"Evil rarely hides, it simply smiles wider than the rest."
---
The skyline of Gotham bled into the night — orange haze from streetlamps, blue flickers from police sirens, and the ever-present hum of a city that never learned to sleep.
King stood on the edge of Wayne Tower's roof, watching the chaos unfold below. Fire burned at the docks where he'd destroyed Black Mask's shipment. His jaw tightened as distant gunfire echoed. The city's infection was flaring in response.
Behind him, the sound of wings — grappling lines retracting, boots landing.
Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Batgirl and Robin surrounded him in a loose half-circle.
Jason was the first to speak, voice sharp. "You torched twenty million dollars' worth of product, King and half the docks."
King didn't turn. "I torched poison. The docks were a casualty of rot."
Bruce's voice was quiet but firm. "That's not your call."
King finally faced them, his expression unreadable. "Then whose is it? The law's? The same law that locks monsters in revolving doors? I made a decision. One that worked."
Nightwing stepped forward, calm but wary. "You're escalating things. Sionis won't just take the loss, he'll make it bloody."
"Then he'll learn what blood costs." King replied, tone flat, absolute.
Jason scoffed. "You're starting to sound like me, old man."
King's eyes flicked toward him. "No. You pulled triggers out of anger. I act from necessity."
Damian folded his arms. "And who decides what's necessary?"
"I do." King said simply. "Because no one else will."
The words hung in the air like the toll of a bell. Even Bruce hesitated. His instincts screamed at him again. This man was not to be underestimated.
"Gotham isn't a warzone you can clean by force." Bruce said.
King's voice hardened. "Gotham is a warzone. You just fight it with the illusion of control."
Jason muttered under his breath, "I like this guy more every day."
"Jason." Bruce warned.
King's gaze shifted toward the horizon — where smoke from the docks still drifted. "You've spent your lives patching wounds that keep reopening. I intend to heal the patient."
Nightwing frowned. "By burning away the infection?"
"If that's what it takes."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The city's distant sirens filled the silence. Then Alfred's voice came over the comms, soft, measured.
"Master Bruce. You might want to see this. Channel Seven. Miss Quinn's making headlines."
Harleen's Ink — The Interview
The shop gleamed under warm lights, cameras rolling as Harley sat at her workstation, hands ink-stained but steady. The reporter, a young woman from Gotham News Network, smiled nervously.
"So, Dr. Quinzel—"
"Harley." She corrected gently. "Doc days are over."
"Right. Harley. You've opened one of the fastest-growing small businesses in Gotham, providing free tattoos for victims of trauma and former convicts looking for a fresh start. Why?"
Harley leaned back, twirling a tattoo needle in her hand like a pen. "'Cause people need stories. Ink tells 'em without words. Some folks got scars they didn't choose. I give 'em ones they did."
The reporter smiled. "And King? He's been… a big supporter of your work."
Harley's grin softened. "King doesn't support. He believes. Difference is, he don't talk hope—he makes you feel like it's possible again."
"Some say he's dangerous."
"Yeah." Harley said, eyes thoughtful. "So's fire. But it also keeps you warm."
She finished a floral design on her client's forearm — roses and thorny vines twisting into the words Begin Again. The camera zoomed in, catching the detail, the color, the care.
Outside the shop, people watched through the windows — criminals, civilians, officers, all mesmerized by how Gotham's wildest woman was turning art into redemption.
The newsfeed switched between Harley's calm voice and footage of King walking the burning docks earlier that week, fire reflecting off his scar.
Two sides of the same storm.
Back on Wayne Tower
The broadcast ended. Silence again.
Nightwing exhaled. "She's helping people."
King nodded faintly. "Because someone believed she could."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "And if someone believed the same about Sionis? Or Dent? Or Joker?"
King looked at him evenly. "Then they're fools."
Jason smirked. "Guess that makes Bats a saint and you a heretic."
"No." King said quietly. "It makes me honest."
The wind picked up, sweeping through their capes. Far below, the city flickered with unrest — gang wars, fires, police clashes. The balance was breaking.
Bruce stepped closer, voice dropping low. "If this spirals, I'll have to stop you."
King's reply was simple, almost weary. "You can try."
No threat. No anger. Just fact.
He walked to the edge, gaze sweeping the nightscape. Gotham's bruised heart beating below.
"When the smoke clears." He said, " You'll see why sometimes restraint is the enemy of peace."
He stepped off the roof. One effortless drop. The Bat-family rushed to the edge, only to see him land on the street without even bending his knees. Then, he walked away, vanishing into the fog.
Meanwhile — The Narrows, Two Hours Later
A dark room. Men in suits. Black Mask, Two-Face and Penguin sitting around a metal table. Screens flickered, showing images of King — standing amidst fire, walking alongside Batman, standing in court.
Sionis slammed his fist down. "He thinks he can take my city?!"
Penguin grunted. "He's hurting business."
Two-Face flipped his coin. "Then maybe it's time for the city to flip back."
Sionis growled. "He wants a war? He'll get one. Every gang, every merc, every corrupt cop — on me."
He turned to his men. "Find King. I want him broken."
On one side, Harley's rebirth spreading hope.
On the other, the criminal empire arming for war.
And above it all, King — the eye of the storm — preparing to show what happens when divinity and fury collide.
Read 15 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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