Unbetitelt

If Vlad or any other ghost tried half the stunts the Danny pull, they’d be immediately hunted down by Time Hunters. I’m thinking about the Hounds of Tindalos—imagine being chased through the angles of time by cosmic predators.

The hangar bay of the Argama had never felt so crowded.

Judau Ashta stood with his arms crossed, jaw slightly slack, watching the chaos unfold in front of him. Puru had told him she had a dad now. She had not told him she had eight siblings.

"Puru-Two, let go of my cape." The tall man with violet eyes spoke with the practiced calm of someone who had long since accepted his fate.

"No." Puru-Two tightened her grip.

Nearby, Elzero stood with perfect posture, watching the exchange with mild disdain. Elein was braiding Puru-Four's hair. Puru-Three had somehow climbed onto Elzwei's back without her noticing. Eldrei sat quietly reading, the only one behaving, though she occasionally glanced up to note which Puru was causing the most recent incident.

The mother, C.C., leaned against a bulkhead eating a slice of pizza, entirely unbothered.

"Judau!" Puru broke from the pack and crashed into him with a hug that nearly knocked him over. "You're here! Come meet Papa!"

Papa.

Judau straightened up as the man approached. He was younger-looking than expected for being the father of so many children—sharp, composed, the kind of guy who made you feel like he was already three steps ahead of you.

"So. "The man extended a hand. "You're Judau."

"Yeah." Judau shook it, eyeing him. "You're the AEUG general, Lelouch Lamperouge."

"The same." A faint, dry smile. "Puru speaks of you often. Loudly."

"She speaks about everything loudly."

"A fair point." Lelouch glanced back at his assembled family—Puru-Seven had now joined Puru-Three on Elzwei's back. Elzwei looked to the ceiling for strength. "She fits in well."

Judau watched the mess of sisters and someone's abandoned mobile suit helmet rolling across the floor. "How are you not losing your mind?"

Lelouch was quiet for a moment.

"I have faced weapons capable of destroying continents; I led the armies in those wars." He watched Puru-Two finally release his cape, only to immediately steal Elzero's. "Nothing prepared me for this."

C.C. called out from the wall without looking up. "He cried the third night. Happy tears."

"C.C."

"He did."

The golden, swirling expanse of the World of C was unnervingly quiet. Since the destruction of the Sword of Akasha and the fall of Charles zi Britannia and Marianne vi Britannia, time here felt less like a river and more like a stagnant pool, as the trio was stuck here.

C.C. sat perched on a fragment of a ruined pillar, mindlessly spinning a cheese crust between her fingers. Nearby, Suzaku stood with his arms crossed, his Knight of Round uniform looking stark against the amber clouds. They knew Lelouch would return today, before they went back to the mansion.

The silence shattered.

A jagged rift of violet energy tore through the collective unconsciousness, screaming with the sound of grinding metal and distorted radio static. Suzaku's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but C.C. simply stood up, her golden eyes narrowing.

Out of the rift stepped Lelouch. He looked exhausted, his Zero cape frayed at the edges and stained with a soot that didn't belong to this dimension. But it was what he was carrying that stopped Suzaku in his tracks.

In his right arm, Lelouch held a very small girl, around 12 inches, shrouded in an oversized, grime-streaked yellow raincoat. In his left, a boy in a tiny trench coat with a brown paper bag pulled over his head, two eye-holes peering out nervously 20 inches. They looked so tiny in Lelouch's hands.

"…Lelouch?" CC started to talk.

He met her gaze steadily, though exhaustion lined every word.

"I found both while searching for a viable new world. A place… worse than anything we've seen. A horror world. Endless rain, monsters wearing human skin, signals that devour minds. I couldn't leave them there." He shifted his hold slightly. "They're coming with us now; the girl's name is Six, and the boy's name is Mono Lamperouge."

Suzaku stepped forward, his expression softening. He saw the way the boy—Mono—trembled and how the girl in the raincoat tucked her face further into the shadows of her hood. To the Knight of Seven, they just looked like two more victims of a cruel world.

"Hey… easy. I'm not going to—"

Mono jerked his head side to side in rapid, frantic no-no-no motions, the bag rustling like dry leaves. A warning to not put your finger near the girl.

Suzaku paused, but curiosity—or perhaps old habits of trying to reach broken things—won out. He extended the finger just a little closer toward the girl in the yellow raincoat, intending to perhaps tilt her hood back or offer a reassuring pat.

Six moved faster.

Suzaku said softly, his finger inches away from the girl's sleeve. "I won't hurt—"

Snap.

Her small mouth snapped forward. Teeth—sharper than any child's should be—clamped down on the tip of Suzaku's finger with surprising force. Not enough to draw blood through the glove, but enough to make him yank his hand back with a startled hiss.

"Argh!" Suzaku recoiled, his eyes widening in shock as he nursed his hand. He looked at the girl, who had already retreated back into Lelouch's side, her posture low and feral, eyes glowing faintly from the depths of her hood.

Lelouch didn't even look surprised. He simply adjusted his hold on the two of them, a weary, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Mono did warn you, Suzaku."

C.C. let out a low, amused breath—half sigh, half laugh.

"You really do have a talent for collecting strays, don't you?" She stepped closer, studying the pair with clinical curiosity. "They don't feel… entirely human. Not anymore. Whatever that world did to them clings like smoke."

"They survived worse than Geass," Lelouch said quietly. "They'll adapt here. Or we'll adapt for them."

He looked down at the silent children in his arms. Six's hood had slipped back just enough to reveal pale skin and dark, hollow eyes that seemed to drink in the violet light. Mono's paper bag remained firmly in place, but Lelouch could feel the boy's heartbeat—too fast, too fragile—against his ribs.

Suzaku rubbed his gloved finger absently, gaze softening despite himself: "…They're just kids."

"They're survivors," Lelouch corrected. "Like us."

Then Six's stomach growled audibly, a small, hollow sound that cut through the stillness.

Lelouch exhaled through his nose.

"…Right. First things first. We need to find them something to eat. Something that isn't… whatever they were forced to eat back there."

C.C.'s lips curved: "Welcome home, little ones. Try not to bite anyone, Suzaku, so often, Six, even if he won't learn to not try to pat you."

Mono tilted his head again—almost curiously this time, as Lelouch walked to the mansion.

Suzaku turned to CC: "If they stay, we have to think of a world where the duo can stay normally. With how small they are."

To be precise, he thought this was Snow White.

Lelouch still had no idea how this all had happened. One night, he went to bed exhausted after he had murdered his half-brother Clovis, obtained the Geass from the now dead green-haired girl, and with that, was able to get his vengeance on his father and Britannia. The next, he woke up in a world of singing birds, friendly animals, and suspiciously clean cottages.

The worst part?

He couldn't even stay angry.

Because here, in this fairytale world… Nunnally could walk. And see.

And that, Lelouch decided, was worth more than revenge on the Emperor himself.

They had landed in the Kingdom of Germonia, a picturesque realm filled with happy peasants, terrifyingly polite huntsmen, and an alarming lack of political corruption. The local princess, Snow White, had taken one look at Nunnally and immediately declared her "the bestest friend ever."

And with that, the two became inseparable.

"Come, Nunnally! Let's bake a gooseberry pie for the dwarfs!" Snow White sang one morning. Thanks to Lelouch, who had been helping Nunnally pick a gift, the princess had met the seven dwarfs.

"Of course, Snow!" Nunnally replied, her voice as bright as sunlight streaming through the castle window. "Oh, brother, can you believe it? She talks to birds!"

Lelouch, sitting nearby and sipping what he suspected was enchanted tea, nodded tiredly. "Yes, and somehow they talk back. I can't decide if this is adorable or a sign of mass delusion."

Snow White just smiled that radiant, innocent smile. "Oh, you're just grumpy because you haven't sung about your feelings yet!"

Lelouch almost dropped his cup. "Excuse me?"

Nunnally giggled. "Brother, maybe you should try! You'd be surprised how freeing it feels! You saw me sing with the birds last week!"

"Absolutely not," Lelouch muttered, staring at the birds gathering on the windowsill. "If I start singing, I'll never stop plotting—and they will follow me, like you two."

Still, he wasn't completely idle. His strategic mind couldn't rest, even in a kingdom that looked this peaceful. And with his Geass, he had to be sure. So, while Nunnally frolicked under Snow White's tutelage, Lelouch explored the castle—and met her.

Queen Grimhilde.

Elegant. Regal. Evil.

The resemblance to his stepmother, Marianne's court rivals, or even the Britannian nobility was uncanny. She carried herself like someone who'd kill you for sneezing too loudly near her mirror—and then demand an apology for staining the carpet.

Naturally, Lelouch found her fascinating. She was the widow of Snow White's father, but she had noticed he wasn't entirely normal—well, mostly the nobility part—and somehow sensed something about his "magic." He wasn't sure. For now, they had a tacit agreement: leave each other alone, and neither would interfere.

"Your Majesty," he greeted smoothly, eyes drawn to the tall, ominous mirror behind her, "I couldn't help but overhear your… conversation with the looking glass."

Her eyes narrowed. "You spied on me?" She clearly couldn't stand this warlock.

"I analyzed," Lelouch corrected. "A mirror that speaks of beauty? Intriguing technology—or sorcery."

She smirked. "It tells me who is the fairest in all the land."

Lelouch tilted his head. "Then it's broken."

Grimhilde blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Clearly malfunctioning," he said with mock sincerity. "For everyone knows the fairest of them all is my sister, Nunnally."

A dangerous silence.

The queen's fingers twitched toward her potion shelf. "You dare, you insolent—"

"I merely state fact," Lelouch interrupted smoothly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Your mirror has erred. Perhaps it's outdated. Magic does degrade with time."

"Outdated!?" The queen stood, her robe billowing like an angry storm cloud. "You—warlock! The fairest of them all is me! Or, at worst—Snow White! As that damn mirror tells me!"

Lelouch crossed his arms. "If being raised by you is a qualification, I pity the criteria."

And that was it. The rivalry had begun.

Every day after, the castle echoed with passive-aggressive compliments, snide remarks, and an ever-escalating beauty contest.

"Ah, good morning, Your Majesty," Lelouch would say, entering the throne room. "I see you've finally achieved 'adequate' lighting. It almost hides the age."

She'd smile thinly. "And you, Lord Lelouch, continue to dress like a mourning curtain. How charming."

Meanwhile, Nunnally and Snow White were just outside, braiding flowers into each other's hair, oblivious to the cold war of vanity happening twenty feet away. Well, Snow White—helped by Nunnally—was much better at ignoring it.

It wasn't long before someone else stumbled into this madness: the Vi Britannia siblings' old friend.

Poor Suzaku Kururugi was having the worst isekai experience in history. After "dying" in Britannia during a public show—framed for Clovis's murder by the nobles—he had awakened here, clad in shining armor. The local peasants called him "Sir Kururugi, the Gentle Knight."

He hated every second of it. He had just died! And now he was back alive. At least he saw Nunnally and Lelouch, which was some comfort.

He was now the official royal escort to Princess Snow White and her "guest from another realm," Princess Nunnally. Which meant endless walks through the forest, holding baskets of apples, and pretending not to hear dwarfs singing in the distance.

By the time he reached the castle courtyard, he already looked done with life.

"Lelouch," Suzaku sighed, spotting his old friend glaring at a mirror while an evil queen threw alchemical ingredients across the room, "please tell me you're not trying to start a rebellion in this Disneyland."

"I'm not," Lelouch said proudly. "I'm simply teaching her the futility of vanity."

Grimhilde shrieked, "You're just jealous my crown has more power than your ego!"

Suzaku blinked, as if he can't believe it. He truly couldn't after all. "…You're… having a rivalry with the Queen… THE QUEEN."

"AND SHE STARTED IT!" Lelouch snapped.

From somewhere down the hall, Snow White's voice rang out: "Sir Suzaku! Come quickly! Nunnally and I want to see you race the deer!"

Suzaku froze. "Race… the deer?"

"Yes!" Nunnally's cheerful voice followed. "They said they've never lost before! And we know how fast you are!"

And with that, Suzaku—son of the Prime Minister of Japan, Knight of Germonia—was now the certified babysitter to two dangerously adorable princesses, bolting toward the forest, armor clanking.

Behind him, Lelouch and the queen were about to continue their endless duel of vanity.

Solomon Grundy was not supposed to be here.

One moment, he was standing knee-deep in the swamps of Slaughter Swamp, muttering the old rhyme that had once been his life and death. The next, there was a flash of green light, the smell of ozone, and—boom—he was flat on his back in the middle of a quiet suburban street, surrounded by cracked pavement and so on.

When he rose, his massive hands dragging against the asphalt, the night air hummed with an energy that felt… strange, not like Gotham—something else.

That was when he saw the boy.

White hair like winter frost, glowing green eyes that burned like the Lazarus pit. The kid hovered above the cracked street, his face set in a wary expression.

“Whoa,” the boy muttered. “Big guy, are you… okay?”

“Grundy… not know,” the giant rumbled. “Grundy wakes… not in Gotham. Grundy… not in swamp.”

The boy blinked, his stance relaxing just a bit. “You’re definitely not from around here. I’m Danny. Danny Phantom. And you’re—uh—Solomon Grundy, right?”

Grundy nodded slowly. The boy didn’t attack him and didn’t call him a monster or corpse. He just floated there, curious. Grundy liked that. Not like Bat and the rest of the city, this one talks.

So when a Ghost Wolf tore out of a nearby alley—fangs dripping ectoplasm, eyes blazing—Grundy did what Grundy always did. He smashed.

“Grundy SMASH ghost!” he roared, swinging a lamppost like a club. The ghost shrieked, splattering into a puff of green mist under the blow.

Danny gawked. “Okay, that was… actually awesome. I didn't know you could just use force! I thought only my dad could do that.”

And just like that, Amity Park had a new hero.

In the following days, the town’s citizens couldn’t stop talking about him. The giant grey man who fought ghosts alongside their own hero, Phantom. Kids drew pictures of him on sidewalks, chanting rhymes in the park:

“Do the Grundy Punch!”

“Do the Grundy Kick! and the fight is won!”

Everywhere he went, people smiled, waved, and offered him pies and casseroles he didn’t know what to do with. Grundy, for once, didn’t feel like a monster. He felt… liked.

He took to walking the streets during the day, keeping the peace while the “Herokid,” as some still whispered, handled the ghost threats. When he passed, the kids seemed to enjoy seeing him and wanted to see his moves.

“Look, it’s Hero Grundy!”

“Grundy Punch, Mr. Grundy! Do it again! Please!”

He would grin—a cracked, crooked smile that almost reached his pale eyes—and rumble, “Only punch bad things, kids. Grundy is good now.”

Danny, for his part, really didn’t mind sharing the spotlight as the hero of his city and was happy for help. Grundy listened when he talked, nodded thoughtfully, and even asked questions about the ghosts and portals. Sometimes, after a long night of fighting, they’d sit atop Fenton Works’ roof, watching the stars.

“Batman never says thank you,” Grundy mused one night.

Danny chuckled. “Batman’s… kinda like my parents. Doesn’t know how to say thanks without giving you a lecture first.”

Grundy tilted his head. “Then… Phantom is a better hero than Batman.”

Danny blinked. “You think so?”

Grundy nodded with solemn finality. “Batman only saves Gotham. Phantom saves the world from ghosts. Grundy proud.”

Danny didn’t know what to say to that—so he just smiled.

Life in Amity Park settled into a new, strange rhythm.

Danny would fight the ghosts—the Spectra, the Technuses, the Box Ghosts—and Grundy would handle the human problems: bank robbers, vandals, and the occasional escaped convict.

The two worked in pretty good harmony, almost like old partners who didn’t need words. Grundy’s strength and Danny’s speed complemented each other perfectly.

When danger struck, Grundy would yell, “Grundy Punch!” and the crowd would cheer before the blow even landed.

Some local reporter dubbed them Amity’s Two Guardians—the Ghost Boy and the Swamp Man. The name stuck.

One evening, after a particularly messy brawl with a pack of ghost wolves, Danny hovered beside his massive ally.

“Y’know,” he said, wiping ectoplasm off his suit, “I think you’re really settling in.”

Grundy tilted his head, thoughtful. “Grundy… like Amity. No swamp smell. People… nice. Grundy has purpose.”

“That’s good,” Danny said softly. “You deserve it.”

The big man nodded. “Grundy thinks… Batman should see this. See what a real hero is. Grundy Punch! Grundy, help! Grundy protect! HA!”

Danny laughed so hard he nearly lost his ghost form and turned human. “Heh, Batman—this is how you truly are a hero!” he teased, mimicking Grundy’s gravelly tone. “The Grundy Hero Way!”

Grundy smiled—really smiled.

+

Children dressed as Grundy for Halloween. The local paper ran stories about his “gentle giant” nature. Some swore they’d seen him helping fix broken fences, rescuing cats from trees, or politely apologizing to streetlights he accidentally knocked over.

No one remembered the villain he’d once been in Gotham or cared for it. To them, he was their Grundy. Their hero.

And somewhere in his simple, undead heart, Solomon Grundy understood something he never had before.

He didn’t need to be born on a Monday or buried on a Sunday to have meaning. He just needed to be here—in Amity Park, protecting its people, standing beside the boy who’d first called him “friend.”

But Grundy didn’t care. Grundy had work to do.

Metropolis was burned from the new Alien Invasion this month.

With laser beams slicing through the skyline and buildings,Brainiac’s machines crushed everything in their path. Civilians screamed. Heroes and villains alike collided once again against the Invader and his army.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Lex Luthor crouched behind the rubble of a shattered building, clutching his side. Even his armored suit couldn’t fully protect him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth. But the searing pain told him otherwise. He activated his suit’s comm, expecting a weapon or reinforcement.

Instead, a soft glow appeared nearby. A boy stood there, a baseball bat in hand, grinning. The bat hummed with energy, an unusual, radiant light emanating from it.

“Thanks, Daniel. Heal me.”

“Lex,” Danny said, his voice sharp as ever, “you really need to stop throwing yourself at giant robots. For Pariah’s sake, try not to get hurt! Like… at least for a week!” After Lex’s last fight with Superman, Danny usually healed him only for minor injuries like back pain, but today he was going all out.

Lex groaned but extended his arm without resistance. He didn’t care who was watching—not the heroes, not Superman, not anyone. Danny tapped the glowing bat against Lex, and the wounds vanished instantly. Blood, bruises, and pain—all gone. He was back to before the fight.

Lex flexed his hand, astonished as always. “Like it was never there.”

Danny smirked. “You owe me more than a raise. And don’t get hurt again.”

“Yeah,” Lex replied dryly, “double the price for working after hours.”

The heroes blinked. Wonder Woman looked confused. Flash froze mid-run. Even Batman’s eyebrow arched in intrigue.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battle, the Legion of Doom regrouped after smashing a squad of Brainiac’s drones. Cheetah, Captain Cold, and Gorilla Grodd panted, wiping soot from their armor.

“You had a damn healer this whole time?” Cheetah spat, incredulous.

Lex adjusted his tie, smug. “He’s not a hero or a villain,” he said, voice calm, almost lecture-like. “I’m friends with his family, and he needed a summer job.”

The group blinked. “Wait, what?” Cold muttered. “Lex actually has friends?”

Lex shrugged. “Yes. Met them through a business partner. I gave Danny a good summer job. Other people might expect him to heal for free, just because he’s ‘a hero,’ but this way, he earns money before going home.”

Grodd snorted. “So you… hid a healer, used him personally, and didn’t let us get patched up?”

Lex’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Exactly. He heals me and the people working in my company. It’s like healthcare for them—cheaper than anything else. Danny only wants fifty dollars per session. As long as you don’t get hurt twenty times a day, it’s a bargain.”

Back in the heart of Metropolis, Danny glared at a group of terrified civilians trapped under rubble. He tapped his bat twice. Two civilians healed instantly. Then he turned to a burned-out hero, clearly out of commission, and “hit” him with the bat as well.

“Seriously,” Danny muttered, “you could’ve, like… avoided falling from that building. Try not to get hurt next time!”

The hero flinched, rubbing his head. “You… hit us with a bat?”

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, like, a soft hit. Heals you. You’re welcome.” He spun and sprinted toward another explosion, leaving behind confused—but entirely healed—people.

Lex watched, shaking his head with a mixture of admiration and exasperation. “You know, Fenton, one day someone’s going to get the wrong idea about you and your baseball bat.”

Danny grinned over his shoulder. “Let them. I get paid. I’m your undefeated summer intern. So you deal with the fallout of it when I go home in a week.”

Lex’s communicator buzzed.

Brainiac’s forces were regrouping. He adjusted his suit, eyes narrowing. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s end this before more of my employees need emergency healing.”

Danny jogged to where he saw a few others injured, the bat glowing again. “Try to behave, Lex. I’ve healed you more times than I can count. For the love of Clockwork, just… stay upright for one week, okay?”

Lex exhaled and straightened. “Noted. And Fenton?”

Danny paused, eyebrow cocked.

“You really are invaluable.”

Part 1 + The morning sun stretched across the ocean’s surface and beach. The air smelled of salt and warmth.

On the beach outside their seaside home, Sally Jackson stood with her hands clasped together, watching her son prepare for his first Pokémon journey.

Percy Jackson, now a 10-year-old boy, stood proudly at the edge of the water, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his favorite Poké Balls glinting on his belt. His black hair was, as always, wind-tousled, and his sea-green eyes sparkling with excitement. The boy who once toddled after Magikarps now stood tall before an army of Gyarados in the water.

And what an army it was.

The sea beyond the shore was alive with motion. Over a thousand Gyarados swam in majestic formation, their enormous bodies slicing through the waves with frightening grace. Their deep, rumbling cries shook the air like thunder. Yet, for all their power, their gazes softened whenever they looked at Percy and Sally. These were no wild angry Pokémon; they were his friends, his family, their protectors.

Around them, the smaller Pokémon of the beach—Kinglers, Krabbys, Corsolas, and even a few Lapras—gathered as if to see him off. The whole coastline shimmered with life. Sally really wasn't able to stop Poseidon from bringing so many Pokémon to Percy.

The nearby village had long ago grown used to this sight. Tourists now came from all over Kanto and Johto to see “The Gyarados Lagoon,” snapping pictures and buying seashell charms said to bring “Kyogre's blessing.” Sally often laughed about it, then thought of the horror she did feel as that Pokemon God came to visit. What had once been chaos—hundreds of Magikarps flopping in her yard—had turned into this.

Now, her little miracle was about to leave home.

“You’ve packed your lunch, right?” Sally asked, though her voice did tremble slightly. She brushed an invisible speck of sand off Percy’s jacket. “And your badges from the junior league and enough money?”

“Yes, Mom,” Percy said, smiling. His voice was filled with anticipation. “I’m ready. I’m going to travel across the regions, meet other trainers, and become the best Water-type Gym Leader ever!”

Sally smiled, though her heart ached. “Just… be careful. And don’t pick fights with anyone who looks like they could blow up a volcano.”

Percy grinned. “You mean like Dad?”

“Exactly like your father.”

They both laughed, the sound mingling with the cries of gulls flying overhead.

One of the Gyarados—an especially large one with red fins who was a shiny one—lowered its head toward Percy. He reached up, pressing a small hand against its snout. The Gyarados hummed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the sand. Around them, the others mirrored the gesture, the ocean swelling to their sound.

Sally had seen that look in her son’s eyes before—the same light Poseidon carried when he looked at the sea.

They belonged to the water.

“I’ll write, Mom,” Percy promised. “And I’ll send pictures of all the gyms I visit! Maybe I’ll even challenge the Cerulean City first.”

Sally raised an eyebrow. “You better be polite…”

Percy smirked. “No worries. I’m just confident.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said dryly, though her eyes shone with amusement. “Just like your father.”

The waves began to rise, responding to Percy’s emotions. That made the Gyarados roar again, a deafening chorus that echoed for miles. Tourists in the village probably thought it was a storm. But Sally and the villagers knew better. The sea was celebrating.

As Percy turned to step into the water, his feet barely sank into the sand. The tide swirled around him, gentle and reverent. He raised his hand in farewell.

“Goodbye, Mom! I’ll make you proud!”

“You already have,” she whispered, though he was too far to hear.

The moment his toes touched the surf, the Gyaradoses parted to create a pathway of calm water, their immense bodies rising on either side like living mountains. Percy walked down the middle, looking impossibly small—and so bright.

Sally watched his silhouette until the sea swallowed him completely. Only then did she exhale, realizing how tightly she’d been holding her breath.

Around her, the remaining Pokémon began to settle. Kinglers clacked their claws softly, as if in salute. A few Gyarados lingered near the beach, their eyes gentle. They would stay and protect her while the young prince was away.

She smiled faintly. “You’re all good Pokémon, aren’t you?” she said, patting one of their scales. “Now, don’t wreck the docks again, alright?”

The Gyarados rumbled in what she swore was laughter.

When the sun dipped lower, Sally finally turned back toward the house.

As she reached the door, she paused and looked once more at the sea. “Poseidon,” she murmured softly, “you’d better keep an eye on him.”

Far out in the distance, the ocean answered—a single, towering wave that rose high, glimmering in the sunset, before gently crashing against the shore.

She smiled knowingly. “Good.”

In amity park the statues became a fast hit and even outside of the city that people visited.

The Batcomputer hummed in the Batcave, its screens flickering with static-laced feeds from a city swallowed whole.

Bruce leaned into the microphone, his voice a gravel rasp echoing off the walls of the Cave. "Log entry: October 21. Batman reporting. If anyone ever hears this... God help them."

It started with the cult. They called themselves the Order, worshipers of what they called God—a crimson-robed entity of an Eden,, promising a Paradise. I raided their lair in the bowels of Gotham's undercity, beneath the old park. They ranted about their "God of Eden." Eden." I thought they were just another fanatic cell, like the League of Shadows or the Court of Owls,Owls, but laced with hallucinogens. White Claudia, they called their drug—turns the mind to mush, manifests delusions. Maybe something like what Scarecrow uses or similar. similar. I cuffed them andthem and dragged them to Arkham. Figured the asylum's walls would hold their madness.

I was wrong.

Dead wrong.

They weren't broken; they were vessels,vessels, and this all was planned. From their cells, they chanted invocations to their God, the Holy Mother, Creator of Paradise, Lord of Serpents and Reeds. Rituals seeped through the cracks—blood sigils on padded walls, the Halo of the Sun etched in the walls.

Then the Mist came. Not fog, but a choking veil that rolled from Arkham's vents, blanketing in a short time all of Gotham like a shroud, it wasn't like normalnormal for Gotham. It was much worse. The city shifted. Streets warped into rusted labyrinths, buildings bled iron decay. The so-called-called Otherworld bled into our reality. And with that,that, Silent Hill's curse iscurse is transplanted here into Gotham. What I thought was a fluke or a joke turnedjoke turned Gotham into a hellhell like I couldn'tI couldn't truly compare—Gotham'struly compare—Gotham's corruption and traumatrauma used like a child's toy. The Arkham's inmates screamed as their traumas clawed free, birthing abominations from guilt-soaked psyches.

I regret it all. I should have ended them in that lair, snapped their necks before they broughtaltiel, the angel,, to his city and his sect.

But mercy... my code... it blinded me. Now, Gotham is the new Silent Hill. The Mist devours the whole city. Citizens' sins and traumasmanifest as grotesque sentinels: a mother's neglect spawns writhing, child-like horrors with needle teeth; a thief's greed births shambling figures of bloated, coin-eyed flesh. For every sin and trauma,, it had a monster that it did represent, and Arkham was full of them.

The villains... God, the villains. Their fractured minds amplify the nightmare. But just as I have to fight the Trauma's representations, so do my villains, so at least I don't need to fear traumas,them working with each other. From the Closer hunting down Joker or the Missionary with Dr. Pyg.

My own demons lurked in the city, just like of my family. My parents' murder replays in every alley—all these pyramid-headedd executioners drag a sword,sword, hunting me for the guilt that I feel. I fight, but the Mist feeds on regret, and I have yet to find out how to stop it or what to feel to stop this. We all are getting judged, and we're all guilty. If I can't stop this Mist and Cult... this Paradise will be our tomb.

In the League of Assassins, it wasn't common knowledge that Ra's al Ghul enjoyed listening to music and talking to the singer after her performance.

However, he refused to write down or record her songs. Damian only met that singer once: a redheaded "siren" who emerged from the Lazarus Pit and sang a song. It took away his Pit Rage. He then learned that his grandfather and this mermaid were old close friends and that she visited him once a week to sing for him. He would swim with her, too. He wanted to swim with a mermaid, too! He just learned the pit had fishes in it!

Jazz enjoyed talking with her friend, Ra's, and she didn't regret meeting him all those years ago when he joined her in the waters of the Ghost Zone. After she had fallen into the Abyss, Zone. and became a half-mer. Danny and her parents were shocked, but after Frostbite assured them that everything was okay, she enjoyed it. To swim in It and talk to the others. Maybe she should take a swim in the Ocean again in the future.

For Ra's al Ghul, Jasmine the Mermaid was one of his few close friends. He enjoyed talking with her very much. Even when she complains about her brother and then the training of his grandson. In return for stopping his training, he could spends more time with her.