Archive of Our Own ^beta

Danny stirred only slowly.

Tiredly raising his head and taking a soft breath he didn’t need. With a sort of apathetic annoyance, he registered the now familiar prickling feeling in his core, the sour taste of magic burning at the back of his throat. A persistent call.

A summons.

He could resist it, if he wanted to. It was more obnoxious than anything, like an insect buzzing in his ears.

But the last time he’d ignored a summons, they’d escalated their attempts and when he’d finally given in and answered, 30 people were already dead.

He’d learned his lesson since then.

Answer the call. Destroy whatever books/papers/relics had allowed them to summon him. Handle the summoners and free any hostages.

Danny sat back and unfocused his eyes, breath icing cold as he used the connection the summoning was establishing to catch glimpses of who and what awaited him.

The light of the moon that should have shone bright and fat and full overhead was almost completely smothered by smog and light pollution.

A large city.

The scent of salt and brine hung heavy in the air. Swollen weathered wooden beams that creaked underfoot.

The ocean. Docks.

Cold steel. Rusted iron. The tinkling rustle of old chains in the night breeze. The dark, hulking forms of broken down machinery. A roof of rusted tin.

A large abandoned warehouse.

Wax, fire. Candles. Smoke. Incense. Old bone, copper, crumbling leather. Some sort of old relic. Tangy iron. Blood.

Danny felt his lip curl in a snarl.

The low murmuring of chanters. At least ten. Tan robes made from some rough burlap material with red symbols scrawled messily over them. Not a group he’d seen before. Their words were smooth and practiced, not tripping over or mispronouncing any of their chant.

Generally not a good sign.

Four– no, five, figures bound and forced to kneel before the circle.

Hostages. Or sacrifices. That always complicated things. At least no one appeared dead yet.

Danny leaned back and back until he was tipping backwards off the top of the dilapidated building he’d been sitting on and let himself go, let himself fall, loose and lax into the stream of magic. His form dissolved and, for a blissful instant, he was nothing, he was everywhere and nowhere before he immediately began to reform in the warehouse.

Into the glowing ring of the summoning circle.

Fog, amorphous and shimmering a nasty radioactive green, billowed up and out from the ground. It bubbled and frothed, hissing and sizzling as though super heated, but frost and ice crept in jagged fingers along the ground outward from the center of the circle. The candles flared violently and then snuffed out. The room temperature dropped dramatically.

The candles flared back up seconds later with a sickly blue-white flame - the only light in the warehouse now aside from the glowing green runes, and the glints of weak moonlight through the shattered windows.

As the unnatural fog billowed up, the chanters grew louder instead of faltering, eager instead of afraid, and –annoyed at their presumptuousness– Danny let himself gather into something truly horrific.

The billowing green fog crackled like lightning and suddenly sucked backwards, imploding instantly into a single point of blinding light before violently exploding outwards with a shockwave like an earthquake or a thunderclap, shaking the building, throwing the chanters off their feet, causing many of them to cry out in shock.

And then Danny rose.

Slowly. Towering over the room.

Letting them get a good look at him.

A glitching neon green and black monstrosity, twisting and turning into an impossible shape. Blue flames and the void of space. A mane like burning white fire or hoarfrost. Too many eyes. Too many teeth. The suggestion of a face too long and sharp to be humanoid. Sharp black claws. Did it have two arms? Four? Eight? The humans couldn’t tell. It hurt to look at it. Their eyes burned and their minds flinched and their heads ached as they tried to focus on the Being and failed. A few of the chanters hunched over and covered their faces.

Danny floated silently. Waiting. Endlessly patient.

Since no one was dead yet, he figured they deserved one chance to explain themselves.

The increasingly tense silence was broken finally by a robed figure stepping forward, “Great King of the Infinite Realms!” The man shouted in a deep, confident voice, “Mighty Conqueror of the Dead! Please let your humble servants find favor in your eyes! We bring you powerful souls for your army: The Batman and the sons of the Bat!”

What?

Danny inwardly flinched, barely able to keep his outward spectral form from reacting beyond a strange ripple. Had he a heart it would have been pounding.

He zeroed in on the bound and kneeling hostages apprehensively, hoping the cult idiot was somehow wrong. But no, with dread and disgust, he saw that one hostage, one of the two largest ones, was dressed in all black kevlar with an iconic cowl.

That was indeed the Batman.

Then the other four would be his kids. ‘His sons’, the cultist had said.

Danny clenched his many many teeth, grinding them and letting out a long, low rumble that echoed and reverberated through the metal warehouse ominously. Snowflakes glitched and stuttered through the air while ice cracked its way violently up the walls.

The speaker hesitated momentarily, watching Danny warily. When the great monstrosity did nothing but continue to float silently, the man continued.

“Please accept our offering, Great King of the Realms and bestow upon us the powers of thy Knights! The power to rule–”

Danny breathed out the arctic winds, an avalanche, the absolute zero of the cosmos. A wave of unstoppable, overpowering ice roaring through the warehouse.

The cultists were frozen solid before they even knew they were being attacked. Ten solid ice crystals, tall and jagged, glittering in the soft light.

The expressions on their frozen faces were startled but not yet afraid. They would never even know what had happened.

Danny had been kind.

A wave of one long, half-tangible arm and the books and paraphernalia used to summon him absorbed into his body.

That just left the hostages.

They were on their knees in a row a bit back from the summoning circle, cloth gags in their mouths, hands tied behind their backs and lashed to their ankles. Two of them were breathing hard, eyes wide and darting around at the frozen cultists, the other three were glaring at Danny. There was frost forming in their hair and they were shuddering with cold but otherwise the ice had not touched them.

Danny hesitated.

He should leave now.

Snap his fingers to release their bonds if he was feeling generous, leave and not look back.

He didn’t want to see them. He definitely didn’t want to speak to them.

Danny’s gaze was drawn, against his own will, to the youngest but not the smallest of his father’s scions. Strong, broad shoulders, dark hooded cloak, the ‘R’ symbol on his red breast, a green domino mask hid his eyes, but Danny knew they were green and filled with hate.

His brother.

If Danny had a throat it would be dry and hurting.

He should leave. Just go. . .

Don’t do this. Don’t do this to yourself. . .

He felt his massive form shift, contort, and condense. Another flash of brilliant light, another shock wave of cold and ice, and he floated down to the ground, becoming something a little easier for them to behold. Something human-shaped, but decidedly not human.

Green, glowing, pupiless eyes stared at them dispassionately. Long hair like flickering white fire swayed and danced in an unseen wind. Pale, bluish skin glittered like powdered snow. His ears were too pointed, teeth too sharp. A crown of glowing blue flames floated above his head. He was adorned in black and silver-white armor and a thick white cape that hid the night sky underneath.

Danny walked slowly out from the summoning circle towards them, the crunch of his boots over ice strangely loud and hair-raising to the mortals who’d just beheld the eldritch terror become disturbingly tangible and perhaps even more dangerous.

Danny stopped some distance from his glaring brother.

Every ounce of common sense, every instinct was screaming at him to leave, begging him not to do this. Engaging with them in any form was a terrible idea.

But deep down, some dark, ugly little part of his soul was eager, saw an opportunity. He desperately wanted to expose Damian’s true traitorous colors to this supposed ‘family’.

He wanted to hurt them. Wanted to ruin them.

Seeing Danny’s eyes locked on Damian, the rest of the bats began wrenching, tugging and fighting more desperately against their bonds. Danny probably only had a few minutes before at least one of them managed to get free.

He turned his attention back to Damian.

They claimed to be his family . . .

“Five sacrifices is perhaps a bit greedy. Do you not think so?”

Everyone stilled as Danny addressed Damian in a chiming, crystalline voice with a threatening rumble beneath it like glaciers cracking. The underlying static and reverberating echo bounced off the icy walls in a low growl that punctuated the words rather than distorting them. ”Do you not think so. . . Do you not think so . . . Do you. . . not . . .think . . .so . . . “

Damian glared at him.

Danny tilted his head, “I will show you a benevolence you do not deserve.”

"You do not deserve . . . do not . . . deserve. . . ." The echo repeated venomously over and over.

Danny snapped his clawed fingers and Damian’s gag and bonds dissolved away into nothing. His brother spat out the remains of the fading fibers, flexing his jaw and leaping to his feet.

Danny made a slow dismissive gesture at him, “I will have the others. You may go.” He bit his tongue to keep from making some final cutting remark. If he pissed Damian off now, his brother was more likely to bull-headedly stay in the name of defending his supposed honor.

" Go . . . . . . Go . . . . . . GO. . . !" The walls rumbled.

Danny would rather have the satisfaction of watching Damian desert his team. Turn his back on the men he called ‘family’ and leave them to their fate like the self-serving little prick he was.

The other bats were trying to holler at Damian through their gags, jerking their chins over their shoulders, back towards the direction of the doors. Trying to indicate for him to leave.

Damian snarled once at Danny and then leapt away into the darkness of the warehouse.

Though it was what he had expected, Damian’s departure, swift and wordless, still left Danny a little stunned. He stared after Damian’s fleeing form with mixed feelings: disgusted satisfaction, bitter vindication, a sorrow or maybe a relief he refused to examine too closely.

This was exactly what he’d known would happen anyway.

Damian loved no one but Damian.

Danny turned slowly back to the four that were left, gaze sweeping over them. The legendary Bat in all black, glowering at him stoically. The second was large and muscled, nearly as large as the Bat himself. He was dressed in a brown leather jacket and there was a white-stripe in his hair. The Red Hood. The third was lithe in blue and black armor. Nightwing.The smallest one, even smaller than Damian, was clad in red. Red Robin.

Hypothetically, Danny could probably name their civilian names too.

But why bother?

Danny tilted his head at Batman’s flat, unimpressed stare, “Perhaps the Great Detective knew enough to expect such an outcome.” he murmured, “It is not the first time he has betrayed you.”

”. . .betrayed you . . . betrayed you . . . . . he betrayed . . . you . . .” The air shivered mournfully.

He raised a hand to snap his fingers and release them. Intent on letting them go and leaving now that he’d proven his point.

There was a disturbance in the air, a flash of color, body heat, a heartbeat where there shouldn’t be one. Danny turned intangible instinctively and Damian went flying right through him, sword slashing in vain. The disappearance of his prey caused Damian to stumble and Danny kicked him hard in the back, sending him flying directly into one of the ice pillars that had once been a cultist.

Danny struggled for a moment, barely managing to hold himself back, furious that Damian had dared swing his sword at him.

Damian smashed into the pillar and collapsed onto the frozen floor. Growling, the youngest bat turned over and roughly, painfully stumbled to his feet, shaking his head as though to clear it and bringing his sword out to the ready.

The other hostages were shouting through their gags again.

So ‘Robin’ hadn’t deserted them afterall. He’d gone to get his sword in order to defend them, Danny thought bitterly.

Fine.

Whatever.

Danny could at least have the satisfaction of finally beating his untouchable brother into the ground.

“That was utterly foolish.” Danny said slowly, “One might even deem it ‘suicidal’. . . “

” foolish . . . foolish . . . . suicidal . . . . “

“Begone, demon!” Damian spat at him, “Abomination! You will find no more prey here today!”

“I will collect what I am owed.” Danny warned softly, willing to continue the game.

” I . . . Am . . . Owed. . . . .”

Damian clenched his teeth, taking a threatening lunge forward, “Those that summoned you have paid with their lives! That is sufficient for you! You will claim no other victims today!”

Danny tilted his head, “What does it matter to you?” he asked curiously.

“I am Robin!” Damian spat, “The blood son of Batman and his rightful heir! I am Gotham’s sworn defender! It is my duty to guard this city and its people from harm!”

Danny laughed, slow, mocking and wicked (and angry. So ANGRY) watching as Damian flinched and shuddered, taking an involuntary step back, “Do not lie to me.” Danny breathed softly, “I see the blood on your hands. Not a stain so much as an endless pouring of crimson betrayal.”

”. . . crimson . . . betrayal . . . .” The metal in the warehouse shrieked as ice bore relentlessly into its cracks and dents and crevices, ripping them wide.

Damian swallowed hard, mouth twisting unhappily.

“I hear the cries of your dead–” Danny whispered.

And distantly, faintly, a tiny echoing voice, barely audible, cried out, high and frightened, “Akhi?”

The word bounced weakly, almost desperately, off the walls.

” akhi! . . . akhi! . . . . .” Until it too faded softly, piteously into nothing.

Damian went ghostly pale, but did not turn his head to look around. Breath coming faster, his fingers trembled but he brought his sword up firmly to the ready, teeth bared in a familiar snarl. “I will not be deceived by your foul tricks, creature!”

Danny smiled darkly and lifted his hand. In a flash he was holding a long glowing green blade, thin and razor sharp. “Then, you wish to fight me for their souls?”

”. . . Souls . . . their souls . . . . “ The shadows roiled around them.

“Yes!” Damian declared immediately, “If I win, you will release us all. If you win– you will release them and take me in their stead.”

“Do not be foolish.” Danny purred, “I need powerful warriors. What would I possibly want with you?”

Damian lunged for him.

He was fast, Danny admitted, meeting Damian’s blade straight on with his own. He was very strong for a human and probably one of the most skilled sword fighters living on the planet.

The keyword being ‘living’.

Between the quick and the dead, no breathing, warm-blooded being was going to match Danny’s strength and speed.

Danny stood still and unmoving, catching Damian’s blade with his own again and again. Watching his brother’s struggles with a bland, almost bored expression, a bitter, painful sort of hatred bubbling in his belly. His brother struck and retreated, struck and retreated, recalculated and recalculated. He came at Danny from a different angle, slicing his blade with nigh inhuman precision again and again only for Danny to bat him aside carelessly. The sounds of their blades echoing through the room.

Damian lunged around him, came at him from the other side, then tried kicking off one of the frozen cultists to come at Danny from above. All to no avail. Danny barely moved, countered lazily. Damian slashed and parried and then threw a smoke-bomb, obscuring the world around them.

Danny rolled his eyes at the futility of it, fighting to keep the careful plastic smile on his face from twisting into something ugly.

Batarangs came at him through the smoke. Then a bolos at his feet, Danny let them phase easily right through him. Damian came at him with a high kick, and barely dodged Danny’s return strike.

Damian leapt backwards to put some distance between them, breathing hard and sweating.

Danny was neither sweating nor breathing.

Teeth grit and glowering, Damian sized him up, obviously attempting to come up with some new strategies. “Cowardly monster! Fight back!”

Danny held still and waited.

With a harsh battle cry, Damian lunged at him again.

Head on.

Like an idiot.

Danny batted Damian’s blade away and then viciously came back with a slash right across Damian’s chest as punishment. It was a shallow slice but pierced right through Damian’s armor and caught him off guard, causing him to stumble to the side, momentarily unprotected.

Danny raised his blade.

“NO!” someone screamed, freezing Danny in place.

One of the hostages had gotten their gag off.

Of course, Danny realized, Damian hadn’t been fighting Danny to win–

Damian had been trying to keep Danny’s back to the hostages, keep his attention off them, buying them time to get free. Danny himself had noted that the ropes wouldn’t hold the bats for long.

With an annoyed snarl, Danny knocked Damian’s blade right out of his hand and grabbed his brother by the throat. He was shorter than Damian but he lifted him up into the air easily with one hand. He brandished his blade at Damian.

“Will you die for them?” He sneered nastily, “Tell me you’ll die for them and I’ll let them go.”

”Die . . . . Die for them . . . . for them . . . “

“Yes!” Damian choked out without hesitation, both his hands scrabbling at Danny’s hand at his throat. “Yes! Just let them go!”

Danny felt his mouth tremble against his will. His eyes burned.

“Pathetic!” Danny snarled. He let Damian drop and then kicked him hard in the chest, sending him flying back to land in a heap on the floor.

Instantly, gunshots rang out.

Danny let the bullets phase through his body and stepped forward to watch Nightwing and Red Robin descend on Damian, covering him protectively. Then Batman and Hood were standing menacingly in front of the group. Red Hood had a gun in each hand, both leveled firmly at Danny. The Batman, grim-faced, kept whatever was in his hands carefully hidden in the obscurity of his cape, obviously hoping to catch Danny by surprise.

Damian levered himself up painfully, breathing hard but grumbling and pushing away the well-meaning hands of the others as they fussed and worried over him.

Danny stared at them.

At the way they huddled together, bristling and protective.

At a father and his sons.

A loving family.

Brothers that Damian had chosen. Who were apparently vastly superior to the weak, useless one he’d tossed away like garbage all those years ago.

Danny suddenly felt small and lost and hollow.

Empty and worthless.

In a flash of brilliant light, Danny’s tattered sneakers settled onto the icy floor.

Raw, aching and too vulnerable, with paper-thin skin and dark circles beneath his eye, he stood in a dark, thread-bare hoodie and dirty torn jeans. His hair was too long, limp and ratty, hanging in his face as he looked at his brother with human eyes for the first time in eight years.

There was a confused rustling among the bats at the demon’s new appearance, everyone exchanging quick, suspicious glances, readying themselves for whatever new ploy came next.

But Damian went stock-still. His eyes widened slowly in dawning horror and recognition and then narrowed in rage and hatred.

“HOW DARE YOU!” he screamed, guttural and wild, practically frothing as he threw himself forward, fighting as both Nightwing and Red Robin grappled him to hold him back, “HOW DARE YOU TAKE THAT FORM! I’LL TEAR YOU APART!”

“Why did you do it?“

Damian stilled instantly at the small, plaintive, human voice. His face remained frozen in a rictus of fury but something like terror caught in his throat, halted his rant. He rallied himself quickly and snarled desperately at the too thin figure, the stooped shoulders and the wide blue eyes.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. Danyal had been a little boy. Not a teenager. This was a ridiculously feeble and shameless attempt at manipulation. This wasn’t Danyal, this was . . . this was . . .

This is what Danyal should have been. . .

Damian shook his head viciously against the thought, “Your tricks are crude and insufficient, you vile–”

“Was it my fault? What did I do wrong?” the mournful voice broke on the last word.

Damian’s wrathful words cut off in a sharp inhale. Nightwing and Red Robin exchanged glances over Damian’s head, both confused and worried by his strong reaction.

“That’s enough!” Batman growled, taking a threatening step forward, “We know this is only an illusion. Your business here is with me. Leave my sons out of it.”

The false-child turned to Batman with wide, hurt eyes, looking stunned and betrayed, and then its face crumpled and tears slipped down its cheeks, “But wasn’t I your son too?” the thing cried.

Batman flinched back.

“Holy shit.” Hood hissed.

Damian couldn’t catch his breath, face pale and stricken.

“What did I do wrong?” the fake-child’s sobbing grew in volume, “I know I wasn’t as strong as you, Dami, but I tried! Why? Why did you kill me?”

The words cracked through the room like a fatal blow. Nightwing and Red Robin froze in horror. Hood faltered, taking an unsteady step back. All eyes turned to Damian, but he only had eyes for the apparition in front of him.

“I loved you, akhi.” the thing pleaded, tears still streaming steadily down its face, “I thought you loved me. You said – you said you’d take me to space one day and we’d walk on the moon.” the false-child let out a shuddery sob of anguish, “I was stupid enough to believe you!” it moaned, words breaking off into heart-wrenching weeping.

A jagged ball of ice seemed to be growing in Damian’s chest, shredding his insides, crushing his lungs, making his heart judder. He couldn’t breathe. He stared at the creature, fighting to control himself, to keep mastery of his emotions and his reality, telling himself over and over that it wasn’t real. It was just an illusion.

He wanted to scream it. He wanted to make this thing pay for abusing Danyal’s form, but he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat.

The thing suddenly gasped and lurched upright with a sharp spasm, eyes wide and startled, “Akhi. . . ?” it said in confusion.

A dark stain bloomed on the boy’s chest and spread like ink across the front of the hoodie. The false-brother looked down at its front in surprise and then began to cry again, pale hands fluttering up to touch the spreading stain, fingers coming away red with blood.

“No . . .” Damian choked out, mouth trembling. “No, please–”

“Look away, Robin. “ Nightwing managed in a tremulous whisper, his own eyes locked on the spectacle, “Look away. “

Red Robin was still as a statue, hands limp at his sides. And Damian knew, with a terrible certainty and overwhelming guilt and shame, what he was thinking, what conclusions he’d already drawn.

No one else seemed to be able to move.

The false-brother looked at the blood on its fingers in shock and terror, now gasping in fear and its face twisted in anger as it looked back to Damian, “I hate you!” the boy shouted, shrill and wretched, the sodden front of the hoodie now dripping dark red drops onto the warehouse floor, “I hate you! I would have died for you if you’d just asked me to! You didn’t have to kill me! You didn’t have to!”

A sound of wretched anguish tore from Damian’s throat.

Surprise fluttered over the false-child’s face again and Damian keened in awful anticipation, knowing what was coming even before the boy’s neck suddenly split open in a flood of dark red.

The apparition swayed in place, a stunned look on its face, bloody fingers coming up to grasp at the gaping wound in its throat. There were awful sucking noises, small chest heaving as it tried to breathe through its ruined neck. Its knees buckled and the thing collapsed back.

Damian suddenly propelled himself forward.

“NO!” Nightwing tried unsuccessfully to snatch Damian back.

“Robin!” Hood shouted, forbidding.

Red Robin didn’t move or speak.

Batman lunged to intercept Damian but Damian slammed into him viciously, managing to knock him to the side enough to maneuver out of his father’s reach. He ignored the shouts of his family as he crashed to his knees beside the crumpled figure.

It wasn’t real, he kept telling himself desperately. It’s not real. But the tears and snot were pouring down his face, his chest burned, he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t bring himself to attack this thing. “D-Danyal. . .”

Glazed blue eyes stared, unseeing, up at the ceiling, “Everyone’s gone.” the fake-brother garbled wetly, blood bubbling from the corners of its mouth, “Everyone left me. It’s dark here. I can’t find my way out. . . “

With an awful wail, Damian reached out, unable to help himself, and gathered the limp body into his lap, uncaring that he was immediately soaked in blood and gore, smearing it across his clothes and gloved hands. Some distant, carefully compartmentalized part of his mind marveled at how real it all felt. Warm flesh, awkward, too bony limbs, hot blood, the dead weight as he pulled the unresisting body to him. The fake-boy’s head lulling.

Damian wasn’t aware of the others gathering around him.

“Dami? I want mother. . . “ the thing burbled softly through the blood filling its throat, tears still slipping down in wet trails over its cheeks, “Da . . . mi?. . . Akhi–” the last word trailed off on a half-formed breath.

The warm weight went loose and lax in his lap, sightless eyes fixed on the ceiling, lips parted, chest no longer rising or falling.

“No! NO! NO! NO!. . . “ Damian sobbed out in ragged, helpless cries, rocking himself and the body back and forth.

The awful secret, the hidden burden on his soul flayed open in vivid bloody detail for everyone to see.

Slowly, the weight of the body began to lessen and Damian sat back, breathing hard as he watched his not-brother’s body become more and more translucent and insubstantial before it dissolved away like glittering snowflakes out of his arms.

The blue flame candles surrounding the summoning circle snuffed out and light of the glowing green runes stuttered hard a few times and then faded away. Leaving the warehouse in darkness.

Damian stared down at his empty arms.

The body was gone, but his clothes and hands were still soaked in quickly cooling blood.

Two eight-year old boys sprinted swiftly for their lives through the enemy compound, hotly pursued by rival assassins. They leapt obstacles gracefully, moving in tandem and perfect ease through the memorized layout of the city. They had completed their objective. Their mission was a success.

They’d almost made it out without incident but somehow Damian had been spotted at the last moment.

Danyal was a little shaken.

Damian was the undisputed prodigy between the two of them. How could he have been spotted?

But they had a good enough lead on their assailants. They were going to make it!

They were scaling the last wall to get to the roof when Damain suddenly stopped. Danyal lifted a hand, assuming his brother meant to haul him up that last little bit.

Damian kicked him in the chest instead.

Danyal yelled in shock as he tumbled off the side of the building and slammed into the concrete below, the bones in his arm shattering. He looked up dizzily, to see his brother’s form high above him, outlined in the light of the moon.

And then Danyal was wrenched roughly off the ground. He didn’t have time to scream.

Then he couldn’t – the cold steel of a sword was rammed through his chest.

He barely felt them slitting his throat. . .

The Cave was still and silent, no one moved or spoke, as the results of the blood test glared boldly back at them from the screen of the batcomputer.

Cold, hard scientific facts. Undeniable and inescapable.

The blood type was the same as Damian’s.

But the DNA was only a 50% match.

The blood of a biological sibling.

Possible match found– The computer reported pitilessly- Bruce Wayne: probability of paternity: 99.9998%

Trembling, Damian stared down at the red stains congealing over his gloves and screamed out his horror and anguish.

After 8 long years, the blood of his little baby brother had finally found its way to where it belonged:

On his hands.

The moon shone bright and resplendent over the dusty, decaying ruins of Amity Park. No animals rooted through the remains there. No stray cats or dogs trotted down old alleyways. No coyotes loped across the dead lawns. No raccoons bumbled through the rusted garbage cans looking for snacks.

No life.

No ghost dared to set foot there.

Hushed. Silent except for the dead branches scratching gently against the crumbling and collapsed walls or an old piece of paper scraping across the broken roads as it fluttered in the night wind.

A solitary shadow floated high up on a crumbling ledge overlooking the barren, derelict town.

His empty Kingdom.

His eternal reward.