they knew was going to disappoint them eventually.
Both of them looked up as Bruce approached, their expressions shifting to something more guarded.
"Well, well," Constantine said, his British accent dripping with sardonic amusement. "The famous Batman. Or should I say, the infamous Batman—the one who's been shaking up Gotham's underworld and making the supernatural community very nervous."
"I wasn't aware I had a reputation in magical circles."
"You didn't, until recently. But word gets around when someone starts dismantling criminal organizations with the efficiency of a divine plague. Some of us started wondering whether you'd gotten your hands on something you shouldn't have." Constantine took a long drag from his cigarette. "So tell me, Bats—what's your secret? Demonic pact? Forbidden artifact? Or just really, really good preparation?"
"Preparation," Bruce said, sliding into the booth beside Zatanna without waiting for an invitation. "Which is why I'm here. I need magical protection, and I'm told you two are the best at providing it."
Zatanna and Constantine exchanged a glance that communicated volumes in the space of a second.
"Magical protection against what, specifically?" Zatanna asked, her voice carrying the melodic quality that Bruce recognized from her stage performances—though he suspected that quality was entirely natural rather than affected.
"Everything. I operate in a city with significant supernatural activity—more than most people realize. I've encountered minor magical threats in my regular patrols, and my intelligence suggests that major threats are developing. My current equipment is formidable against physical and technological adversaries, but against magical attack, I'm essentially defenseless."
"And you want us to fix that," Constantine said flatly. "Just like that. Pop some wards on your fancy suit and send you on your way."
"I want you to help me understand my options and implement appropriate protections. I'm prepared to compensate you fairly for your time and expertise, and I can offer information about the artifact thefts that have been occurring in Gotham—information that I suspect is relevant to matters you're already investigating."
That got their attention. Constantine's studied disinterest shifted to something sharper, more focused, while Zatanna leaned forward with obvious curiosity.
"What do you know about the thefts?" she asked.
"I know that seventeen items of genuine mystical significance have been stolen from private collections in Gotham over the past three months. I know that the thefts were conducted by a professional crew with no apparent connection to the magical community—mundane criminals hired specifically because they wouldn't understand what they were stealing. And I know that the items were delivered to a location in Gotham's old district that my investigation suggests is connected to a cult operating under the name 'The Brujería.'"
Constantine's cigarette nearly fell from his lips. "The Brujería? You're sure about that?"
"I'm sure about the name. I'm less certain about what it means—my research into magical organizations is ongoing, but there are significant gaps in the available literature."
"That's because the Brujería aren't in any literature you'd find in a library." Constantine's voice had lost its sardonic edge, replaced by something that sounded almost like respect. "They're a Central American death cult that's been extinct for centuries. Or so everyone thought."
"Apparently, rumors of their extinction were exaggerated."
"Apparently." Constantine stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another, his movements betraying a tension that his casual posture tried to hide. "This changes things. If the Brujería are active in Gotham, collecting magical artifacts..."
"They're preparing for something," Zatanna finished. "Something big enough to require significant magical resources."
"Which is why I need protection," Bruce said. "And why I need allies who understand the supernatural threats I may be facing. I can provide resources, intelligence, and capabilities that you don't currently have access to. In exchange, I need magical expertise and the protections necessary to operate effectively against supernatural adversaries."
Constantine and Zatanna exchanged another long glance, conducting a silent conversation that Bruce couldn't fully interpret but could recognize as negotiation.
"Alright, Bats," Constantine said finally. "You've got our attention. Let's talk specifics. What exactly do you want us to do to that suit of yours?"
The conversation that followed lasted nearly three hours, covering topics ranging from the fundamental principles of magical protection to the specific threats that Bruce might encounter in his operations.
Constantine, despite his apparent cynicism, proved to be a wealth of knowledge about defensive magic—the wards and protections that could shield a person or object from supernatural attack. His expertise was clearly hard-won, the result of decades of dealing with entities that most people couldn't imagine, and his recommendations were practical rather than theoretical.
"The problem with enchanting technology is that magic and tech don't play nice together," Constantine explained, sketching symbols on a napkin that Bruce recognized as some form of mystical notation. "Most protective wards will interfere with electronic systems—you'll end up with a suit that's magically protected but can't actually function."
"There are ways around that," Zatanna interjected. "It requires careful integration, layering the magical protections in ways that don't conflict with the technological components. It's more difficult and more expensive, but it can be done."
"Expensive how?" Bruce asked.
"Magical protection isn't free. It requires energy, components, and in some cases, sacrifices of one kind or another." Zatanna met his eyes directly. "Not blood sacrifice—I don't practice that kind of magic. But there are costs. Time, rare materials, personal energy from the enchanter. You're asking for comprehensive protection against a wide range of supernatural threats. That's not trivial."
"I can provide materials if you tell me what's needed. And I can compensate you for your time at whatever rate you consider appropriate."
"It's not about money, Bats," Constantine said. "Though that doesn't hurt. It's about the fact that you're asking us to invest significant magical resources in someone we don't know, for purposes we don't fully understand. That's a big ask in our community."
"Then let me address your concerns directly." Bruce leaned forward, his posture shifting to something more intense. "I'm not interested in magic for its own sake. I'm not trying to accumulate power or pursue some mystical agenda. I'm a vigilante operating in a city where supernatural threats exist alongside mundane ones. I need the tools to address those threats effectively, the same way I've developed tools to address every other kind of threat."
"And we're supposed to just trust that?" Constantine's voice carried skepticism that Bruce suspected was largely performative.
"You're supposed to recognize that I'm being honest with you, and that my goals align with yours. The Brujería threat I've identified is real, and it's going to require a response. I can either be part of that response—properly equipped and prepared—or I can be a liability who gets himself killed because he didn't have adequate protection."
"He's got a point," Zatanna said quietly. "And his reputation suggests he's telling the truth about his intentions. The magical community has been watching him—he's been remarkably consistent in his approach. No deals with dark entities, no attempts to accumulate mystical power, no interest in forbidden knowledge. Just systematic, methodical crime-fighting."
"Which is exactly what someone running a long con would want us to believe."
"John." Zatanna's voice carried a warning note. "Not everyone is running a con. Some people are actually what they appear to be."
Constantine was quiet for a moment, studying Bruce with an intensity that felt almost physical. Then he sighed and reached for another cigarette.
"Fine. We'll do it. But we're doing it properly—comprehensive protection that actually works, not some half-arsed ward that falls apart the first time something serious takes a swing at you." He pointed his unlit cigarette at Bruce. "That means you come to us, you bring your suit, and you let us work on it without interference. It'll take at least a week, maybe two. And during that time, you answer our questions honestly about what you're doing and why."
"Agreed."
"And you share everything you know about the Brujería operation. Everything, not just the bits you think are relevant."
"Also agreed."
"And—" Constantine paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "You might want to meet someone else while you're in our world. Someone who could provide you with resources that Zee and I can't."
"Who?"
"His name is Etrigan. He's a demon—bound to a human host, operates in the space between Heaven and Hell. He's also one of the most reliable allies you can have when things get truly supernatural." Constantine smiled slightly. "He owes me a favor. Several favors, actually. I can make an introduction."
Bruce filed that information away for later consideration. A demon ally was not something he had anticipated, but his experiences with the DC Universe had taught him that alliances came in many forms. If Etrigan could provide capabilities he lacked, the association might be worth pursuing.
"I'd be interested in meeting him. But first, let's focus on the protections."
"Right. First things first." Constantine finally lit his cigarette and took a long drag. "You're going to need to get comfortable with some very uncomfortable things, Bats. Magic isn't like technology—it doesn't follow rules you can predict or control. It follows its own logic, and that logic isn't always rational."
"I'm aware. I've been studying magical theory for several weeks."
Constantine laughed, a genuine sound of amusement that seemed to surprise even him. "Several weeks. That's adorable. Zee, he's been studying magical theory for several weeks."
Zatanna smiled slightly. "Everyone has to start somewhere, John. At least he's making the effort."
"True enough." Constantine stood, gesturing for Bruce to follow. "Come on, then. Let's see this suit of yours and figure out exactly what we're working with."
The enchantment process took twelve days.
Bruce had expected the work to be complex—his research into magical theory had made clear that integrating supernatural protections with advanced technology was a significant undertaking. What he hadn't expected was how fundamentally different the process was from anything in his experience.
Constantine and Zatanna worked in shifts, their approaches complementary but distinct. Constantine's magic was raw, instinctive, the result of decades of improvisation and survival. His wards were practical and brutal, designed to deflect attacks and punish aggressors. Zatanna's magic was more refined, more elegant, her protections woven into the suit's structure with a precision that reminded Bruce of fine engineering.
"The key is layering," Zatanna explained during one of their working sessions, her hands tracing patterns over the Beyond suit's surface while she spoke backwards in the way that focused her magic. "Each ward handles a specific type of threat. Demonic influence, psychic attack, curse propagation, reality manipulation. By layering them properly, we create a comprehensive defense that doesn't interfere with the suit's technological systems."
"And the weakness?" Bruce asked. He had learned enough about magic to know that protections always had limitations.
"Power. The wards draw energy from you—from your life force, your will, your determination. Against minor threats, the drain is negligible. Against major attacks, you'll feel it. Against something truly powerful..." Zatanna paused, her expression serious. "Against something truly powerful, the wards will hold, but the cost might be significant. Exhaustion, disorientation, potentially unconsciousness."
"That's still better than being defenseless."
"It is. Just be aware of your limits." She resumed her work, her backwards words flowing in patterns that Bruce's enhanced memory was beginning to recognize. "The suit is impressive, by the way. I've never seen technology this advanced integrated with magical protection before. Whoever designed it is genuinely brilliant."
"I'll pass along the compliment."
The meeting with Etrigan occurred on the seventh day of the enchantment process, arranged by Constantine at a location that defied easy description—a crossroads that existed in multiple dimensions simultaneously, accessible only during specific astronomical alignments.
Bruce arrived in full Beyond suit, its partial enchantments providing some protection while the work continued. Constantine accompanied him, serving as both guide and intermediary for the meeting.
"Etrigan's complicated," Constantine said as they waited at the crossroads. "He's a demon—a genuine, Hell-spawned demon—but he's been bound to a human host for centuries. The binding changed him, made him something other than what he was. He fights for the light now, mostly, though his methods are... demonic."
"What kind of capabilities does he offer?"
"Hellfire, mostly. The genuine article—fire from the pits of Hell that burns the soul as well as the body. Against supernatural threats, there's almost nothing more effective. He can also provide intelligence about infernal matters, connections in the demonic community, and—if you can earn his respect—genuine loyalty."
"And the cost?"
"That's the interesting part. Etrigan doesn't want souls or servitude or any of the usual demonic currencies. What he wants is worthy opponents—beings strong enough to give him a real fight. He's been bored for centuries, stuck in the mortal world without anything that genuinely challenges him." Constantine smiled slightly. "I think you might be just what he's looking for."
Before Bruce could respond, the crossroads shimmered, and a figure stepped through from somewhere else—a being that was immediately, obviously, fundamentally inhuman despite wearing a human-adjacent form.
Etrigan was massive, his yellow skin stretched over muscles that seemed to contain more power than any physical frame should be able to hold. His ears were pointed, his teeth were fangs, and his eyes burned with a fire that Bruce recognized as literally infernal. He wore medieval armor that looked as though it had been forged in a furnace considerably hotter than anything found on Earth, and when he spoke, his voice carried harmonics that made Bruce's teeth ache.
"Constantine brings a new face to my attention. A mortal wrapped in metal and arrogance. Speak your purpose, human, or feel my fire's violence."
The rhyming was unexpected, though Bruce's research had mentioned that Etrigan spoke in verse as part of his demonic nature. He filed the observation away and addressed the demon directly.
"I'm Batman. I protect Gotham City from threats both mundane and supernatural. Constantine suggested you might be interested in an alliance—your capabilities combined with my resources, working toward common goals."
"Common goals, you say, wrapped in careful speech. But demons deal in power, not morals that you preach. What can you offer me that I cannot take? What partnership is this that you propose to make?"
"I offer worthy opponents." Bruce met the demon's burning eyes without flinching. "Gotham attracts supernatural threats—entities that most mortals can't challenge effectively. I've been building capabilities to address those threats, but I recognize that some battles require fire that mortal weapons can't produce."
"You speak of fire as if you understand its worth. But Hellfire is not given freely to those of Earth. What makes you worthy of a demon's burning gift? What proof do you offer that your spirit will not drift?"
Constantine stepped forward, his expression suggesting he had expected this challenge. "He's already proven himself, Etrigan. The Brujería are active in his city, gathering artifacts for something big. He found them when the rest of us missed it. And when we told him what he was facing, he didn't run—he asked for the tools to fight."
Etrigan's burning eyes shifted to Constantine, then back to Bruce. "The Brujería stir, a cult of death and pain. Their return bodes ill for mortals in their domain. If this Batman fights against such ancient evil... perhaps his request is not entirely medieval."
The demon stepped closer, his massive form radiating heat that Bruce could feel even through the suit's environmental systems. "I will offer you a gift, mortal knight. A portion of my fire to aid your fight. But know this well: Hellfire is not tame or kind. It burns with purpose, leaving scars of every kind. Use it wisely, or its power will consume. And know that with this gift, you seal a compact's bloom."
"What are the terms of this compact?"
"Simple terms for simple needs, I decree. When Hell's enemies threaten, you will fight for me. When demons of destruction walk your mortal plane, you will stand against them, sharing in my bane. And when I call upon you for worthy battle's test, you will answer, proving yourself among the best."
Bruce considered the terms carefully. Fighting against destructive demons aligned with his existing goals—protecting Gotham from supernatural threats was already part of his mission. The obligation to answer Etrigan's call for "worthy battle" was more ambiguous, but Constantine's earlier explanation suggested that the demon was looking for challenging opponents rather than cannon fodder.
"I accept the terms. With one addition: the compact is mutual. If I call upon you for aid against threats that exceed my capabilities, you will answer as well."
Etrigan's fanged mouth split into a smile that was genuinely terrifying. "Bold words from a mortal dressed in machine. Very well—I accept your terms, Batman, sight unseen. The compact is sealed, the bargain is struck. May your enemies tremble at their ill-gotten luck."
The demon extended his hand, and Bruce took it despite every instinct screaming that touching an entity made of Hellfire was a terrible idea. The moment their hands connected, Bruce felt something flow into him—not painful, exactly, but intense beyond anything he had experienced. Heat that existed in dimensions beyond the physical, power that carried the weight of ages, and knowledge of how to call and direct that power when needed.
When Etrigan released his hand, Bruce found that he knew things he hadn't known before. How to summon Hellfire from his own body, channeling it through the suit's systems or his bare hands if necessary. How to recognize demonic entities and their weaknesses. How to navigate the spiritual dimensions that overlapped with physical reality.
"The gift is given, the knowledge is yours to wield. Go forth, Batman, and never in battle yield. When next we meet, I expect tales of glory and strife. For a compact with Etrigan is a compact for life."
The demon turned and stepped back through the dimensional rift, leaving Bruce and Constantine alone at the crossroads.
"Well," Constantine said after a moment of silence, "that went better than I expected."
"Does he usually require more negotiation?"
"He usually requires a lot more negotiation. And typically at least one fight to establish dominance." Constantine studied Bruce with an expression of reluctant respect. "You impressed him, Bats. Not many mortals can do that. The fact that you didn't flinch, that you countered his terms with your own, that you looked him in the eye and treated him like an equal—that matters to beings like Etrigan."
"I treated him with the respect his power deserved while establishing that I'm not a supplicant." Bruce flexed his hand, still feeling the residual warmth from the Hellfire transfer. "It's the same approach I use with anyone I want as an ally rather than a subordinate."
"Huh. Maybe that's why it works." Constantine lit a cigarette, apparently needing the familiar ritual after the meeting's intensity. "Alright, let's get back to Zatanna. She'll want to adjust the suit's enchantments to accommodate your new... acquisition."
The completed Beyond suit was a masterwork of integrated technology and magic that Bruce doubted existed anywhere else in the universe.
The outer layer of enchantments provided protection against direct magical attack—curses, hexes, and reality-manipulation effects would slide off the suit like water off polished metal. The middle layer protected against possession and mental intrusion, ensuring that no entity could take control of Bruce's mind or body while he wore the armor. The innermost layer was a general-purpose ward that would alert him to supernatural presences and provide limited resistance against magical effects that bypassed the outer protections.
The Hellfire integration was handled separately, channeled through specially designed conduits that Zatanna had woven into the suit's structure. Bruce could summon the infernal flames through his gauntlets, directing them with the same precision he applied to any other weapon in his arsenal. The fire's supernatural nature meant it would be effective against entities that were immune to conventional attacks, while its psychological impact would provide additional deterrent value against enemies who recognized what they were facing.
"The suit is as protected as we can make it," Zatanna said during the final assessment. "Against minor magical threats, you'll be essentially immune. Against major threats, you'll have significant resistance—enough to survive long enough to either neutralize the threat or withdraw to safety. Against truly apocalyptic magical events..."
"Against truly apocalyptic magical events, the suit will buy me time, but I'll need additional resources," Bruce finished. "I understand. This was never meant to make me invincible—just adequately prepared."
"'Adequately prepared' is an understatement." Constantine examined the completed work with professional appreciation. "This might be the most comprehensively protected suit of armor in the mortal world. Zee and I outdid ourselves."
"You did. And I'm grateful." Bruce met their eyes in turn. "This alliance—the three of us, potentially Etrigan, working together against supernatural threats—I want it to continue. Not just for my benefit, but because Gotham needs people who can address threats that conventional law enforcement can't handle."
"We'll see how things develop," Zatanna said. "But for now, yes—we're allies. Constantine and I will continue investigating the Brujería situation, and we'll keep you informed of any developments that might affect Gotham."
"And I'll provide you with any intelligence I gather that's relevant to your work. Fair exchange."
"Fair exchange," Constantine agreed. "Now get out of here, Bats. Some of us have work to do that doesn't involve punching criminals."
The return to Gotham brought Bruce back to a city that had continued changing in his absence.
The twelve days he had spent with Constantine and Zatanna had not been idle time for his other operations—ORACLE had maintained oversight of his various initiatives, and the results were encouraging.
"Sir," ORACLE reported during his arrival briefing, "I'm pleased to report significant developments on multiple fronts. The satellite facility network is now fully operational, the Arkham reforms continue to show positive results, and several of your preventive interventions appear to be succeeding."
"Give me the highlights."
"Dr. Harleen Quinzel has completed her first month at Arkham without incident. Her supervisor reports that she's showing excellent professional development, maintaining appropriate boundaries with patients, and responding well to the therapeutic support you arranged. There's no indication that she's developing the obsessive patterns that characterized her trajectory in your reference timeline."
"Good. What about the threat assessments?"
"Harvey Dent's psychological monitoring suggests he's stabilizing. The therapy program you arranged—presented as a mandatory wellness initiative for high-stress public officials—appears to be addressing his underlying vulnerabilities. His assistant reports that his mood swings have decreased significantly, and he's managing professional stress more effectively."
"Edward Nygma?"
"More complicated. Mr. Nygma's activities suggest he's still planning something, but the timeline has been disrupted by your intervention against the Cobblepot organization—his original plan apparently relied on resources that are no longer available. He appears to be regrouping, which gives us additional time to develop intervention strategies."
"And Pamela Isley?"
ORACLE paused—a rare occurrence that suggested she was processing something unexpected. "Dr. Isley's situation has developed in ways I did not anticipate."
"Explain."
"She has accepted a permanent position with Wayne Enterprises' environmental research division, as planned. Her work on the contamination remediation projects has been exemplary, and she's developed several innovative approaches that are generating significant positive attention in the scientific community."
"That sounds like success."
"It is. However, there's an additional development." Another pause. "Dr. Isley has requested a meeting with you—specifically with Bruce Wayne, not Batman. She says she has a proposal that she believes will interest you, related to her... unique condition."
Bruce considered this information. Pamela's "unique condition" was her transformation into Poison Ivy—the plant-human hybrid whose powers made her one of the most dangerous metahumans in Gotham. The fact that she was seeking him out voluntarily, as Bruce Wayne rather than as Batman, suggested that her trajectory had genuinely changed from the path she had followed in the original timeline.
"Schedule the meeting. And brief me on anything else that requires my attention."
"Yes, sir. There is one additional matter—Selina Kyle has made contact through the secure channel, as you anticipated. She's requesting a meeting to discuss the 'options' you mentioned during your previous encounter."
Selina. The woman with the unexpected mystical abilities who had been standing at a crossroads when Bruce encountered her. The fact that she was reaching out suggested she had made a decision about which path to follow.
"Schedule that meeting as well. In person, somewhere private. I want to understand what's happening with her abilities before we discuss anything else."
"Understood, sir. I've taken the liberty of preparing comprehensive briefing packages for both meetings. Shall I display them now?"
"Later. First, I need to test the suit's new capabilities."
Bruce moved toward the Beyond armor, its surface now carrying subtle differences that only someone with magical awareness would recognize—the faint shimmer of protective wards, the barely visible patterns of enchanted circuitry. The suit looked the same, but it was fundamentally transformed.
"ORACLE, find me something supernatural to fight. I need to verify that the enchantments work as intended."
"Scanning for supernatural activity... Sir, there's an unusual energy signature in the warehouse district. The pattern is consistent with a minor dimensional breach—something is crossing over from another plane."
"Perfect. That's exactly what I need."
The dimensional breach turned out to be a nest of shadow creatures—beings from a dark dimension that fed on fear and negative emotions. They had been drawn to Gotham by the city's concentrated suffering, slipping through a weak point in reality that had probably existed for decades without anyone noticing.
There were approximately forty of the creatures, ranging in size from house cats to large dogs, their forms shifting and flowing in ways that made them difficult to track visually. In the original timeline, threats like these would have been nearly impossible for Batman to address—the creatures were intangible to conventional attacks and could only be harmed by magic or intense emotional willpower.
The enchanted Beyond suit changed that equation entirely.
Bruce waded into the nest with a grin that would have concerned anyone who knew him, his gauntlets trailing Hellfire as he demonstrated exactly what a prepared vigilante could accomplish against supernatural threats. The shadow creatures shrieked as the infernal flames touched them, their forms dissipating like smoke before a strong wind. The suit's protective wards deflected their fear-inducing attacks, leaving Bruce's mind clear and focused while he systematically eliminated the entire nest.
It took less than ten minutes.
"Sir," ORACLE reported as the last creature vanished, "the dimensional breach appears to have sealed itself following the elimination of the creatures. I believe their presence was maintaining the opening—with them gone, reality has reasserted itself."
"Good. Make a note in the operational files: supernatural threats are now within our engagement envelope. Adjust our monitoring parameters to detect similar incursions in the future."
"Already done, sir. The suit's new capabilities represent a significant expansion of your operational capacity. I've updated all relevant tactical assessments accordingly."
Bruce surveyed the empty warehouse, now free of supernatural contamination for the first time in probably decades. The test had been successful—the enchantments worked exactly as advertised, and the Hellfire was every bit as effective as Etrigan had promised.
He was now genuinely prepared for almost anything Gotham could throw at him.
Almost.
The meeting with Pamela Isley took place in Bruce Wayne's office at Wayne Tower, the corporate setting deliberately chosen to frame the conversation as a business discussion rather than a confrontation between vigilante and reformed villain.
Pamela entered the office with a confidence that spoke of significant personal development since their last encounter. She was dressed professionally—a far cry from the revealing costume she had worn as Poison Ivy—and her greenish skin tone had faded to something that could pass as an unusual tan in the right lighting.
"Mr. Wayne. Thank you for seeing me."
"Dr. Isley. Please, sit down." Bruce gestured toward the seating area, choosing a position that put them at equal height rather than establishing dominance from behind his desk. "ORACLE tells me you have a proposal."
Pamela smiled slightly at the mention of ORACLE—she had apparently deduced the connection between Bruce Wayne's AI assistant and Batman's operational support system, though she was tactful enough not to mention it directly.
"I do. But first, I want to thank you. For the opportunity at Wayne Enterprises, for the chance to do meaningful work, for not treating me as a criminal when I came to you for help."
"You weren't a criminal when we met. You were a victim of circumstances who was in danger of becoming something worse."
"I know. And that's why your intervention mattered." Pamela folded her hands in her lap, her posture suggesting she was about to make a significant request. "The work I've been doing with the remediation projects has been rewarding. I've helped restore several contaminated sites, developed new techniques for environmental cleanup, and contributed to research that will benefit ecosystems around the world."
"But?"
"But I'm still... what I am. The abilities I developed after my accident—the connection to plant life, the pheromone production, the enhanced physiology—they're still part of me. The treatments your medical division has developed have helped manage the more dangerous aspects, but they haven't eliminated the underlying changes."
Bruce nodded slowly. "And you want something more than management."
"I want to be normal again. Or as close to normal as possible." Pamela's voice carried a weight of longing that Bruce found unexpectedly affecting. "I've proven that I can use my abilities responsibly, that I can contribute positively to society without becoming the eco-terrorist I was heading toward becoming. But as long as I have these powers, as long as I'm visibly different from everyone around me, I'll never be able to live a truly normal life."
"What are you asking for?"
"Your medical research division has been developing treatments for metahuman conditions—ways to manage or suppress abilities that are dangerous or unwanted. I want to be a test case for a more comprehensive treatment. Something that would reverse my transformation entirely, or as much of it as possible."
Bruce considered the request carefully. The treatments Pamela was referring to were real—Wayne Enterprises had been developing them as part of his broader strategy for addressing metahuman threats. The idea was that some metahumans might prefer to live without their abilities, and providing that option could prevent dangerous individuals from feeling trapped in circumstances they never chose.
Pamela's case was unusual because she was asking for the treatment voluntarily, after demonstrating that she could control her abilities responsibly. Most of the potential test cases in his files were individuals who might need the treatment imposed on them for public safety reasons.
"The treatments are still experimental," Bruce said finally. "There are risks—we don't fully understand the long-term effects of suppressing metahuman abilities, and there's a possibility that the process could have unintended consequences."
"I understand the risks. I've reviewed the research—the access you gave me to Wayne Enterprises' databases includes the medical division's work." Pamela smiled slightly at Bruce's expression. "You're not the only one who does thorough research, Mr. Wayne. I know what I'm asking for, and I know what it might cost. I want to proceed anyway."
"Why? Your abilities have given you significant advantages—strength, durability, connection to the natural world. Why would you want to give that up?"
"Because the advantages aren't worth the isolation. Because I want to have relationships, friendships, maybe someday a family, without worrying about accidentally poisoning someone with my touch or manipulating them with my pheromones. Because I spent my whole life wanting to protect the environment, and I've discovered that I can do that more effectively as a respected scientist than as a feared metahuman."
She met Bruce's eyes directly, her expression vulnerable in a way that he suspected she rarely allowed anyone to see. "I want to be Pamela Isley again. Just Pamela. Is that so hard to understand?"
"No. It's not." Bruce made his decision. "I'll arrange for you to begin the treatment protocol. You'll need to remain under medical observation during the process—we don't know exactly how your physiology will respond. But if you're willing to accept those conditions..."
"I am."
"Then we'll proceed." Bruce stood, extending his hand. "Welcome to the next phase of your life, Dr. Isley. I hope it's everything you're looking for."
Pamela took his hand, her grip warm but no longer carrying the dangerous heat of a metahuman whose touch could kill. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne. You won't regret this."
The meeting with Selina Kyle took place three days later, in a secure location that Bruce had prepared specifically for conversations that couldn't happen in either his civilian or vigilante identity.
Selina arrived precisely on time, her movement carrying the predatory grace that Bruce remembered from their first encounter. The golden glow that had suffused her hands was now visible throughout her body, manifesting in subtle ways—her eyes carried a faint luminescence, her movements seemed slightly more fluid than human physics should allow, and there were other changes that Bruce noticed immediately.
Cat ears. Small, covered in dark fur, emerging from her hair in a way that might have looked ridiculous on anyone else but somehow seemed natural on Selina.
And a tail. Long, flexible, covered in the same dark fur, currently curling around her leg in what Bruce recognized as a nervous gesture.
"Before you say anything," Selina said, her voice carrying a defensive edge, "I know I look different. The changes have been... progressing. The dream I told you about—the one about being chosen—I've been having it more frequently, and every time I wake up, there's something new."
"I noticed." Bruce gestured toward a seating area, trying to maintain his professional composure despite the unexpected developments. "Have you identified the source of the changes?"
"I've been researching. The symbols in my dreams, the voice that speaks to me—I think it's something called the Cat God, or Bastet, or maybe something even older. An entity associated with cats, with femininity, with the balance between civilization and wildness." Selina sat down, her tail wrapping around her waist as she settled into the chair. "Whatever it is, it's chosen me as its avatar. Its champion. And apparently, that comes with some physical modifications."
"The ears and tail are new since we last spoke."
"They appeared about a week ago. Along with some other changes." Selina's cheeks colored slightly—impressive, given her newfound confidence. "My senses are sharper. My reflexes are faster. I'm stronger and more agile than I've ever been. And my, um, physical proportions have... adjusted."
Bruce had noticed that as well but had chosen not to comment. Selina's figure had always been athletic, but the mystical transformation had enhanced her curves in ways that seemed designed to embody a specific aesthetic—the kind of exaggerated femininity that ancient cultures had associated with fertility goddesses and divine avatars.
"Have the changes affected your mental state? Your personality?"
"Not that I can tell. I'm still me—still Selina Kyle, still the person I was before this started. The abilities are new, but my thoughts, my memories, my sense of self... those are all unchanged." She paused, considering. "Though I do have a much stronger appreciation for cats now. And I've been craving fish more than usual."
"That's... probably normal for your condition. Such as it is."
"I suppose." Selina was quiet for a moment, her luminescent eyes studying Bruce with an intensity that felt almost physical. "You said you could help me. That you could provide resources and training, alternatives to the criminal path I was on. I've thought about it. A lot. And I've decided I want to accept your offer."
"Even with the changes you've undergone? The abilities you've developed?"
"Especially with those changes. Before this happened, I was just a skilled thief with good reflexes. I could have continued that life indefinitely—gotten rich, stayed ahead of the law, eventually retired to somewhere without extradition treaties. It would have been a successful criminal career by any reasonable measure."
She leaned forward, her expression intense. "But now I have abilities that actually matter. I can do things that ordinary people can't—sense dangers before they happen, move in ways that seem impossible, survive injuries that should be fatal. Wasting those abilities on burglary and theft would be... it would be wrong. I'm not sure I believe in destiny, but if there's even a chance that I was given these powers for a reason, I want to use them properly."
"And what does 'properly' mean to you?"
"Helping people. Protecting people who can't protect themselves. Doing the kind of work that you do, but maybe focused on different areas." Selina's tail twitched in what Bruce interpreted as nervousness. "I'm not Batman. I'm not going to dress up in a bat costume and terrorize criminals. But I could be... something else. Someone who operates in the spaces you don't reach, handles threats you don't have time for, provides capabilities you don't currently have."
"An ally."
"Yes. An ally." Selina met his eyes, and Bruce was struck by the intensity of her gaze—not just the physical luminescence, but something deeper. Something that looked almost like devotion. "You offered me a choice when I was at my lowest point. You didn't judge me, didn't threaten me, didn't try to manipulate me. You just... offered. And that meant more than you probably realize."
Bruce found himself uncertain how to respond. The look in Selina's eyes was familiar—he had seen it before, in different contexts, in the original timeline's version of events. But it seemed more intense here, more focused, as if her mystical transformation had heightened not just her physical capabilities but her emotional responses as well.
"I accept your proposal," he said finally. "We'll work together—training, resources, operational support. You'll maintain your independence, but you'll also have backup when you need it and guidance when you want it."
"Thank you." Selina's voice carried a warmth that made Bruce's chest tighten unexpectedly. "You won't regret this. I promise."
"I believe you."
They spent the next two hours discussing practical details—training schedules, equipment needs, operational protocols. Bruce found himself increasingly impressed by Selina's intelligence and strategic thinking. She had clearly been wasting her potential on criminal enterprise; with proper direction, she could become a genuinely formidable ally.
But throughout the conversation, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—something that went beyond the professional alliance they were nominally establishing. The way Selina looked at him, the way she leaned toward him when he spoke, the way her tail would curl in his direction when she thought he wasn't watching...
It was probably just a side effect of her transformation. Heightened emotions, increased attachment to the person who had offered help at a crucial moment. Nothing to be concerned about.
Probably.
The implementation of Bruce's next initiative—converting captured villain technology into civilian benefits—required careful coordination across multiple Wayne Enterprises divisions.
The Joker Venom variant that had been developed from the Ace Chemicals compound was the first successful conversion, now being marketed as a revolutionary dental anesthetic that provided effective pain management without the disorientation of conventional options. The product had been enthusiastically received by the medical community, and early sales projections suggested it would become a significant revenue stream.
Scarecrow's fear toxin research had yielded unexpected benefits in the treatment of anxiety disorders. By understanding exactly how the compound triggered fear responses, researchers had been able to develop targeted treatments that addressed the underlying neural pathways. Clinical trials were underway for applications ranging from PTSD treatment to phobia therapy.
Mr. Freeze's cryogenic technology—recovered from early experiments before Victor Fries had fully committed to his criminal path—was being adapted for medical applications. Cryopreservation of organs for transplant, targeted cancer treatment through precise freezing of tumors, and advanced surgical techniques that minimized damage to surrounding tissue all stemmed from research originally intended for very different purposes.
"Sir," ORACLE reported during one of their regular briefings, "the civilian applications program has generated an estimated $2.3 billion in revenue for Wayne Enterprises, with projected growth of 40% annually as new products reach market. The public health benefits are equally significant—the dental anesthetic alone has improved outcomes for an estimated 12 million patients worldwide."
"And the source of the research? Is that causing any concerns?"
"The official story—that the products were developed through standard R&D processes—has been accepted without significant challenge. The few journalists who have investigated more deeply have been satisfied with the documentation we've prepared. There's no public awareness that the underlying research originated with criminal activity."
"Good. The last thing we need is a scandal about using 'villain technology' for medical applications." Bruce reviewed the financial projections on his display. "What about the community initiatives?"
"The Gotham Renewal Foundation—funded entirely by Wayne Enterprises but operating independently—has completed construction on fourteen affordable housing developments, seven community health clinics, and three job training centers. The foundation has also provided funding for educational programs, addiction treatment services, and small business development loans throughout the city's most disadvantaged neighborhoods."
"Crime statistics for those neighborhoods?"
"Down an average of 34% since the foundation's initiatives began. The correlation between improved community resources and reduced criminal activity is statistically significant and supports your thesis that addressing underlying social conditions is more effective than purely punitive approaches."
Bruce nodded slowly, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. The comprehensive approach was working—not just fighting crime, but addressing the conditions that created criminals in the first place. It was a strategy that the original Batman had never fully embraced, too focused on individual battles to address systemic problems.
"Continue the expansion. And prepare proposals for additional initiatives—I want to increase our investment in education and mental health services, particularly for at-risk youth."
"Understood, sir. I'll have proposals ready for your review within forty-eight hours."
The weeks that followed saw continued progress on all fronts.
Pamela Isley's treatment proceeded successfully, the experimental protocols gradually suppressing her metahuman abilities while her body readjusted to normal human physiology. By the end of the second month, her greenish skin tone had faded entirely, her dangerous touch had been neutralized, and she was able to resume something approaching a normal life—continuing her work at Wayne Enterprises as a respected environmental scientist rather than a feared eco-terrorist.
Selina Kyle's training progressed rapidly, her mystical abilities providing a foundation that accelerated her development in ways that conventional students couldn't match. She adopted the name "Black Cat" for her operations—a deliberate contrast to her feline transformation that she found amusing—and began conducting missions alongside Batman with increasing independence and effectiveness.
The satellite facility network continued to prove its value, allowing Batman to respond to threats throughout Gotham with unprecedented speed. The Arkham reforms showed sustained positive results, with recidivism rates continuing to decline and treatment outcomes improving. And the various preventive interventions that Bruce had implemented continued to show promise, with several potential future villains apparently stabilizing in ways that suggested their criminal trajectories had been successfully altered.
But even as Bruce celebrated these successes, he remained aware that larger challenges loomed on the horizon. The Brujería investigation had revealed the scope of the magical threat building in Gotham's supernatural underground. His intelligence suggested that metahuman activity worldwide was increasing, with more individuals developing abilities and more conflicts arising from that development. And his knowledge of the original timeline warned that cosmic-level threats would eventually require responses that went far beyond what any single vigilante could provide.
The Batman of this timeline was prepared for almost anything—technologically advanced, magically protected, supported by an expanding network of facilities and allies. But "almost anything" wasn't the same as "everything," and Bruce knew that the true tests of his approach were still to come.
"ORACLE," he said during one of their evening planning sessions, "begin developing contingency plans for Justice League-level threats. I want to be ready when the really big challenges arrive."
"Understood, sir. Shall I also begin profiling potential allies for those challenges? The individuals who might eventually form the League in your reference timeline?"
"Yes. Start with the ones we can verify exist in this timeline—individuals with confirmed abilities who might be receptive to collaboration. We'll approach them when the time is right."
"And when will that be, sir?"
Bruce looked out over Gotham's skyline, the city he had sworn to protect spreading below him in all its corrupt, beautiful complexity. The question was a good one—timing was critical for the kind of alliances he was contemplating.
"When the threats require it," he said finally. "When individual action isn't enough anymore and collective response becomes necessary. That's when we'll reach out."
"I'll prepare the necessary materials and keep monitoring for the appropriate moment."
"Good." Bruce turned away from the window and moved toward his suit. "In the meantime, there's still a city that needs protecting. Let's get to work."
END OF CHAPTER SIX