The bloom of fire over Coast City caught all eyes—even above the chaos. The shockwave rolled up through the clouds, its low WHUMP rattling the air between combatants.
John's fist stalled inches from Sinestro's chest. He turned toward the blast, jaw locking, breath hot through gritted teeth.
"Sinestro!" His voice cut through the wind. "Call this off before you regret it!"
The Korugarian blocked another swing from John with a casual flick of yellow light, the motion almost lazy. He tilted his head, smirking.
"Regret? You still haven't learned—I never start what I don't intend to finish."
His eyes flicked sideways, toward Arkillo.
The hulking yellow lantern was in full swing, his constructs hammering against Kilowag's guard. One final strike—an upward hook of raw power—sent the Bolovaxian hurtling downward.
KRRSSHHH—THOOM
Kilowag cratered into the street, crushing two parked cars beneath him. Shards of glass rained onto the asphalt.
He shook his head, pushing debris aside. "Poozers…" His voice was a grunt, but it hardened when he spotted a few bystanders frozen in place, wide-eyed.
"Get outta there!" he barked, waving one hand urgently.
One woman, standing beside her car, didn't move. Her eyes were locked on Kilowag—not in recognition, but in shock. The passenger seat beside her held a boy, maybe ten years old, who leaned forward with awe that faded as a long shadow crept over the wrecked street.
Kilowag turned.
WHOOM—CRRRANG
A jagged yellow hammer construct the size of a truck smashed into the car behind him, hurling it and several others down the street like toys.
"No!" Kilowag roared, charging Arkillo headlong, constructs forming into a spiked ram ahead of him.
Above, Sinestro's smile widened. John's eyes, however, burned red at the edges.
"You'll pay for this!!"
Back at the square, the scene had sunk deeper into hell.
Flames curled up the sides of buildings. The ground was streaked with blood and debris. Those who could run were shoving their way out; those who couldn't were already lost.
Romat-Ru moved among it like an artist admiring his work. He fed on the fear—the ring pulsing brighter as it drew strength from every panicked breath.
Tomar-Tu cut through the smoke toward him, green light swirling around his arm. But Romat-Ru turned with a sneer.
"Too slow."
The counterstrike came instantly, yellow constructs snapping into form mid-motion. The impact jarred Tomar-Tu's guard, the force behind it heavier than before.
Above, the Batwing banked hard. Batman's gaze didn't leave the yellow lantern as targeting reticles converged on Romat-Ru's outline.
"Target lock," the onboard voice confirmed.
"Fire."
THNK-THNK-THNK-THNK
From beneath the Batwing's chassis, a volley of projectiles the size of baseballs streaked toward the square. Romat-Ru's head tilted at the sight, a feral grin spreading.
"What's this?"
The answer came when the first hit.
PFFWSSSH
No fire. No shrapnel. A bloom of bluish smoke burst outward, followed by another, then another—until the square was choked in it.
Romat-Ru's grin faltered as the sound of gagging and coughing began to spread. The haze swirled, blurring every shape inside.
In the cockpit, Batman's eyes flicked to a secondary feed—thermal outlines in orange against the smoke. None of them were moving.
"Batman," J'onn's voice sounded in his head, steady but urgent. "We're picking up multiple reports of attacks in your location. Do you require assistance?"
"No," Batman replied without hesitation. "I think we have it cover—"
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP
The cockpit lit in red. The calm mechanical tone followed: Incoming projectile. Initiating automatic measures.
Batman's fingers moved to the console, eyes snapping to the tactical screen—
BOOM
The hit had come before Batman could even register the incoming strike.
KRRAAANG—
Metal screamed, glass burst, and then—blackness.
No time to brace, no chance to steer. Only the violent lurch forward, the tearing of his harness, and the hollow weightlessness that followed.
Then nothing.
The next thing was pain. A low groan dragged from him unbidden as the void gave way to blurred shapes and washed-out light. His vision pulsed with every beat of his skull.
He willed his senses to line up—hearing, touch, balance—but they stayed stubbornly muted, as though his body wasn't entirely his yet.
Slowly, the haze cleared.
Smoke. Black columns curling skyward. Buildings gutted by flame. The taste of scorched wiring in the air.
And around him—
Batman shifted his head with effort, the motion stiff and unwilling. The cockpit was gone—at least, the rest of it. He was sitting in a twisted half-shell of the Batwing's nose section, torn free from the fuselage. The seat was canted at an angle, metal warped around it like a bear trap.
His right hand wouldn't move. He looked down to see it jammed beneath a sheared support strut, the edge biting into the gauntlet.
KZZZT— A voice crackled faintly from somewhere in the wreckage.
"…sir… sir, can you hear me? … picked up… alerted… sir…"
"Alfred…" The word came low, the rasp of it pulling through clenched teeth. It wasn't a plea. It was a confirmation—he'd heard him. He was still here.
Before he could force anything else out, another sound cut in—a laugh, high and grating, rolling over the ruins like broken glass.
Romat-Ru.
The yellow lantern hovered just beyond the wreck, head tilted in mock surprise.
"Well, well… you're still alive, huh?" His grin was all teeth. "Hm… barely, right? Hah! Good. I should thank you for the help knocking out that pesky lantern."
He turned his head toward a pile of concrete and twisted rebar not far from the crash site.
Tomar-Tu lay motionless there, his green aura dim to nothing.
Batman's jaw set, the frown carving deeper lines into his faceplate, but he said nothing.
Romat-Ru's chuckle grew to a full, unrestrained cackle. "Don't look so disappointed. That little trick of yours—" he gestured vaguely toward the still-hanging traces of bluish smoke "—would fetch a great price in the right system. Had my head feeling all fuzzy… light… heh. Gotta say though, I'm a little disappointed. Here I thought you humans were tougher than this."
He floated closer, his eyes narrowing in cruel amusement. "So tell me—"
"I'd like to think we are."
The voice came from somewhere behind him.
It wasn't Batman's.