Broken(DC)

I quickly grabbed all the papers I hadn't had time to look through and ran after her. It seemed like this was the only thing I would get once the alarm was raised, I could forget about the other mansions. The only thing left was to retrieve the stack of papers that thief had taken.

Though she had managed to gain a slight lead while I hesitated, I was already closing in, tracking her soul. With one more leap, I landed right on the roof in front of her.

"Hand over the papers willingly," I said.

"Hm, I think not," she replied, striking me with her whip, which I simply ignored. The whip sliced through the air, barely ruffling my clothes, but it did nothing to stop me.

"You're tough," she added, surprised.

I had no intention of playing her games. Already preparing to snatch her bag, I lunged forward, but she skillfully twisted out of my grasp, slipping through my fingers. How was that possible? My reaction speed was several times faster than a human's so was my movement.

My brief moment of confusion gave her an opening. She nimbly leaped onto another rooftop, dropping from a great height and landing as softly as a cat. She took off again, her movements eerily feline.

Dissolving into a portal, I reappeared on her path. Just as I was about to block her way, I noticed something strange three distorted souls. No, they weren't souls but vile entities, twisted shadows of what they once had been. They were overflowing with suffering, pain, and an unnatural rage. It was as if they were trapped in cages they couldn't escape, and their entire focus was on her. Sooner or later, they would catch up to her.

Three of them wouldn't be a problem for me.

"You got lucky," I said with a smirk, letting her pass without revealing myself.

As soon as the shadows rushed forward, I teleported right to them, transforming into my executioner's attire, and fired straight into their heads. All three bodies instantly collapsed onto the rooftop.

Inspecting them, I noticed they were clad in armor, equipped with razor-sharp claws, blades, and throwing daggers. But their souls didn't break free it was as if they hadn't actually died.

The first one started to stir, slowly rising to its feet.

[image]

The shots tore through the body, forcing it to settle once more. Emptying the rest of my bullets into the others, I stared at them in confusion. Who could have created something like this? They had clearly been living humans before this happened to them. It was as if a demon had fused with a human, forming something that didn't even understand what it was.

Removing the mask from one of them, I saw a disfigured face pale skin and eyes almost devoid of pupils. There was no breath.

Taking their bodies, I transported them to a safe place and consigned two of them to the fire, burning them to ashes. But I kept one. I needed the opinion of someone knowledgeable before deciding my next move.

I found myself deep in a forest this was the last place I had picked up John.

Scanning my surroundings, I sensed a faint trace of his soul's energy, barely perceptible. Only a small fragment of it remained. I decided to move closer.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A sudden flash forced me to step back, and lightning struck the exact spot where I had just been, leaving a crater several meters wide. Magic circles began appearing in the air, radiating deadly intent.

"Argh" A reanimated creature clamped onto my arm, trying to sink its teeth into me. Damn thing wouldn't stay down.

"John, it's me, Brian!" I shouted, hoping this was just one of John's magical rituals and not someone else's trap. Dodging between flashes and surges of magical energy, I called out again.

"If you don't stop right now, I'll call down fire from the heavens and burn everything to the ground!"

"Alright, alright, I'm here," John's voice finally rang out. A door materialized in midair before me, and behind it, a mansion slowly took shape.

[image]

"Why didn't you answer right away?" I asked, annoyed.

"You never know you could've been a demon or something," he replied with a shrug. But the slight smirk in his eyes told me he had done it on purpose, just to mess with me.

"Your jokes could cost you," I said, stepping closer. From the outside, the house seemed small, but inside, it was much larger, as if it contained multiple hidden floors and secret rooms.

"Since you're here, welcome to the House of Mystery," John Constantine said.

"Impressive," I noted, glancing around, feeling the strange energy that filled everything. "Is this all your doing?"

"Oh, no, I won it in a card game," he smirked. Winning something like this in cards? He was probably lying.

"I need your help. What is this?" I asked, showing him the claw that was still biting into my arm, despite having lost all its teeth.

"You dragged a zombie to my place?" John scoffed.

"It's more of an undead, but it doesn't die completely. It keeps regenerating and restoring itself. I don't understand what it is," I said.

"Let's take a look," John said. A table materialized in the air, and I placed the claw on it. Spells held it in place, preventing it from moving.

"A dark magic ritual. It's basically a hollow husk it can't survive for more than a few hours without a source of energy. Pain and suffering turned it into a semblance of a living creature, but it has no mind. To destroy it completely, there must be nothing left of it, or you can just wait it'll wither away without energy," John explained.

"Is there a way to deal with them besides burning them?" I asked.

"You can break the ritual binding them," John replied. "They're unstable as it is cut off their magical link, and they'll self-destruct."

I understood I wouldn't be able to handle everything on my own. It would be better to create a weapon capable of wiping them out.

"What do I need for that ritual?" I asked.

"Well…" John shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly thinking something over.

"Spit it out," I said, realizing he wanted something from me.

"There's a warlock. Pretty powerful, and he's fortified himself in his tower. Getting to him without preparation won't be easy. Or…" He looked at me with a smirk.

"Someone takes the hit?" I guessed.

"Bingo," John said casually with a grin.

"I'm in," I nodded firmly.

"Great. I'll call you once I make some arrangements," John said.

Suddenly, a strange sound echoed through the room. The claw on the table began to swell, tearing itself apart. A nauseating, foul stench filled the air.

"Ugh, that's disgusting," John grimaced. A burst of holy fire flared in his hand, instantly incinerating the remains.

"Why is your magic so powerful here? I've never seen you cast so easily," I asked, surprised. Normally, he relied on rituals, resources, or something else, but this time, he had done it effortlessly.

"The House of Mystery," John smirked. Magic filled the air, practically saturating the space. It seemed this place amplified his abilities.

"Glad to see you, but I've got a lot to do," I said, heading for the exit.

"Oh, yeah, I was absolutely thrilled to see you too," John replied with obvious sarcasm. Maybe he was annoyed that I always made him work?

The moment I stepped out of the House of Mystery, my phone was flooded with messages. Opening it, I was surprised to see that they had all arrived just minutes ago and they were all from Norlan Hill. That was a bad sign.

In an instant, I teleported to him, only to find I was slightly too late.

POV Norlan Hill

After a brief panic, I managed to calm myself down and get back to work. Maybe I was greedy for money and dreamed of uncovering a major scoop, but right now, I understood that this was about more than that it was about the city. Deep down, I felt lighter, as if I had a true mission worth fighting for. It gave me strength, made me feel alive rather than just existing.

As I walked past the scale model of Gotham, someone suddenly grabbed me by the elbow.

Turning around, I found myself face to face with a stunning blonde, wearing a neckline so deep it barely covered anything.

[image]

"Mr. Norlan Hill, I don't believe we've met before," she said charmingly, glancing at my badge.

"I've been working for a while, but they rarely send me to events like this," I replied.

"Have you found any material for your story?" she asked.

"Not really," I admitted, a bit embarrassed by her question.

"Forgive my curiosity, I just have a passion for mysteries. By the way, is yours big?" she said with a sultry tone, nearly whispering the last words into my ear. What kind of question was that?

"You mean my passion for mysteries? Well, I'm a journalist it's my calling," I answered, feeling both nervous and slightly excited by her closeness.

"Maybe you could share a couple of secret stories? I'd love to listen," she continued, smiling.

"I'd love to, but I have things to do," I said, holding on to the last shred of willpower.

"You'd really turn me down?" she pouted.

"Well… I suppose I can spare a few minutes," I said.

"Then come with me I know a cozier place," she said, taking my hand. Her palm was soft and warm, which completely threw me off. I didn't even notice as she led me into a room.

A haze clouded my vision. My journalist's instincts had saved me from dangerous situations before, but now they seemed dulled.

I tried to reach for my phone, pressing the send button a few times, but everything felt so heavy.

"Why don't you rest for a bit? You must be tired," her soothing voice whispered, and suddenly, the ground disappeared from beneath me.

End POV.

"He turned out to be more resilient than I expected," the woman said, looking down at the fallen journalist.

"Your flirting was unnecessary," a rough voice responded. A man stepped out of the shadows, clad in the heavy armor of the Court of Owls' Talon.

"Are you jealous?" She approached him, trailing her fingers across his chest. "It's just a job. You know I will always love only you."

"What should we do with him?" the man asked.

"Wait for whoever received his messages. In the meantime, take care of him. I trust you can handle it?" the woman asked.

"As always," he nodded curtly.

"Excellent. I must be going," she purred, slipping out of the room.

The man approached the unconscious reporter, his metallic claws gleaming menacingly. With a swift motion, he slashed at the journalist's clothing, tearing through the suit but leaving his skin unscathed. Lifting the badge, he examined the writing closely.

"'Rick & Mel' Publishing," he read coldly. "Sister, you deal with him. I'll find out who sent him."

"It'll be my pleasure," the woman replied, stepping out of the darkness, clad in identical armor.

She hoisted the limp journalist over her shoulder and carried him down a flight of stairs, soon arriving in the basement. There, lifeless puppets awaited mindless thralls, capable only of following orders.

Placing the reporter onto a table, she drove her claws deep into his leg with surgical precision, forcing him awake with a sharp jolt of pain.

Norlan gasped, his body instinctively trying to rise, but his limbs were securely restrained. Panic surged through him as he struggled, but it was futile.

"You can try to fight, scream, or beg. That only makes it more enjoyable for me," the sister said calmly.

"I don't understand… You have the wrong guy! I'm just a journalist!" Norlan pleaded.

"Oh, we know exactly who you are and what you do. We were merciful, but you failed to appreciate our kindness. So now, you're going to tell me everything who sent you?"

She plunged her claws into his other leg, leaving fresh, bloody gashes. Norlan groaned in pain.

"You're making a mistake. I just found a job, that's all. I don't know anything," he insisted, forcing his voice to remain steady, though fear gripped him from within. He knew they wouldn't let him go, but he wasn't about to give in. Summoning every ounce of willpower, he resolved to hold out as long as he could until help arrived.

"I do love the ones who resist. The ones who break too quickly are so… boring." She smiled, raising her claws toward his hands. "Let's start with the fingers. What do you think?"

Mentally, he prayed for help, but the fear of her sinister smile refused to let go of Norlan. Deep inside, he labeled her a deranged maniac.

She grabbed his finger and wrenched it sharply in the opposite direction.

"AAAAAAAH!" Norlan screamed, his voice piercing the room with agony.

"What a delightful sound," the woman chuckled, continuing to snap his fingers one by one until all five were broken.

"So, are you ready to talk? Please, don't say anything," she taunted with a wicked grin.

"I… I don't know anything. I just got a job… I don't understand why you're doing this," Norlan gasped, struggling to breathe through the pain.

"Perfect," she nodded with a smile and without hesitation, sliced off his index finger. Then, she continued her cruel torment.

Thus began the worst day of Norlan's life.

POV Brian Forman

I had grown too arrogant, thinking I was the smartest, and I paid the price for it. Lately, I had been making too many mistakes, and they were starting to catch up with me. I looked at Norlan Hill's tortured body, and guilt ate away at me from the inside. He had waited for me, hoped for me, but I never came. He was still alive that was the most important thing.

I was like a child, recklessly toying with fate, forgetting why I was doing all of this to save human lives. And now, I had sent Norlan to his death. I was not without sin; my hands were stained with blood. But I had sworn that no innocent soul would suffer by my hand. And yet, my words had led to this.

Catching them in the act seeing a Talon mutilating Norlan, cutting off his fingers I had already sentenced everyone here.

"Forgive me, Norlan. I'm here now. Everything will be okay." I spoke to the tormented souls around us. "Leave now, and at least you'll have some chance of escaping."

"The journalist was surprisingly resilient. Even under torture, he refused to reveal who he was working for," the woman said, holding a bloodied dagger and one of Norlan's severed fingers.

Norlan, you kept my secret. I won't forget that.

"You'll pay for this," I growled, feeling rage consume me.

"I don't think so. You walked right into our trap. Soon, we'll find everyone involved in this no one escapes the Court of Owls," she smirked.

But amidst her gloating, I caught something a subtle shift in her expression as a voice whispered something in her earpiece.

"So, you work for the Lame One? The old men turned out to be more cooperative than I expected," she sneered.

"What did you do to them?" I asked, barely containing the fury that threatened to drag me into the abyss.

"You'll be able to ask them yourself soon," she said, flexing her clawed gauntlet.

The masks were off there was no longer any reason to hide. Fire erupted around me, waves of flames spreading in all directions, consuming everything in their path. The last remnants of restraint snapped, and I lost control, letting the fire devour everything.

Lifting Norlan's body, I teleported to the printing house. The door was broken open. Stepping inside, I scanned the scene blood-streaked walls, furniture overturned and shattered. Moving further in, I found the bodies of the old man and Miss Phillips.

A small flicker of flame escaped my hands, illuminating the room. I set fire to the printing house, but I willed the flames to burn only within its walls, ensuring they would not spread beyond.

Laying Norlan's body on the table at my base, I administered a painkiller and carefully examined his injuries. Aside from the missing fingers, there were no life-threatening wounds. He would need time to heal, but he would survive.

"You will pay for everything. For every single thing." I whispered into the emptiness.