Kevin Curry
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Devil's Consultancy 52
🕑 Added 2025-11-24 15:00:19 +0000 UTCThe Slaughter Swamp was a very unpleasant place, but needs must. “Bowery, Fuerza, Valiente!” Jason shouted, before humming a single note strongly. He wasn’t in Robin gear, instead wearing the enchanted robe that Tanya had made for him, using magic for every step, even spinning the thread: it was mostly black, with green trim and a red hood that enshrouded his face in magical shadow, two green lights marking his eyes, evoking Robin’s colors and concealing his identity. They had yet to agree on a callsign for this particular identity, but it wasn’t very important as of now.
Tanya, Ace, Raven, and Diana all joined him, humming the same note. Once they were harmonized, Jason began to sing. “You’re in my world now, not your world, because I have friends, on the other side.” He began, starting a few lines into the song but those first ones didn’t make sense in context.
“He’s got friends on the other side…” The four of them sang. Magic wafted off of their hands and motions, sinking into the area and swirling around Jason in a nimbus of power.
Jason continued the song, magically pulling forth the spirits that hung around their current location and using improvised lyrics, every line accompanied by his backup singers. Particularly intense parts were sung in five part harmony, not a single one of them slipping as he drew out each spirit’s life story, if abridged heavily, in just a few lines. With a wave of his hand, each story was recorded on a floating scroll using a quill made of fishbone.
“Now I thank my friends…” Jason said, trailing off and letting the chorus and spirits all finish.
“...on the other side.”
After a beat, Jason slumped over, breathing deeply. “Holy shit that worked.”
“Of course it did!” Tanya said, offended. “Do you think I’d arrange for a trip to Gotham’s filthy taint for nothing?”
“This place is so gross…” Ace complained, holding her nose as the smell of rot and illegal dumping pervaded the swamp.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Raven chided, “You’re being protected by the clean air talismans, just like us.”
“I think it broke.” Ace said, holding the talisman up to her eye.
Tanya tossed the girl one of the spares (it was just a fifty dollar air freshener sold by ArcWayne, they didn’t last very long in these conditions, there was a reason they were usually sold as a fallback measure for more conventional hazmat protections), and Ace took a deep breath once it was around her neck. “The reason it works…” Tanya paused as she remembered that he didn’t have a callsign. “...Hood, is that singing is one of the oldest, most primal means of uniting effort. By singing in harmony, the power of multiple spellcasters can be directed into a single spell or series of spells, with the attunements barely mattering, the magic harmonizing with each other as well as the voices are. The powers of Demons, Gods, Dreams, and Death all intermingle into one song, one note at a time, a crescendo of purpose.”
“There are other ways to utilize songs in spellcasting.” Diana added, smiling as she read the scrolls. “I’m sure Bruce will be able to make great use of some of these witness statements.”
“If he manages to open up even one cold case, it was worth the trip.” Jason said firmly, crossing his arms. Bruce did the same thing whenever he expected Tanya to argue against his course of action. “Thanks, pipsqueak.”
“It was educational. Even if it fails, the lessons learned were reason enough.” Tanya said instead. “Your skill is impressive, Jason. Despite having very little power yourself, you’ve taken quite well to shaping external sources of magic in a shockingly short timeframe, that takes talent. This technique is perfect for you… Well, if you could sing a little better it would, I had to course-correct your song twice.” When you started to sing in harmony and got pulled into the song ritual, there was a… pressure that compelled you to continue the song. It was resistable, and it was helpful even, about as much as that music game with the four player band, including vocalist, it made it so that you didn’t need to know the lyrics very well, and it aided you in choosing the right notes… but it was still your own voice you were using, so... “But that’s fixable, we’ll be stepping up the vocal training, saying incantations with strength is important, but singing raises the standards.”
“Figures.” Jason huffed. “Let’s get out of here, .”
-----------------------
Of course, Tanya was not just teaching magic nowadays. She was also learning.
“Yes, like that.” Shazam said, stroking his beard as he examined the magic circle that Tanya had just drawn. “Not a single trait is expressed here beyond the one you sought to embody within the glyph, and it is suitable for insertion into an Champion Empowerment ritual. If it was properly empowered and bestowed, it would grant the target the Flight of Rhine.” Which was, to her understanding, more metaphorical than literal, allowing not only the actual power of flight, but her habit of moving through shadows would also be bestowed.
“So what’s the next step?” Tanya asked. She had realized shortly after spending thirty minutes deciding on what to wear to magic lessons that she may have gone a bit overboard when it came to stocking her closets with the latest fashions, particularly as her in progress growth spurt meant that it was a real possibility that she could no longer fit in some of those before she had a chance to wear them. Currently, she was wearing a dark purple robe with yellow trim, decorated with some pleasingly intricate lightning embroidery. She liked to think that she was one of the ones responsible for arcane-themed outfits being in fashion at the moment.
“The greater ritual depends on how many empower the champion.” Shazam explained, showing a series of circles with different designs. “I find the most stable, the greatest balance between versatility, power, and investment, is the Hexagram, with the six glyphs at these spaces and the subject of the ritual here in the center.” The miniature floating ritual circle brightened, with Rhine’s new glyph in one of the six slots along with some Justice League member’s symbols, with the subject being represented by a simple glyph that Tanya recognized as a common placeholder in some ritual books she read. The other floating ritual circles, each with different numbers of spots for glyphs, also filled in.
“How does it work?” Bruce asked curiously, striding into Shazam’s chamber. “Tanya, it’s almost time for dinner.” He focused back on the ghost. “Keep it under five minutes, please.”
“One thing you must understand is that the most fundamental magic is an idea.” Shazam began, “The gap between being a cluster of matter and being a discrete, identifiable thing is where magic lies. All spells are an extension of this, where the idea of something holds greater value than any intrinsic trait of it.”
“I have noticed that pattern, yes.” Bruce said, leaning in. Tanya huffed. She’s explained this too! Admittedly, not quite so eloquently.
“What the Champion Empowerment ritual does is exactly that: Empower a Champion, as in a representative that fights or otherwise acts in your stead. An Envoy would be another appropriate term.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that it would stop working if the… empowerer… dies?” Bruce asked. “Tanya mentioned someone using dead people.”
“Patron would be the best term in English.” Shazam informed him. “But this particular ritual, my own spin as it were, on a more archaic version, invokes the myth and legend of the patron instead of their direct power. It has drawbacks, such as the necessary narrowing of the empowerment, which must be compensated for by using multiple patrons that are somehow linked together, they must all agree to empower a single champion.” He smiled, the joy of a scientist bragging about his work clear on his face. “But the benefit is that the power drain on the patron is basically nothing, even a dead soul could do it, as all they have to do is provide a link to the power of their reputation.”
“They must also have a notable reputation as well, I gather.” Bruce said questioningly.
“Indeed.” Shazam said, “The empowerment is transferable, albeit with difficulty, which is how I was able to empower Billy on my lonesome: I merely gave him the power that once was mine.”
“It sounds powerful.” Bruce allowed, “Also scalable. Even if all it does is let the Justice League add an extra twenty percent to their numbers to act as substitutes when they’re off duty, that’s a powerful edge. Throw in the old gods, and they could probably give the Earth another dozen Captain Marvels between the lot, if we could get them to cooperate.”
“The possibilities are endless! Groups of heroic identities passed between a battalion of trained soldiers, volunteers paid for their labors, working in shifts to maximize coverage! If any should fall in battle, simply conduct the original ritual again and the hero looks immortal!” Tanya said excitedly. “Imagine if we could get the Heavenly Host to come to the table and empower a few champions to stand against SivMana’s demon champions like Sabbac! Hell, there might even be a few demons who are materialistic enough that we can simply buy their cooperation!”
Bruce chuckled, as did Shazam. “Isn’t she cute when she’s so hyped up about business deals?” Bruce asked the ghost.
“I’ve seen many children in the millennia of my life.” Shazam said, nodding in agreement. “Even demon ones like her. While the subject of their childish obsessions vary widely, there is always something charming about their enthusiasm.” He laid his hand on Tanya’s head, gently patting it without mussing her hair. “You’ve got the spellcraft of a demon scholar ten times your age, young Rhine. You’re very talented.”
Tanya blushed. “Well, I mean- wait.” Ten times her age? “How old do you think I am?”
“Think? Child, I know.” Shazam said, with a grandfatherly smile. “I could tell your soul was less than eleven years from your recasting the instant you unleashed your shade in front of me.” He shrugged. “The exact circumstances of your life are surely an interesting story, but I could tell from Billy’s complaints about you that you weren’t to be dismissed, to be so trusted by those he idolized.”
“There’s no one I’d trust more to run an army of superheroes.” Bruce said, nodding to himself. “Anyway, come on Princess, it’s time for food. Dick’s visiting, so Alfred made stuffed mushrooms.” Bruce physically picked Tanya up and started carrying her away.
“He’s totally going to punch Jason in the face.” Tanya said confidently, making no move to start moving under her own power. “Or get punched. There might be kicks involved.”
“No bet.”
-----------------------
Richard wasn’t home purely for Alfred’s cooking, even if that was reason enough in Tanya’s book, but because Bruce had called him in for help with the current troubles.
Of course, then the latest disaster struck, the next day: every bank in Gotham got robbed simultaneously in a coordinated assault, in broad daylight, with only a few foiled by vigilante response, one by curiously competent private security, and none by the police. There was even a death among the vigilante community: Ragman, a local necromancer who channeled the spirits of the dead for magical augmentations, overstretched himself by attempting to foil two such robberies, with the second managing to kill him. Interestingly, his own ghost was unavailable for summons, and neither did a call for any ghost who witnessed his death bear any fruit.
So, Batman took a step that was unprecedented, although naturally he had laid the groundwork for the move long ago. Each “hero” from Gotham, a loose association of vigilantes that Batman always made sure to keep at arm’s length, close enough to extend a hand but not so close to need to trust them with anything important, was called to a meeting about this massive movement by the criminal element.
Batman stood atop a presentation stage, individual tables scattered throughout the warehouse that the meeting was held at. Each table had a neat stack of individually wrapped snackfoods, such as pastries or protein bars, as well as meal replacement drinks in cans and sealed plastic bottles. It was a statement, one acknowledging that he did not demand their trust for this. Rhine literally sat on his shoulder, their demon form’s narrow hips easily fitting on the man’s broad back.
“I thought this place was Penguin’s.” Commented Black Spider, aka Eric Needham. A metahuman who had an inborn ability to launch spiderwebs through his hands. Like many metahumans, this came with an otherwise unspoken but certainly present amount of superhuman strength and durability, and in his case it was paired with enhanced agility, flexibility, and reaction speed, although despite these advantages Batman could consistently defeat him in direct combat. “You steal this from him, Bats?” He sat down, leaning back while using a web to snag one of the milk-like drinks and a second one to nab a bag of jerky. “Good to see that you don’t just shove food in my face, you mother hen.”
“Right?” Gotham Girl, aka Claire Clover commented, even as she cracked open a can of protein drink, peanut butter granola bar wrappers already discarded in front of her. “Every time he finds us, he gives us half a dozen meal bars each. We have our own Costco membership, thank you!”
“After we’ve already eaten three each.” Gotham, Claire’s older brother Hank, added. “By the end of a patrol, I’m too tired to eat, so it’s nice to have snacks.” The Clover siblings were relatively wealthy, having used their parent’s connections in Wayne Enterprises to get connections with some ArcWayne contracted occultists who created several magical items that allowed them to adequately impersonate metahumans with super strength, speed, flight, and a small assortment of attack spells.
Still, Batman was well practiced in ignoring color commentary. “This warehouse is scheduled for a hazmat refit in two weeks by Wayne Industrial, who picked it up via police auction.” Batman said, acting as if this was the result of a noteworthy investigation instead of a handful of basic database searches. “It will suffice until then.”
“I’ve got a secondary location we can use if someone else catches wind of this place.” Batgirl bragged, Zatanna sharing her table. “Two-Face lair, police auction is in three weeks. It’ll be deserted until then.” It was a matter of GCPD policy that they avoid spending manpower to watch seized properties, because that ended in far too many dead cops. They were enjoying a small container with some of Alfred’s snickerdoodles, an additional consideration given to them given their mutual trust.
“God willing, that won’t be necessary.” Azrael said from his table near the back. Michael Lane was a crusader sent by the Order of St. Dumas, a former subdivision of the Catholic Church’s Knights Templar, blessed with holy magic and charged with inscrutable missions from their leadership. Despite the natural enmity, he had never attacked Batman for diabolism, instead claiming that Bruce was essential to some prophecy to stop a Dark God from conquering this dimension or something along those lines. He was irritatingly vague about it. “I’ve prayed for this meeting to be shaded from the eyes of the wicked.” Some empty food wrappers, fruit and nut bars, were neatly set aside on his table.
“An irritating ward, unprovoked and untoward.” Etrigan grumbled from his table, “I’ve cast a spell to rebuff, the uninvited will find it tough.” He left the food untouched.
“Is that why I had to drag this brat in with me?” Mother Panic complains, jerking a thumb at the fourteen year old vigilante next to her. Mother Panic was the alias of a twenty year old girl with cybernetic enhancements that were forcibly implanted into her, by the name Violet Paige. She was mostly focused on finding and killing whoever was responsible for the Gather House, a boarding school that was far worse than what Jason had to go through. They implanted her with alien technology there, and she flatly refused to allow Batman to give her any assistance except on cases. That didn’t stop her from eating twenty of the energy bars, though, as her cybernetics substantially increased her caloric requirements.
“This is too dangerous for Whistle.” Batman retorted, “You shouldn’t have brought her here.”
Whistle, real name Willow Zimmerman, whined like a dog and shrunk in on herself. She was a rather unfortunate metahuman, unconsciously drawing on the Red to give her the instincts of a dog, which came with enhanced senses and the ability to communicate with dogs to a great extent. She didn’t have mind control powers over dogs, but she was good enough at getting them to do what she wanted that most people thought she did. She was not the kind of vigilante one called on for dealing with this kind of thing. She had not only eaten all the jerky from her table, but had also taken some from Batgirl’s table.
“Let her stay.” Nightwing said, seated as if no different from the others. Rhine did not divide themselves for this meeting; Witch Girl was absent, but Raven was seated next to him; as Rhine’s apprentice she felt obligated to join in, but her nominal purpose was to serve as a teleport if things blew up at Jump City; she was going to use the Batcave’s Zeta Tube network node instead of wasting magic on a cross-country teleport, of course. “This affects her turf as well as everyone else’s, the least we can do is keep her informed.”
Willow perked up. “Thank you!” She said. Her companion, the white dog Lebowitz, barked in agreement. “Those robbers were too strong, some of my friends got hurt.”
“People have died!” The last of their number shouted, slamming his fist on his table. Simon Dark was an undead compatriot of Ragman, supposedly animated by the magic of Slaughter Swamp. Much like his “brother”, Solomon Grundy, he was also named for a nursery rhyme, although it was only spoken of in Gotham. The man was less overwhelmingly powerful in comparison to Grundy, but he was smarter and lucid, which made him far more dangerous. “If you face them again, you’ll be burying those friends of yours.”
“Enough.” Batman said, “With The Question’s arrival, everyone’s here. Let’s begin.” Most of the room startled as they only now noticed the detective’s presence on the stage. Rhine waved a hand, and images appeared to punctuate his speech. “Earlier today, all seven hundred and four banks in Gotham were robbed simultaneously, each by four men wearing the exact same set of four uniforms.”
“This is the work of the Dark Faith, adherents of the Crime Bible.” The Question added.
“Analysis is ongoing.” Batman said, “But let’s start with the easiest one: Uniform 1, with a wooden Adolf Hitler mask, marked with a swastika on the forehead, surrounded by the phrase Arbeit macht frei. Their jacket was a pale grey, which was consistent so we’ll assume it’s relevant.”
“Work makes you free.” Nightwing said first.
“Most famously written on the gates of concentration camps.” Batman added. “Uniform 2: Black clothing, Joseph Stalin mask, with a hammer and sickle, plus the word Голодомо́р, which refers to a specific atrocity, the engineered famine against Ukrainians.”
“Plenty in common between those.” Hawkgirl remarked, having arrived with Question and sat with Batgirl, as both other girls were members of the Justice League.
“The other two were less clear, but the easier of the two to identify wore white, the mask was Emperor Hirohito, with a rising sun symbol and the phrase, in Japanese, Unit 731.” Batman continued.
“Another horror. A very consistent pattern, glorifying atrocities.” The Question commented.
“I’m seeing another pattern…” Azreal said, “But continue, what color did the last one wear?”
“The last one wore red.” Batman said, “Uniform 4 wore a mask of Herbert Hoover, with an eagle symbol surrounded by the number 9066.”
“A cryptic riddle in that border, but my guess found one: an executive order.” Rhine said. They didn’t know offhand which executive order created the Japanese internment camps that they supposedly had an uncle that was put in one, way back when, but they had guessed that whatever the number was, it was related to that, and they were right.
“Uh… Lexicon says that executive order 9066 created the internment camps they stuck the Japanese into back in World War 2.” Gotham Girl commented, looking up from her phone. “But… FDR signed that, not Hoover.”
“Hoover did drop the bombs, though.” Black Spider pointed out.
“War.” Azreal said, “Pestilence, Famine, Death.” He spat to the side. “These symbols are to emulate the Four Horsemen.”
Everyone took a moment to digest that information. “The colors correspond to the horses.” Nightwing said, “Yeah, that’s why.”
There were still many unanswered questions there. Most relevantly… “How did they all get superpowers, though?” Gotham asked before anyone else could. “Is it magic?”
While the qualities they possess could easily have been a simple magical augmentation if it was only one of them… “That is the mystery, is it not? They have too much for it to be simply bought.” Rhine said, idly fidgeting by kicking the air from Batman’s shoulder.
“The power they’d need, the spells would feed, but yet they ride forth on their steeds.” Etrigan speculated, clearly just as confused as Rhine was, on how they got enough magic for thousands of even low end metahumans.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The Question asked. “They were empowered by the Crime Bible’s god, the First Murderer, Cain.”
“The fuck’s a Crime Bible?” Nightwing asked. Batman gave him a sharp glare for swearing.
“Allow me to explain…”
