The warehouse in Gotham's old district had been abandoned for decades, its crumbling brick facade and shattered windows blending seamlessly into the urban decay that characterized this forgotten corner of the city. To casual observers—not that there were many in this neighborhood after dark—it was simply another derelict building awaiting eventual demolition or gentrification, whichever came first.
To Batman's enhanced sensors, it was something considerably more concerning.
"Sir," ORACLE reported through his helmet's communication system, "I'm detecting significant mystical energy signatures emanating from the building's lower levels. The pattern is consistent with the Brujería ritual configurations that Constantine provided in his briefing materials. Additionally, I'm counting approximately thirty-seven heat signatures inside—thirty-five in a circular formation on what appears to be a sub-basement level, and two positioned near the building's entrance."
"Guards?"
"Most likely. Their positioning suggests they're watching for conventional intrusion attempts. They don't appear to have any awareness of our presence."
Bruce crouched on a rooftop across the street, studying the warehouse through the Beyond suit's multi-spectrum visual systems. The millimeter-wave imaging showed the building's interior structure in ghostly detail—including the sub-basement that wasn't visible on any official city plans. Someone had done significant excavation work at some point, creating an underground chamber large enough to accommodate the ritual circle that ORACLE's sensors were detecting.
"What can you tell me about the ritual itself?"
"Based on the energy patterns and Constantine's reference materials, this appears to be a summoning ritual—likely an attempt to call something through from another dimension. The specific entity being summoned is unclear, but the power levels involved suggest something significantly more dangerous than the shadow creatures you encountered previously."
"Estimated time to completion?"
"Unknown, sir. Mystical rituals don't follow predictable timelines—they depend on factors that my sensors can't fully analyze. However, the energy levels are still building, which suggests the ritual hasn't reached its climax yet."
Bruce considered his options. A direct assault through the front entrance would alert the cultists and potentially allow them to complete their ritual before he could stop them. A stealthy approach through the building's upper levels would be slower but might allow him to reach the sub-basement without triggering a response.
The third option was to call for backup.
"ORACLE, contact Constantine and Zatanna. Let them know what we've found and request immediate assistance."
"Transmitting now, sir. Constantine is responding—he says he's fifteen minutes out and strongly recommends you wait for backup before engaging."
"What about Zatanna?"
"She's currently dealing with a situation in San Francisco—a possessed museum exhibit that's been attacking tourists. She won't be available for at least two hours."
Bruce weighed the variables. Fifteen minutes might be too long if the ritual was approaching completion. But engaging thirty-five cultists alone, in an environment saturated with mystical energy, was exactly the kind of tactical situation that invited disaster.
"Tell Constantine I'll secure the perimeter and gather intelligence while I wait. But if the ritual looks like it's about to complete, I'm going in."
"Understood, sir. Constantine says, and I quote, 'Don't be a bloody hero, Bats. These people don't play nice.'"
"Noted."
The next twelve minutes were spent in careful reconnaissance, Bruce circling the warehouse at a distance while ORACLE compiled everything her sensors could detect about the cultists' operation.
The sub-basement was more extensive than initial scans had suggested, with multiple chambers branching off from the main ritual space. The cultists themselves were wearing robes that appeared to be woven with mystical materials—the fabric interfered with thermal imaging in ways that suggested deliberate countermeasures against surveillance. Their ritual circle was inscribed with symbols that matched the Brujería iconography Constantine had shared, and the central focus appeared to be a collection of artifacts arranged in a specific pattern.
"Sir, I'm recognizing several of the artifacts in the ritual focus. They match items from the theft reports you provided to Constantine—the ones that have been disappearing from Gotham's private collections over the past several months."
"So this is what they were gathering them for."
"It appears so. The artifacts themselves seem to be serving as power conduits, channeling energy from... somewhere... into the ritual working. The summoning circle is acting as a focus for that energy, presumably to breach the dimensional barrier and call something through."
"Can you identify what they're summoning?"
"I'm attempting to cross-reference the ritual configuration with Constantine's database of known entities, but the match is imperfect. Whatever they're calling, it's not something that's been documented in his materials." ORACLE paused. "That's... concerning, sir. Constantine's database is quite comprehensive."
Before Bruce could respond, his suit's enchantments flared with a warning pulse—the mystical equivalent of an alarm bell, indicating that something significant was happening in the supernatural spectrum.
"The ritual is accelerating," ORACLE confirmed. "Energy levels are spiking rapidly. I believe they're reaching the final phase of the summoning."
Decision time. Bruce activated his communication system. "Constantine, how far out are you?"
"Seven minutes, maybe six if traffic cooperates. What's happening?"
"The ritual is completing. I'm going in."
"Bats, wait—"
But Bruce was already moving, the Beyond suit's flight systems carrying him across the street in a silent arc that deposited him on the warehouse roof. The building's structure groaned under his weight as he located the access point he had identified during reconnaissance—a ventilation shaft that led down through the building's core, bypassing the guards at the entrance entirely.
"ORACLE, switch to tactical mode. I need real-time tracking of all hostiles and any changes in the ritual's status."
"Tactical mode engaged, sir. Be advised: the mystical energy levels are now high enough to potentially interfere with some of the suit's electronic systems. I'll compensate as best I can, but you may experience intermittent sensor disruptions."
"Understood."
Bruce dropped through the ventilation shaft, his cape automatically configuring into a descent-brake configuration that slowed his fall to manageable speeds. The shaft terminated in a maintenance corridor on the warehouse's ground level, from which a concealed stairway led down to the excavated sub-basement.
The closer he got to the ritual chamber, the more intense the mystical energy became. Even through the suit's protective wards, Bruce could feel it pressing against his consciousness—a wrongness that seemed to saturate the air itself, making every breath feel thick and corrupt.
"Sir, the ritual is in its final phase. The dimensional barrier is beginning to thin—something is trying to push through from the other side."
"How long until breach?"
"Estimated two to three minutes. The cultists are chanting in a language my databases can't identify—possibly pre-human in origin."
Bruce reached the bottom of the stairway and found himself facing a heavy iron door inscribed with mystical symbols that his enchantments recognized as protective wards—designed to keep something in, not to keep intruders out. The cultists apparently hadn't anticipated that anyone would get this far.
He kicked the door off its hinges.
The ritual chamber beyond was exactly as ORACLE's sensors had suggested—a massive underground space, dominated by a circle of robed figures surrounding an arrangement of stolen artifacts. The air itself seemed to shimmer with barely contained power, and at the center of the circle, something was forming.
It was not quite visible yet, more an absence than a presence—a hole in reality through which something vast and hungry was forcing itself into existence. But Bruce could feel its attention turning toward him, could sense the ancient malevolence that animated whatever was trying to cross over.
"Batman!" one of the cultists shouted, breaking from the ritual to point at the intruder. "Stop him! The summoning must not be interrupted!"
The chamber dissolved into chaos.
Fighting thirty-five cultists simultaneously would have been challenging even under optimal conditions. Fighting them in an environment saturated with mystical energy, while a dimensional breach was actively forming, elevated the engagement from "challenging" to "actively nightmarish."
The cultists were not trained combatants—their movements were clumsy, their attacks uncoordinated—but they had the advantage of numbers and, more significantly, the advantage of magical support. The ritual circle was still active, feeding power to the summoning even as its participants broke off to engage the intruder, and several of the cultists were channeling that power into offensive magic that sparked and crackled against Bruce's protective wards.
The Beyond suit's enchantments held, but Bruce could feel the strain—each magical attack that the wards deflected cost him something, a drain on his energy reserves that accumulated with every impact. Constantine and Zatanna had warned him about this limitation, but experiencing it in combat was different from understanding it intellectually.
Bruce adapted his tactics accordingly.
The electrified gauntlets proved effective against the cultists themselves, their enhanced conductivity dropping robed figures with each discharge. The cape's offensive configurations—hardened edges that could slice through flesh, weighted sections that could strike with devastating force—provided additional options for close-quarters engagement. And when the magical attacks became too intense, Bruce simply withdrew behind cover and let his wards recover before re-engaging.
"Sir, the dimensional breach is continuing to expand despite the disruption to the ritual. Whatever they were summoning, it has enough purchase in our reality to continue forcing its way through."
"How do I stop it?"
"The artifacts appear to be the key—they're serving as anchors for the entity's manifestation. If you can disrupt or destroy them, the breach should collapse."
"How many artifacts?"
"Seven, arranged in a specific geometric pattern. All seven must be removed or destroyed for the anchor to fail."
Bruce assessed the situation. The artifact arrangement was at the center of the chamber, surrounded by the remaining cultists—approximately twenty were still standing, with more rallying to defend the summoning. Getting to the artifacts would require fighting through that entire defensive line, all while the dimensional breach continued to expand and whatever was coming through got closer to full manifestation.
The Hellfire option was looking increasingly attractive.
"ORACLE, what happens if I use Hellfire on the artifacts?"
"Unknown, sir. The artifacts are mystically charged and might react unpredictably to infernal energy. However, I calculate a 73% probability that the reaction would be sufficient to disrupt the anchor configuration."
"And the other 27%?"
"Various unpleasant possibilities, ranging from 'explosive magical feedback' to 'the Hellfire creates a sympathetic link with whatever's coming through the breach.' I would recommend physical destruction of the artifacts if possible."
"Noted."
Bruce launched himself back into the fray, this time with a specific objective rather than general crowd control. His path through the cultists was direct and brutal—he wasn't trying to incapacitate everyone, just clear a route to the artifacts. Broken bones and dislocated joints marked his passage, the sounds of impact and agony filling the chamber as he fought toward the center of the ritual circle.
He reached the first artifact—an ancient amulet that pulsed with sickly green light—and crushed it in his gauntlet. The energy it had been channeling discharged violently, sending a shockwave through the chamber that knocked several nearby cultists off their feet.
"One anchor destroyed, sir. The breach is destabilizing, but the entity is trying to compensate by drawing more energy through the remaining artifacts."
"Then I'll just have to work faster."
The second artifact was a ritual dagger that shattered when Bruce struck it against the stone floor. The third was a chalice that he crushed underfoot. The fourth, fifth, and sixth fell in rapid succession, each destruction accompanied by increasingly violent energy discharges that made the chamber shake like it was experiencing an earthquake.
The seventh artifact was different.
It was a book—ancient, bound in leather that might not have come from any animal, covered in symbols that seemed to writhe and shift when viewed directly. Unlike the other artifacts, which had been relatively easy to destroy, the book seemed to resist his attempts to damage it. His gauntlet closed around it, squeezed, and the book simply absorbed the pressure without effect.
"Sir, the book appears to be the primary anchor—the other artifacts were supporting elements, but this is the core of the summoning. It's significantly more resistant to physical damage."
"What about magical damage?"
"Hellfire would almost certainly affect it, but the risks I mentioned earlier apply with greater force. The book is the direct conduit to whatever's being summoned—introducing infernal energy could have extremely unpredictable consequences."
Bruce looked at the dimensional breach, which was now large enough to be visible to the naked eye—a tear in reality through which something vast and terrible was pushing. He could see shapes on the other side, geometries that shouldn't exist in any sane universe, and he could feel the entity's attention focused on him with a malevolence that was almost physically painful.
"Sometimes," he said, raising his gauntlet and summoning the Hellfire that Etrigan had gifted him, "unpredictable is better than certain disaster."
The infernal flames struck the book with a force that transcended the physical, burning not just the material of the object but the magical essence that animated it. The book screamed—an actual sound, as if it contained something living that was being destroyed—and then it simply ceased to exist, consumed by fire that left not even ash behind.
The dimensional breach collapsed.
The entity on the other side—whatever it was, whatever it had been trying to become in the mortal world—was suddenly cut off from its anchor, its partial manifestation dissolving like smoke in a strong wind. Bruce felt a moment of vast, furious attention focused on him, a promise of retribution that transcended normal concepts of revenge, and then the presence was gone, banished back to whatever dimension it had come from.
The remaining cultists had either fled or fallen during his assault on the artifacts. The chamber was silent except for the groaning of wounded figures and the crackling of small fires that the Hellfire had ignited in the surrounding stonework.
"Sir," ORACLE reported, her voice carrying what might have been relief, "the dimensional breach has been completely sealed. The entity has been expelled from our reality, and I'm not detecting any residual instability that would suggest it could return through this particular weak point."
"Good. What about the cultists?"
"Fourteen remain in the chamber—all incapacitated but alive. An additional twelve fled through emergency exits during your assault on the artifacts. The remaining nine appear to have been killed by the energy discharges when you destroyed the anchor configuration."
Bruce processed this information without the guilt he might have felt earlier in his career. The cultists had been attempting to summon something that would have caused incalculable harm if it had fully manifested—the deaths that resulted from stopping them were regrettable but necessary.
"Batman!"
The voice came from the chamber's entrance, and Bruce turned to see John Constantine emerging from the stairway, slightly out of breath and carrying a cigarette that he had apparently refused to abandon even while running.
"Bloody hell," Constantine said, surveying the devastation. "You actually stopped it."
"Was there doubt?"
"There's always doubt when mortals go up against dimensional breach events. Most of them don't survive long enough to tell the tale." Constantine approached the center of the chamber, studying the scorch mark where the book had been. "You used Hellfire on the primary anchor. That was either brilliant or suicidal."
"It worked."
"This time. But Hellfire and pre-human summoning magic aren't a guaranteed combination. You got lucky that the energies cancelled each other out instead of creating something worse." Constantine lit a fresh cigarette from the dying flames of one of the small fires Bruce had started. "Still, can't argue with results. The entity—did you get a sense of what it was?"
"Something old. Something that wanted to exist in our reality very badly."
"That narrows it down to approximately several thousand possibilities. I'll do some research, see if I can identify what the Brujería were trying to call." Constantine nudged one of the unconscious cultists with his foot. "These lot won't be much help—the ones who know things tend to have suicide protocols built into their conditioning. But maybe we'll get lucky."
"Do that. And Constantine—thank you for the warning about the book. If I hadn't known it was the primary anchor, I might have wasted time on the wrong targets."
"Cheers, Bats. Though next time, try waiting for backup before engaging thirty-five cultists in a magically charged environment. Zee would never let me hear the end of it if you got yourself killed doing something I could have helped with."
"I'll take that under advisement."
The aftermath of the cultist engagement occupied the next several hours, as Bruce coordinated with Constantine on the cleanup and interrogation of surviving cultists while ORACLE processed the intelligence gathered from the scene.
The Brujería, it turned out, were significantly more organized than initial assessments had suggested. The warehouse ritual was apparently one of several that had been planned simultaneously across the globe—a coordinated effort to breach dimensional barriers at multiple points, allowing their patron entity to establish footholds in the mortal world that could be expanded over time.
"The other rituals were disrupted as well," Constantine reported during their debrief at the Oblivion Bar. "Zatanna's museum situation in San Francisco turned out to be a distraction—the real threat was a warehouse ritual similar to yours. She stopped it, but barely. Similar events in London, Cairo, and São Paulo were addressed by local magical practitioners, but the pattern is clear."
"They're probing our defenses," Bruce observed. "Testing which breach points can be successfully exploited and which ones we're capable of responding to."
"Exactly. Which means this isn't over—it's just the opening move in a much larger campaign." Constantine's expression was grim. "The Brujería don't do things halfway. Whatever they're planning, tonight was just the beginning."
"Then we need to be ready for what comes next."
"Agreed. Which is why I've reached out to some additional contacts—people with resources and capabilities that might be useful against an organized mystical threat." Constantine hesitated slightly. "One of them is already here. He wants to meet you."
"Who?"
Before Constantine could answer, the air in the bar shifted in a way that Bruce's mystical senses recognized immediately as significant. A golden light began to form in the center of the room, coalescing into a shape that was simultaneously human and something far more ancient.
Dr. Fate materialized in the Oblivion Bar, his golden helmet gleaming with the power of Nabu, his blue-and-gold costume pristine despite the dimensional transition he had just completed. The patrons of the bar—beings who had seen nearly everything the magical world had to offer—fell silent in recognition of the Lord of Order who had just arrived in their midst.
"Batman," Dr. Fate said, his voice carrying harmonics that suggested multiple speakers—the human host and the ancient entity that possessed him speaking in unison. "I have been watching your activities with great interest. Your intervention tonight prevented a catastrophe that would have had consequences far beyond Gotham."
"I was protecting my city. The dimensional implications were secondary."
"Perhaps. But the result is the same—you have proven yourself capable of engaging mystical threats at a level that few mortals achieve." Dr. Fate moved closer, his masked face unreadable but his presence radiating authority that even Bruce found difficult to ignore. "I wish to discuss a matter of mutual concern. Specifically, the Brujería and the entity they serve."
"I'm listening."
"The entity you encountered tonight is known by many names across many cultures, but its true name is beyond mortal comprehension. It is a being of chaos and entropy, a force that seeks to unravel the order that sustains reality itself. The Brujería are its servants, and their campaign to establish footholds in the mortal world is part of a larger plan to weaken the barriers between dimensions enough to allow their master full manifestation."
"What happens if they succeed?"
"The end of everything." Dr. Fate's voice carried a weight that made the words feel like physical blows. "Not just Earth, not just this dimension—everything. The entity's nature is antithetical to existence itself. If it were to fully manifest, it would consume reality in a wave of destruction that no power could stop."
Bruce absorbed this information, processing the scale of the threat they were facing. "How do we prevent that?"
"By stopping the Brujería before they can complete their preparations. By sealing the weak points in reality that they're attempting to exploit. And by preparing for the possibility that direct confrontation with their master may become necessary." Dr. Fate paused, his masked head tilting slightly. "I have resources that can aid in these efforts, and I am willing to share them with those who prove themselves worthy."
"What do you need from me?"
"For now, continued vigilance. The Brujería will not abandon their plans simply because tonight's ritual failed—they will adapt, regroup, and try again. You have demonstrated the capability to detect and respond to their activities in Gotham. Continue doing so, and coordinate with Constantine and Zatanna to share intelligence about their movements."
"And later?"
"Later, we may need to take more direct action. The barriers between dimensions are weaker than they should be, and not all of that weakness is natural. There are places—thin spots in reality—that require attention if we are to prevent the Brujería from exploiting them."
"I understand." Bruce met the Lord of Order's gaze—or at least, met the eye slits in his golden helmet. "I have my own resources and capabilities that might be useful for that kind of work. Advanced technology, surveillance networks, operational facilities throughout Gotham and potentially beyond."
"I am aware of your resources. They are impressive for a mortal—more impressive than most who have walked your path." Dr. Fate's voice carried something that might have been respect. "Very well. We will work together against this threat. Constantine will serve as the primary liaison, but I will be available if circumstances require more direct involvement."
The golden light that had accompanied Dr. Fate's arrival began to intensify, signaling his impending departure.
"One more thing, Batman. The woman you have been helping—Pamela Isley. Her condition is of interest to me. The transformation she underwent was not entirely natural, and the process of reversing it has implications that extend beyond her individual case."
"What kind of implications?"
"The connection between human consciousness and the natural world is more profound than most realize. Dr. Isley's transformation represented one possible path for that connection—a path that, had it been allowed to develop fully, might have had significant consequences for both humanity and the Green. The treatment you are providing is suppressing that connection, but it is not eliminating it entirely."
"Is that a problem?"
"It is a factor that should be considered. The Green is aware of what is happening to one of its potential avatars. It is not pleased." Dr. Fate paused, then added: "However, I believe there may be a way to resolve the situation in a manner that satisfies all parties. I will investigate and contact you when I have more information."
With that, Dr. Fate vanished, the golden light collapsing inward and leaving no trace that a Lord of Order had ever been present.
Constantine let out a long breath and reached for his cigarette. "Well, that was intense. Fate doesn't usually show up for casual conversations."
"That didn't seem like a casual conversation to me."
"It wasn't. But for Fate, that was practically friendly. The fact that he's willing to work with you directly is significant—he usually operates through intermediaries and expects mortals to figure things out for themselves." Constantine's expression was thoughtful. "You're making quite an impression on the mystical community, Bats. Try not to let it go to your head."
"I'll do my best."
The days following the Brujería engagement settled into a pattern of activity that Bruce found both exhausting and deeply satisfying.
His regular patrols continued, the Beyond suit's enhanced capabilities allowing him to address both mundane and supernatural threats with equal effectiveness. The satellite facility network proved its value repeatedly, providing staging points for operations throughout Gotham that would have been impossible to conduct from a single base. And the various initiatives he had established—the Arkham reforms, the community development programs, the preventive interventions for potential future villains—continued to show positive results.
But the mystical dimension of his work had expanded significantly, and Bruce found himself spending more time in the company of beings who operated outside the normal boundaries of human experience.
Etrigan visited twice during this period, appearing in the cave through methods that ORACLE's sensors couldn't track or explain. The demon seemed genuinely interested in Bruce's progress, questioning him about his operations and offering occasional insights that proved surprisingly valuable.
"Your approach to the Brujería pleases me, Dark Knight of Gotham. Direct action, decisive force—the way a warrior should fight. Too many mortals waste time with hesitation and doubt, allowing evil to grow while they debate philosophy."
"I prefer to think of it as efficient problem-solving."
"Call it what you will—the results speak for themselves. The entity you banished tonight was old and powerful, yet you faced it without flinching. That takes either great courage or great foolishness." Etrigan's fanged mouth split into a grin. "Perhaps both. The best warriors often have both."
Their conversations ranged widely, covering topics from demonic politics to the nature of good and evil to the practical challenges of operating in a world that didn't understand the supernatural threats lurking in its shadows. Bruce found Etrigan's perspective genuinely interesting—the demon had centuries of experience with conflicts that made Gotham's crime problem look trivial, and his insights often challenged Bruce's assumptions about how to approach his mission.
Zatanna visited as well, usually in the context of ongoing enchantment maintenance and training in how to use his mystical protections more effectively.
"The wards Constantine and I placed on your suit are holding well," she reported during one session, "but they're not static—they need to be refreshed periodically, and they respond better if you understand how they work. Think of them like muscles that need to be exercised."
"How do I exercise mystical wards?"
"By using them. Not just passively absorbing attacks, but actively engaging with the protective energies. When something tries to affect you magically, push back with your will—reinforce the wards with your intention. The more you do that, the stronger they become."
The training was challenging—magic didn't follow the logical rules that Bruce was comfortable with—but his enhanced memory and analytical capabilities allowed him to make progress faster than Zatanna had expected.
"You're a quick study," she admitted during their third session. "Most people take months to develop the kind of intuitive understanding of ward reinforcement that you've managed in weeks. Your mind works in unusual ways."
"I've always been good at pattern recognition. Once I understand the underlying principles, application becomes relatively straightforward."
"Relatively straightforward." Zatanna laughed, shaking her head. "Batman, you just described something that takes most practitioners years to master as 'relatively straightforward.' I'm not sure whether to be impressed or concerned."
"Why not both?"
"Both it is, then."
The situation with Pamela Isley came to a head two weeks after the Brujería engagement, when Dr. Fate returned with the information he had promised.
The meeting took place in the cave, the Lord of Order materializing in the main chamber with the same golden light that had accompanied his appearance at the Oblivion Bar. Alfred, who had been informed of the potential visit, took the supernatural intrusion in stride—though Bruce noted that he positioned himself near the GUARDIAN suit's concealed storage location, just in case.
"I have investigated the matter we discussed," Dr. Fate began without preamble. "Dr. Isley's condition is more complex than your medical team understood. The transformation she underwent was not simply a mutation caused by chemical exposure—it was a partial awakening of a connection to the Green, the elemental force that animates all plant life on Earth."
"We suspected something like that. Her abilities went beyond what the chemical exposure should have caused."
"Indeed. The Green chose her—or rather, began the process of choosing her—as a potential avatar. The accident at her laboratory created an opening, and the Green reached through to touch her consciousness. Had the process been allowed to complete, she would have become fully bonded to the elemental force, with all the power and responsibility that entails."
"And the treatment we're providing is suppressing that bond?"
"Suppressing, but not eliminating. The connection remains, dormant but present, and the Green is aware of its potential avatar being denied to it." Dr. Fate paused. "This creates a problem. The Green is not a sentient entity in the way humans understand sentience, but it has... preferences. It does not appreciate being thwarted."
"What kind of problem are we looking at?"
"The Green may attempt to reassert its connection to Dr. Isley—through dreams, through environmental influence, through other potential avatars reaching out to her. The treatment you're providing will eventually fail unless the underlying situation is addressed."
Bruce considered this information. "What are our options?"
"Three possibilities. First, Dr. Isley could accept the transformation and become a full avatar of the Green. This would resolve the conflict but would also mean abandoning her current life and identity—she would become something other than human, dedicated to the Green's interests above all else."
"She's already rejected that option."
"I expected as much. The second possibility is to completely sever her connection to the Green—not suppress it, but eliminate it entirely. This would be permanent and irreversible, but it would also free her from the ongoing conflict and allow her to live a normal human life."
"What does that require?"
"It requires my direct intervention." Dr. Fate's voice carried a weight that suggested this was not a trivial matter. "Nabu and I have the capability to cut the connection cleanly, without harm to Dr. Isley. But such an intervention represents a significant expenditure of mystical resources, and it would establish a precedent—if I do this for her, others may expect similar assistance."
"What's the third possibility?"
"The third possibility is to negotiate with the Green—to find a compromise that satisfies both Dr. Isley's desire for a normal life and the Green's interest in maintaining a connection to the mortal world. This is the most complex option and the one with the most uncertain outcome, but it might be possible to find an arrangement that works for all parties."
Bruce was quiet for a moment, processing the options. The first was clearly unacceptable—Pamela had made her wishes clear, and he wasn't going to override them regardless of what the Green might prefer. The second option was the cleanest solution, but it came with the cost of obligating Dr. Fate in ways that might have consequences Bruce couldn't foresee. The third option was the most flexible but also the most unpredictable.
"What would a negotiation with the Green look like?"
"The Green communicates through its existing avatars and through the Parliament of Trees—a council of former avatars whose consciousnesses have merged with the elemental force. A negotiation would require someone to speak on Dr. Isley's behalf, presenting her case and proposing terms that the Parliament might find acceptable."
"Could you do that?"
"I could serve as an intermediary, but the negotiation itself would need to be conducted by someone with a personal stake in the outcome. Ideally, Dr. Isley herself—but given her current state, that may not be possible." Dr. Fate paused. "Alternatively, someone who knows her, who can speak to her character and her worthiness, might serve as an advocate."
Bruce made his decision. "Let me talk to her. If she's willing to pursue the negotiation option, I'll serve as her advocate. If she prefers the clean break, I'll accept your offer to sever the connection."
"A reasonable approach. I will make preparations for either eventuality and await your decision."
The conversation with Pamela took place the following day, in a private meeting room at the Wayne Enterprises medical facility where she had been receiving treatment.
She listened to Bruce's explanation of the options with the focused attention of a scientist processing new data, her expression shifting from surprise to concern to thoughtful consideration as he laid out the complexities of her situation.
"So the Green is actually... aware of me? It chose me specifically?"
"According to Dr. Fate, yes. The accident at your laboratory wasn't just chemical exposure—it created an opportunity for the Green to begin bonding with you. The powers you developed, the connection to plant life, the changes to your physiology—all of that was part of a process that would have eventually made you something more than human."
"And if I go through with the treatment—with the complete suppression of my abilities—the Green will keep trying to reestablish the connection?"
"That's what Fate believes. The treatment can suppress the symptoms, but it can't eliminate the underlying cause. As long as the connection exists, even in a dormant state, there's a risk that it will reassert itself."
Pamela was quiet for a long moment, staring at her hands—which now looked entirely human, the greenish tint that had characterized her transformation completely faded.
"I spent months being terrified of what I was becoming," she said finally. "The powers, the changes, the way I could feel plant life reaching out to me, responding to my emotions... it was overwhelming. I felt like I was losing myself, becoming something that wasn't Pamela Isley anymore."
"That's understandable."
"But I also felt... connected. To something larger than myself, something ancient and important. The Green isn't evil, is it? It's just... the planet, trying to survive. Trying to protect itself from what humanity is doing to it."
"That's one way to look at it."
"And if I completely sever the connection, I'll never feel that again. I'll be normal, human, safe—but I'll also be cut off from something beautiful." Pamela's voice carried a sadness that Bruce found unexpectedly affecting. "It's not a simple choice, is it?"
"No. It's not."
"What would you do? If you were in my position?"
Bruce considered the question carefully. "I would want to understand all my options before making a decision. The negotiation path—the possibility of finding a compromise that lets you maintain some connection to the Green without losing yourself—that might be worth exploring."
"Even if it's uncertain? Even if the negotiation might fail?"
"Uncertainty isn't the same as failure. And sometimes the uncertain path is the only one that leads to a truly satisfying outcome."
Pamela was quiet again, processing this perspective. Then she nodded slowly.
"Okay. Let's try the negotiation. But if it doesn't work—if the Green won't accept any compromise that lets me keep my autonomy and my identity—then I want the clean break. I'd rather be completely human than lose myself to something I can't control."
"I understand. I'll arrange the meeting with Dr. Fate and serve as your advocate before the Parliament of Trees."
"Thank you, Bruce." Pamela's expression was warm, grateful, trusting in a way that made Bruce acutely aware of the responsibility he was accepting. "For everything. For believing I could be more than what I was becoming. For giving me options instead of just telling me what to do."
"That's what allies do."
The negotiation with the Parliament of Trees was unlike anything Bruce had experienced in his career as Batman.
Dr. Fate transported them to a realm that existed in the space between the physical world and the Green—a dimension of living vegetation where the boundaries between individual plants and collective consciousness blurred into something vast and incomprehensible. The Parliament itself manifested as a circle of ancient trees whose roots descended into depths that seemed to have no bottom, their branches reaching toward a sky that wasn't really a sky.
Bruce stood at the center of the circle, Pamela beside him in a meditative state that Dr. Fate had induced to help her manage the overwhelming nature of the experience. The Parliament's attention was focused on them both—not hostile, exactly, but intensely curious in a way that felt almost physical.
"YOU BRING THE CHOSEN ONE," the Parliament spoke, their voice a chorus of rustling leaves and creaking wood that somehow formed comprehensible words. "SHE RESISTS THE CONNECTION. SHE REJECTS OUR GIFT."
"She doesn't reject the connection entirely," Bruce replied, his voice steady despite the alien nature of his surroundings. "She values her relationship with the Green. But she also values her human identity, her autonomy, her ability to choose her own path. The transformation you began would have consumed those things, and she isn't willing to surrender them."
"THE GREEN REQUIRES AVATARS. THOSE WHO SPEAK FOR US, WHO PROTECT US, WHO CARRY OUR VOICE INTO THE HUMAN WORLD. WITHOUT AVATARS, WE ARE VOICELESS IN THE COUNCILS OF POWER."
"I understand. But forced avatars—unwilling champions—serve you poorly. Pamela Isley can be more valuable to the Green as an ally than she ever could be as a reluctant servant."
"EXPLAIN."
Bruce had prepared for this moment, drawing on his knowledge of Pamela's capabilities and his understanding of what the Green actually needed.
"Pamela is a brilliant scientist with expertise in environmental restoration and plant biology. As a human with access to human institutions—Wayne Enterprises, the scientific community, government advisory bodies—she can advocate for the Green's interests in ways that a non-human avatar couldn't. She can influence environmental policy, develop technologies that heal damaged ecosystems, shape public opinion toward greater respect for the natural world."
"THESE ARE MORTAL CONCERNS. THE GREEN'S PERSPECTIVE EXTENDS BEYOND HUMAN TIMESCALES."
"True. But human activity is currently the greatest threat to the Green's wellbeing—and human solutions are the only realistic way to address that threat quickly enough to matter. A Pamela Isley who works within human systems, respected and trusted, can accomplish more for the Green in a decade than a fully transformed avatar could accomplish in a century of direct action."
The Parliament was quiet for a long moment, their collective consciousness processing Bruce's argument.
"YOU PROPOSE A PARTNERSHIP RATHER THAN AN ABSORPTION."
"I propose a compromise that serves everyone's interests. Pamela maintains her human identity and autonomy. The Green maintains a connection to a valuable advocate. And the relationship is built on mutual respect rather than coercion."
"AND IF SHE BETRAYS OUR TRUST? IF SHE USES HER POSITION TO HARM RATHER THAN HELP?"
"Then you're no worse off than you would be if you forced the transformation and created a resentful, unwilling avatar. But I don't believe that will happen. Pamela genuinely cares about the natural world—that's what made her vulnerable to your initial touch in the first place. Given the freedom to choose, she'll choose to help you."
Another long pause. Then, slowly, the Parliament reached a decision.
"WE ACCEPT YOUR PROPOSAL, BATMAN. PAMELA ISLEY WILL RETAIN HER HUMAN IDENTITY AND AUTONOMY. IN EXCHANGE, SHE WILL SERVE AS OUR ADVOCATE IN THE MORTAL WORLD, USING HER POSITION AND EXPERTISE TO ADVANCE THE GREEN'S INTERESTS THROUGH HUMAN INSTITUTIONS."
"And the connection? The dormant bond that's been causing the conflict?"
"THE CONNECTION WILL BE MODIFIED. SHE WILL RETAIN AWARENESS OF THE GREEN'S PRESENCE—A SENSITIVITY TO PLANT LIFE THAT WILL AID HER WORK—BUT THE TRANSFORMATIVE ASPECTS WILL BE REMOVED. SHE WILL BE HUMAN, WITH A GIFT RATHER THAN A BURDEN."
Relief flooded through Bruce, though he was careful not to show it. "On behalf of Pamela Isley, I accept these terms."
"THEN IT IS DONE."
The Parliament's attention shifted from Bruce to Pamela, and the air filled with golden-green light as the Green's power flowed through her, modifying the connection that had been consuming her identity into something more manageable.
When the light faded, Pamela opened her eyes—and they were human eyes, without the feral intensity that had characterized her transformation.
"It's... different," she whispered, wonder in her voice. "I can still feel them—the plants, the Green—but it's not overwhelming anymore. It's like... like a conversation instead of a flood."
"The Parliament has modified your connection. You're still linked to the Green, but the relationship is partnership rather than absorption."
"Partnership." Pamela smiled, tears forming in her entirely human eyes. "I can live with that."
The return to the mortal world felt like coming up for air after a deep dive, reality reasserting itself in familiar patterns after the alien strangeness of the Green's realm.
Dr. Fate departed with a nod that Bruce interpreted as approval, the Lord of Order apparently satisfied with how the negotiation had concluded. Pamela was immediately taken for medical evaluation, where Wayne Enterprises' specialists confirmed what the Parliament had promised—the transformative aspects of her condition had been eliminated, leaving behind a heightened sensitivity to plant life that was remarkable but not superhuman.
"She'll never be entirely normal," the lead physician reported. "The connection to the Green has left permanent changes in her neural architecture—she'll always be able to sense plant life in ways that ordinary humans can't. But the dangerous elements—the pheromone production, the toxin generation, the physical transformation—those are completely gone."
"And her mental state?"
"Stable. Better than stable, actually. The conflict she was experiencing—the sense of being consumed by something she couldn't control—that's been resolved. She seems genuinely at peace for the first time since her transformation began."
Bruce allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Another potential villain prevented from becoming what she had been destined to become. Another person given the opportunity to choose a better path.
"Keep me informed of her progress. And let her know that when she's ready, there's a position waiting for her at the Wayne Foundation's environmental advocacy division."
"I'll pass along the message."
That evening, Bruce found himself in an unusual social situation—sharing drinks at the Oblivion Bar with Constantine, Zatanna, and Etrigan in what could only be described as a victory celebration.
"To stopping the apocalypse," Constantine said, raising his glass. "Again. It's getting to be a habit."
"To worthy battles and worthy allies," Etrigan added, his demonic form somehow managing to look festive despite its inherently terrifying appearance. "May our enemies tremble and our victories be sweet."
"To Pamela Isley," Zatanna offered. "Who faced an impossible choice and found a third option that no one expected."
"To preparation," Bruce concluded, touching his glass to the others. "And to the understanding that even the most dangerous situations can be resolved if you approach them with the right resources and the right allies."
They drank, and for a moment, the weight of the challenges ahead seemed lighter. The Brujería were still out there, planning their next move. The entity they served was still waiting for its opportunity to breach the dimensional barriers. And Gotham's ordinary criminals continued their activities, requiring constant attention and intervention.
But for now, in this moment, they had won. They had stopped a dimensional breach, cured a potential eco-terrorist, and established an alliance that combined technological capability with magical expertise in ways that had never been attempted before.
"So what's next, Bats?" Constantine asked, lighting another cigarette. "The Brujería aren't going to stop just because we spoiled one of their rituals."
"No, they're not. Which is why I've been developing contingency plans for their next likely moves. ORACLE has been analyzing the pattern of their activities, identifying potential targets for future rituals."
"Of course you have." Constantine shook his head, but there was something like fondness in his expression. "You know, when you first showed up at the Bar asking for magical protection, I thought you were just another vigilante who'd gotten in over his head. Turns out you're something considerably more annoying."
"Annoying?"
"Competent. Prepared. The kind of person who actually thinks things through instead of just reacting to whatever crisis lands in front of them." Constantine took a long drag from his cigarette. "It's refreshing, honestly. Most of the people I work with are making things up as they go along."
"Preparation is the only advantage mortals have against threats that exceed our natural capabilities. I'd be foolish not to maximize it."
"See, that right there—that's what I'm talking about. 'Maximize preparation.' Most people just try to survive. You're out here trying to win."
Etrigan laughed, the sound rumbling through the bar like distant thunder. "The Dark Knight speaks wisdom that many demons could learn from. Too often, my kind rely on raw power rather than strategy. It leads to embarrassing defeats when facing opponents who think before they strike."
"Coming from a demon, that's quite the compliment," Zatanna observed.
"Coming from this demon, it is merely honest assessment. Batman has earned my respect through deeds, not words. That is rare for any mortal, and I do not offer such acknowledgment lightly."
Bruce accepted the praise with a nod, uncomfortable with the attention but recognizing that building strong alliances required accepting appreciation as well as providing assistance.
"We should coordinate more formally," he said, steering the conversation back to practical matters. "The Brujería threat is serious enough that ad-hoc responses won't be sufficient. I propose regular communication channels, shared intelligence databases, and pre-planned response protocols for different categories of mystical threats."
"You want to create a supernatural Bat-signal system," Constantine translated.
"I want to create an infrastructure that allows us to respond to threats faster and more effectively than we could individually. The same principle I apply to my operations in Gotham, extended to cover magical threats."
"It's not a bad idea," Zatanna said thoughtfully. "The magical community is notoriously bad at coordination—everyone guards their secrets, protects their territory, refuses to share information that might be useful to others. Having someone from outside that culture push for better communication could actually help."
"And it gives us access to Batman's resources," Constantine added. "His surveillance networks, his technology, his analytical capabilities. I've seen what ORACLE can do—having that kind of support for mystical operations would be genuinely useful."
"Then we're agreed." Bruce raised his glass again. "To the beginning of something new."
They drank, and the alliance that would eventually become one of the most effective supernatural response networks in history took another step toward its full potential.
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN