Turning Back Time — Earth — A Few Days After the Titans Left for Tamaran — Before Taiwan Incident — Week 1 | Day 3
While the League maintained regular patrols across the globe, Batman had been quietly coordinating something far more specialized—a covert operation known only to a select few. For months, he'd been working with Zatanna and John Constantine to establish a magical division within the Justice League, specifically designed to monitor supernatural threats and track demonic activity worldwide.
The division's existence remained closely guarded, hidden even from most League members and the Titans. After Darkseid's invasion, Batman expanded the circle of trust minimally—informing only J'onn and Green Arrow under strict need-to-know protocols. His caution wasn't without reason. During the chaos of the invasion, a heist had occurred—dangerous magical artifacts were stolen from a secure location. Among the missing items was a red crystalline stone that Orach himself had specifically warned them about, making its theft particularly alarming.
The timing of Batman's discovery couldn't have been worse. He learned about the heist just before he, Barbara, Orach, Diana, and Rachel were scheduled to depart on vacation. Rather than derail the trip or alert Orach to the theft—which would have immediate and unpredictable consequences—Bruce made the calculated decision to wait. He informed Barbara upon their return, a choice that earned him a well deserved earful. Still, she reluctantly agreed to keep Diana in the dark, giving them precious time to exhaust every avenue and hopefully recover the items before Orach discovered the truth.
Once the Titans and Wonder Woman departed off-world, Batman finally brought the full League into the loop. The delayed disclosure sparked tension—several members questioned why they'd been kept in the dark, particularly about the magical division's existence. However, the complaints quickly dissipated when Batman reminded them that they'd already fought alongside Constantine and Zatanna during the Thanagarian Invasion. Both magic users had been recruitment candidates anyway, and with the stolen item being something Orach had personally flagged as dangerous, the operational security made sense in hindsight.
With the Titans and Wonder Woman off-world and Orach seemingly disinterested in Earth's affairs beyond his personal circle, the League could now operate with greater freedom. They'd been methodically hunting down magical criminals and demons who might possess information about the stolen artifacts, following every lead no matter how tenuous.
Constantine and Zatanna took point on the supernatural investigation, leveraging their extensive network of otherworldly contacts. Their search eventually led them to a peculiar being whose assistance would prove crucial. The being flatly refused Constantine's initial request—no surprise there, given John's reputation—but grudgingly agreed after Zatanna intervened with her considerable charm and persuasive skills. John nearly escalated the situation into a shouting match before Zatanna physically dragged him away to prevent burning that particular bridge.
Tonight, they were returning for another meeting with that contact. This time, Bruce and Barbara would be joining Constantine and Zatanna.
Gotham had transformed dramatically. Criminals now operated with extreme caution, the underworld living in constant fear of a being capable of erasing them from existence. With Orach working at Wayne Tech, crime had been driven so far underground it was practically nonexistent on the streets.
Meanwhile, Wayne Tech's recent breakthroughs had sent shockwaves through the global community. The successful shuttle launch and revolutionary technology Orach's team developed had dominated headlines worldwide—once again overshadowing LexCorp. Lex Luthor's mood had soured considerably. His company had only recently recovered and reclaimed the spotlight, but Wayne Tech's MedPods success followed by their hyperspace-capable shuttle had captured the world's imagination entirely.
Space agencies scrambled to arrange cooperative missions. The implications were staggering—humanity stood on the threshold of a new era. Many believed hyperspace travel would usher in an age of exploration that could unite nations and ease rising global tensions. The world watched intently for Wayne Tech's next unveiling while Orach's teams worked tirelessly to fulfill their ambitious commitments.
The criminal underworld had adopted one ironclad rule: never target Wayne Tech. The mysterious phenomenon of would-be criminals ending up in the Gotham River after approaching the company with malicious intent continued to baffle and terrorize them.
With street-level crime effectively suppressed, Batman and Cheetah could dedicate their resources to investigating the magical heist. Tonight was the perfect opportunity—they'd left Gotham to rendezvous with Constantine and Zatanna in New York.
Bruce and Barbara changed into sharp civilian attire, wearing wigs and dark shades concealing their identities. Following Constantine's lead—guided by a burning match from a special matchbook that homed in on a specific mystical location—they arrived at what appeared to be an ordinary bookstore entrance.
John took a final drag from his cigarette, dropped it, and crushed it under his heel. He turned to face Bruce and Barbara, his expression serious.
"Listen here, both of you," John said. "Once we're inside, let us do the talking, yeah? All manner of beings will be in there, and trust me, these nasty bastards will screw you over in a heartbeat." He looked directly at Bruce. "Barbara will fit in nicely given she's part divine. But you'll stick out like a sore thumb as a normal human."
He raised his hand as Barbara's gaze turned noticeably colder. "Love, I'm not insulting him. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I know very well that Batman is not to be trifled with. But these supernatural bastards won't give a damn about a normal human. So let us use our clout first. Once we find someone useful to interrogate or locate the owner I told you about, then Batman here can take over. Sound good?"
Zatanna stepped forward, sensing the subtle killing intent emanating from Barbara. She'd witnessed Cheetah in action during the Thanagarian invasion and heard detailed accounts of her clash with Darkseid's forces—and with Darkseid himself. But standing this close now, even with Barbara in her human base form, Zatanna could feel how dramatically she'd transformed. Her aura was leagues beyond their last encounter—refined, concentrated, far more potent. It explained how Barbara had managed to engage a New God in direct combat, exchanging strikes for several rounds and even drawing blood from one of the universe's most formidable beings. Barbara had likely reached the threshold of the Old Gods themselves.
"Bruce, Barbara," Zatanna said carefully, "as crude as his words are, John speaks the truth. All kinds of beings will be inside. We'll need to keep cool heads and our objectives hidden."
Bruce held Barbara's hand and squeezed gently. She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head slightly, then looked at Constantine. "We'll follow your lead."
Barbara remained silent for a moment, then locked her arm with Bruce's and nodded.
Constantine and Zatanna exchanged relieved looks. John pulled out the matchbook and touched it to the bookstore door. The door's outline glowed briefly, energy traveling along its edges like circuit pathways until it reached the matchbook.
Click.
With a soft hiss, the door swung open. They stepped through.
"Welcome to the Oblivion Bar," John said.
Instead of a bookstore interior, they found themselves in a lively bar environment—a bizarre blend of high-end Victorian gentleman's club and chaotic dive bar. The ceiling was draped in shadows that seemed to move independently. Shelves lined the walls, containing not just spirits but exotic, glowing fluids and jars with preserved specimens.
The patrons were equally diverse. In one section, a multi-limbed being played pool against a sentient cloud of smoke. In a corner booth, a knight in full fourteenth-century armor sobbed into a pint while a tiny winged sprite patted his visor consolingly. Elsewhere, beings from fairy tales—the Fey and stranger entities, some appearing demonic—enjoyed pleasant conversation.
Though warned beforehand, Barbara and Bruce couldn't help their momentary surprise. They quickly averted their gazes, heeding Constantine's warning not to stare.
"Come on, I think I see the owner," John said, spotting a figure at the bar.
As they walked toward the counter, John ignored the hateful stares—some filled with outright killing intent—while others simply dismissed him. Zatanna received the opposite reaction. Heads turned when she entered, many showing respect, some nodding in acknowledgment.
Just before John reached the counter, a voice called out.
"You have some nerve coming here, Constantine."
The crowd gave the speaker wide berth as a well-dressed, middle-aged man stepped forward.
John's eyes narrowed. "Listen, Jason. We didn't come here for trouble. Can we settle our differences later?"
Jason walked straight toward them and stopped face-to-face with Constantine. They stared at each other before Jason turned to scan Zatanna and the others. When his gaze fell on Bruce, his eyes gleamed briefly. When they fell on Barbara, his eyes narrowed as he sensed the nature of her aura despite her tight control.
'A nature demi-goddess? One I don't recognize.'
He bowed slightly to Barbara before straightening. "My lady, it would be wise not to trust this man, whatever your reason for coming here. This man is a charlatan, a con artist. I highly suggest you not associate with him."
"Oi, we may have our differences, but that's no reason to badmouth me in front of my acquaintances," John protested.
Barbara exchanged a meaningful glance with Bruce and decided to let this play out.
Jason gave Constantine a withering stare. "You, sir, are a scourge. Do you really think I'm going to stand by and watch you harm someone like her?"
"Why you—"
Just as sparks flew between the two men, a loud shout interrupted them.
"Oi, you two! No fighting in my bar!"
Everyone's attention turned to the bar. Standing there was a chimpanzee wearing a deerstalker hat and a trench coat, a magnifying glass resting beside him. He glared at both Jason and Constantine.
Barbara and Bruce narrowed their eyes behind their shades, carefully studying the chimp. They'd been informed beforehand, but seeing was believing. More importantly, this creature held the title of one of the greatest detectives throughout the multiverse according to Constantine—which naturally piqued their interest.
"Honored Proprietor," Jason turned toward the chimpanzee with a respectful bow. "You know what kind of person John Constantine is. He's the scourge of the Constantine lineage. And you must sense what kind of being accompanies him. Do you really think it wise to allow him to take advantage of such a being? I kindly ask you to banish this cur."
"Stop your yapping, you medieval relic!" Constantine snapped. "No one's taking advantage of anyone. These are my acquaintances, and we're here to seek an audience with Bobo."
Jason's expression turned cold, his eyes gleaming briefly as they met John's. "Do you really expect me to believe you keep such esteemed company? You?"
Pfft.
A vein bulged on Constantine's forehead as he heard Zatanna stifle laughter behind him. She was clearly enjoying this. 'Wait till we're alone, Z. I'll spank that mischief out of you!'
Before things escalated further, Bobo spoke up. "Jason, as difficult as it is to believe... they are indeed his acquaintances."
"Oi!" Constantine started, but Zatanna couldn't hold back anymore.
Pfft—HAHAHA!
Pfft
Even Barbara could be heard stifling a laugh.
Constantine turned to his so-called teammates with betrayal in his eyes. The only one showing no emotion was Bruce. John felt newfound respect for the man—at least Batman wasn't laughing at his expense.
He took a steadying breath and turned to Bobo. "Alright, Bobo. Enough fun at my expense. We came to talk business, mate. How about we move this to a private space?"
Bobo studied them for a long moment, his intelligent eyes moving from Constantine to Zatanna, then to the newcomers. He took a slow sip of his drink.
"Private space, eh?" Bobo scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Must be serious if you're bringing a demi-goddess and..." He squinted at Bruce, "...someone who's clearly mastered the art of keeping their cards close. Fine. Follow me."
Jason stepped forward, blocking their path. "Honored Proprietor, I must protest—"
"Your protest is noted and dismissed, Jason Blood," Bobo said firmly. "Now step aside. Whatever history you have with Constantine stays outside my investigation room."
Jason's jaw tightened, but he stepped aside with a curt bow. As the group passed, he locked eyes with Constantine one more time—a silent promise of unfinished business.
Bobo led them through the crowded bar, weaving past beings that defied description.
"Quite the colorful reputation you've built here, John," Barbara whispered.
"You don't know the half of it," Zatanna smirked. "He has a special talent for making enemies."
"Zip it, Z," John muttered through gritted teeth.
The two women exchanged knowing glances and smiled.
At the back, they reached a door marked with arcane symbols pulsing with faint, otherworldly light. Bobo pressed his palm against the door. The symbols flared briefly before it swung open, revealing a surprisingly mundane office—a worn desk cluttered with papers, filing cabinets lining the walls, a leather couch that had seen better days, and walls covered in case notes and newspaper clippings.
"Welcome to my office," Bobo said, hopping onto his desk chair with practiced ease. "Pardon the mess. I wasn't expecting distinguished guests. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
"You seem to know who we are," Bruce observed as he stepped into the room.
"Hehehe... well, yes," Bobo chuckled, settling comfortably into his chair. "There aren't many new gods or goddesses I don't keep tabs on. From your reality, the only recent additions that caught everyone by surprise were Wonder Woman, and then you." He gestured toward Barbara with genuine interest. "A nature-based goddess bearing the mantle of Cheetah. And since you've been spotted alongside Gotham's Bat"—he nodded toward Bruce—"piecing it together wasn't exactly difficult."
His expression shifted, becoming more contemplative as his gaze returned to Barbara. "But I must say... there's very little that surprises me these days, yet you certainly managed it. You're different from your counterparts across other realities. You're a hero. Above all, your power signature reads as divine, deeply rooted in nature—but it's unlike any divinity I've encountered. Quite curious indeed."
Barbara found herself both impressed and amused. "You're correct that my power appears divine, but it doesn't originate from this world's pantheons. I was originally chosen as a vessel for the Cheetah curse. However, as you're likely aware, our world is currently home to Orach—a Higher Realm being. He helped me transform that curse into something entirely different: a cultivation-based power. Unlike the gods and goddesses you know, who depend on faith energy, I cultivate nature ki and the primordial law of life. In essence, my divinity is purer and more potent than conventional divine power."
"Cultivation! Fascinating..." Bobo murmured, his mind racing. "Higher Realm power... that explains the unusual signature. No wonder I couldn't place it."
"Enough pleasantries, Bobo," John cut in impatiently. "You know who they are, and we know you. Now, you sent me a message—I assume you have the information we need? Don't tell me I endured that whole spectacle for nothing."
"Tch... you really know how to kill a moment, Constantine," Bobo said, shaking his head with obvious disappointment. "Here I was, having an enlightening conversation with this lovely lady, and you had to interrupt with your perpetual impatience. Rude as always. And that 'spectacle,' as you called it? That was more for your benefit than mine. Remember—I agreed to help because Zatanna asked me. I certainly didn't do it for you."
"And we appreciate your help, Bobo," Zatanna said warmly, her charm diffusing the tension before it could escalate. "We really do. So please, tell us what you've found."
Bobo sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "For the life of me, I'll never understand how an oaf like him manages to keep your favor, fair Zatanna."
Zatanna simply smiled, letting the comment hang in the air.
Barbara suppressed a smile at the chimp's theatrics.
John's expression darkened. "Come on, Bobo. The clock's ticking. We need to find those items before someone uses them for something catastrophic."
Bobo sighed and reached for a folder, withdrawing a map and several documents. He spread them across the desk with deliberate care. "Very well. I've made progress on your stolen items." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully. "I've identified the masterminds behind the heist."
He paused, his expression growing serious. "However, let me be clear about something first. If such beings have made this move, whatever's brewing in the shadows has put multiple parties on edge—some have already begun mobilizing. And not all of them are from this universe. That's the level of threat posed by one of the masterminds."
He leaned forward, his expression grave. "Before I continue, you need to understand something. Sharing this information means I will burn bridges with extremely dangerous entities. I need your assurance that you're fully committed to seeing this through, no matter where it leads or what we uncover."
Barbara, Bruce, and Zatanna exchanged glances before nodding in unison. "We are."
John remained silent, his frown deepening.
"John?" Bobo pressed, his gaze sharp.
"Wait," John said, his expression darkening. "What do you mean by 'masterminds'? Are you saying more than one group was involved in the theft?"
"Essentially, yes," Bobo said carefully. "The force that attacked your home served a single master initially. However, that master only wanted one specific item from your collection. The remaining artifacts? Worthless to him—but extremely valuable to another party. What we have here is a partnership of convenience."
John's frown deepened with each word. The implications were staggering.
"John, what's wrong?" Zatanna asked, concern evident in her voice.
John remained silent for a long moment, processing. Finally, he asked, "Tell me, Bobo—who are they? And what do they want?"
"First, I need your word, Constantine," Bobo said firmly. "Swear to me that you'll see this through to the end. What I'm about to tell you will put you in the crosshairs of powers that don't forgive interference."
"Fine. I swear it," John said, his voice hardening with resolve. "On my life and magic, I swear we'll see this through."
A faint shimmer of binding magic rippled through the air—the kind of oath that couldn't be broken without consequence.
John's jaw tightened. "Now tell me."
Bobo hesitated, then released a heavy sigh. "The first party... was Trigon. Not just a version of him—the true body of Trigon."
The name shocked them all. Zatanna went pale. John's expression turned grim, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrest.
Barbara and Bruce exchanged shocked glances. They both knew that name—the demon lord who was Rachel's biological father. Barbara's expression hardened. As Diana's best friend, she considered Rachel like a niece. She knew Rachel's hatred for her biological father ran deep. If Trigon was making moves in their reality, it spelled disaster—because Trigon would inevitably try to reach Rachel, which would provoke Orach's wrath.
"Which item did that monster take?" John asked, his voice tight and controlled.
"You're not going to like this," Bobo said grimly. He extracted a photograph from his files and slid it across the desk.
The moment they saw the image, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Barbara and Bruce's expressions turned grave. John and Zatanna looked positively stricken, the color draining from their faces.
This was the worst-case scenario—the very artifact Orach had personally warned them about had fallen into the hands of a demon lord.
"Tell me, John," Bobo said quietly, "surely you recognize what this stone truly is?"
"Of course I do," John replied, massaging his temples. "Bloody hell."
"Then explain to me," Bobo continued, his tone measured, "how a fragment of the Dreamstone—something that should rightfully be in the possession of the new Dream of the Endless—came to be in your collection?"
Everyone was caught off guard by the question. Barbara and Bruce looked confused, unfamiliar with the Dream of the Endless. John had mentioned the stone belonged to a powerful entity but had never provided specifics.
However, Zatanna and John's reactions were far more pronounced. Their shock wasn't about the Dreamstone itself—it was about something Bobo had said.
"Hold on, Bobo," John said quickly, leaning forward. "What do you mean by 'the new Dream of the Endless'? Not Lord Morpheus?"
"Oh?" Bobo's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "I assumed you'd be aware of recent events in the Dreaming. Very well." He settled back in his chair. "The Morpheus you knew is gone. He killed his son—Orpheus, who had been cursed to exist as merely a severed head on an isolated island, conscious and aware for eternity. Morpheus ended his son's suffering, knowing full well what it would cost him."
Bobo's expression grew somber. "As you know, the Endless are bound by immutable laws. One of the most fundamental is that they cannot kill their own kind. By ending Orpheus's existence—even out of mercy—Morpheus violated that law. The Kindly Ones came for him, as they must. The old Dream is no more."
"But the Dreaming still exists," Zatanna interjected, her voice barely above a whisper. "Which means..."
"Yes," Bobo confirmed. "A new Dream has assumed the mantle. Morpheus made preparations before his end. The transition was... as smooth as such things can be."
"That's... Christ, that's heavy," John muttered, running a hand through his hair. "To think he actually went through with it."
"What kind of father murders his own son?" Barbara's voice cut through the room, cold and sharp. "Why did he not try to find a solution to the curse?"
The question hung in the air. Bruce placed a supportive hand on her arm, and she glanced at him. The warmth of his touch steadied her. She took a deep breath. "I apologize for my outburst."
"That's a perfectly natural reaction for someone unfamiliar with the circumstances, Miss Minerva," Bobo said with understanding. "But let me provide context. Orpheus was cursed by an old god, and his punishment was designed to be eternal. A curse like that cannot be broken. Many tried. Morpheus's love for his son—and his guilt over the role he played in that curse—ultimately drove him to end that suffering, even knowing it would cost him his own existence. In his own way, it was the most selfless act an Endless could perform."
The room fell silent as they processed this information.
"Bobo," John said, his voice edged with suspicion, "how do you know all this? Your typical customers wouldn't have access to information this sensitive. The Dreaming's internal affairs aren't exactly public knowledge."
Bobo fell silent, then chuckled—a sound that built into full laughter, catching everyone off guard.
"Forgive me," he said, wiping his eyes. "I couldn't help myself. You're forgetting something, John—this establishment exists at a nexus point. I've dealt with countless versions of you, of Bruce, of everyone here. Each from different realities, different timelines. I also maintain certain... connections with the Dreaming itself. Professional courtesy, you might say."
He gestured around the bar. "Don't judge my clientele by what you see tonight. These are merely my less powerful patrons. Trust me, you haven't met my high-roller customers yet." He paused, recalling a fact, then corrected himself. "Though that's not entirely accurate. You did meet one during the Thanagarian invasion—the Morningstar himself. He's been residing on your Earth."
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent.
"Having the Morningstar settle in your reality is... unprecedented," Bobo continued. "It's made many entities across the multiverse extremely nervous. But then there's the Higher Realm being... Orach. Heaven itself has issued warnings: 'He won't interfere unless provoked, but provoke him and face obliteration.' So while everyone's curious about your reality, they're keeping their distance."
"Wise of them," John muttered.
Bobo sighed. "That's why, when young Jason Blood from your reality entered earlier, the truly powerful entities sensed his signature and promptly left. They want no connection, however indirect, to anyone from your reality. Which is why you only see relatively minor beings or natives of your own universe here tonight."
He sighed again. "That Higher Realm entity is terrible for business. Do you have any idea how complicated my scheduling has become? I have to create separate time slots and manage interdimensional access to ensure entities from other universes don't accidentally encounter anyone powerful from your reality. No one sensible wants to risk incurring that being's wrath."
"Anyway," Bobo said, shaking his head, "having this opportunity to meet people from across the multiverse means I gather information from nearly every realm. Which brings us back to your problem."
After a moment of stunned silence, John nodded slowly. "I hear you, mate. And trust me—it might be inconvenient for business, but you really don't want Orach coming after you. I've seen what happens when someone crosses him."
"Believe me, I know," Bobo said with feeling. "Now, shall we return to the matter at hand? Tell me—how did you end up with a fragment of the Dreamstone?"
John hesitated but then turned to Barbara, who nodded and spoke up. "I don't know how it originally arrived on our Earth, but the fragment was discovered during one of our archaeological expeditions. Initially, we catalogued it as a Mesopotamian artifact. But Orach identified it as dangerous the moment he saw it. That's why I arranged for it to be transferred to more secure hands—first Bruce, then eventually John's collection. Better it be protected by those who could actually defend it."
She shot Constantine a pointed glance. "Or so we thought."
John shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I know I messed up. Regardless of what happened, regardless of the powers behind the attack, I should have been better prepared. The House of Mystery is supposed to be impregnable. I failed in my duty."
His voice grew quieter. "I take full responsibility."
Zatanna pressed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him mid-spiral. He turned to see her shaking her head gently, her expression compassionate. The gesture said what words couldn't: This isn't all on you.
John slumped back and fell silent.
"I see," Bobo said thoughtfully. He met John's gaze, his expression unusually sympathetic. "John, don't be too hard on yourself. This time, it genuinely wasn't your fault—and believe me, I'm well aware of your usual track record."
That earned a bitter laugh from John.
"The fact that they breached the House of Mystery at all proves they were extraordinarily well-prepared and had access to resources not generally available. This wasn't opportunistic demons. This was a precision operation."
He leaned forward. "With that said, shall we discuss the other stolen items? While the Dreamstone fragment is effectively lost—there's no realistic way you're getting Trigon to surrender it without a catastrophic battle—I do have promising leads on the others."
John glanced at Bruce, who gave a curt nod.
"Tell me, Bobo," John said, his voice steadier. "What have you got? And who was the other party you mentioned?"
"An excellent question. But first, let me pose one to you. Think carefully: how do you believe demons managed to infiltrate the House of Mystery? Given the House's wards and your considerable skill in protective magic, would even powerful demons really dare invade your sanctum? Wouldn't they know it would be suicide?"
John's expression darkened. "I've been replaying it constantly in my head since the attack. The wards shouldn't have failed—even a minor magical assault would've triggered some warning. But we got nothing. No breach detection. No disturbance when they knocked out the House Spirit. No alarm when they slipped through. We only sensed demonic signatures after the House's spirit came back online—faster than they'd anticipated—and started fighting back."
He leaned forward. "If the House hadn't recovered when it did—sealing passages, throwing up emergency barriers—they would've escaped with far more than they got. We barely arrived in time."
John locked eyes with Bobo. "Magic alone couldn't have pulled this off. The wards would've caught a purely magical intrusion. So it had to be a hybrid approach—technology for the infiltration vessel and the weapon that knocked out the House's consciousness, magic to manipulate a nexus point for transport. Someone with serious magical power coordinated from the other side while the demons executed the job." He paused. "Am I close?"
"Very close," Bobo said. "They had sophisticated help. Breaking into the House of Mystery is nearly impossible, and frankly, the way I believe these demons carried out the heist is unprecedented and extremely difficult to pull off."
He produced an evidence bag containing a vial of dark residue. "This was recovered from the breach point. Initial analysis suggested sulfur—pointing to Hell. But deeper chemical analysis reveals something different. This originated from deep-sea volcanic vents. The mineral composition matches oceanic hydrothermal systems." He paused, letting his words sink in. "In short, the attack didn't come from Hell. It's highly likely that it came from the ocean."
Zatanna's eyes widened in surprise, while Barbara, Bruce, and John's expressions darkened at the implications.
"Consider their approach," Bobo continued. "Low-level demons are chaotic by nature—impulsive, destructive, brutish. But this operation? It was surgical. Methodical. Completely against their instincts."
He laid out another report. "The breach site shows tectonic resonance—extremely specific seismic signatures. Based on the evidence, here's how I believe they pulled this off."
"First, someone with considerable magical power manipulated a nexus point, creating a temporary passage that locked onto the House's exact location. As that passage formed, they deployed a specialized vessel through it—one carrying a technological weapon designed to emit a precisely calibrated seismic pulse. That pulse temporarily knocked the House's consciousness offline."
Seeing the confused faces around him, Bobo elaborated. "Sentient structures have harmonic frequencies—a kind of metaphysical signature. Disrupt that resonance, and the spirit desynchronizes. Think of it like an EMP hitting a computer's core processors."
"With the House Spirit unconscious, the wards couldn't detect the intrusion. That's the window they needed. Their team moved through the passage in their vessel and executed the heist. The entire operation required nexus access, powerful magic, exact coordinates, and perfect timing—all working in concert."
Zatanna's eyes widened. "That level of sophistication... you'd need to know the exact harmonic frequency of the House's consciousness to pull something like that off."
"Exactly," Bobo confirmed. "This wasn't just magic or just technology—it was both working in perfect concert. Someone provided those demons with everything they needed: the vessel, the weapon, technical support throughout the operation. All of it built on intelligence about the House's specific vulnerabilities—intelligence that likely came from Trigon, given his abilities." He paused deliberately. "The demons themselves? They were just the muscle. Expendable operatives meant to draw our attention while the real architect stayed hidden in the shadows."
"Someone making use of Trigon..." Zatanna muttered with a frown. "But who? Trigon wouldn't let that go. Who would be bold enough?"
"Now that's a good question, Lady Zatanna." Bobo nodded. "Normally I would agree with you. Anyone trying to make use of a demon lord is just asking for trouble—especially if you're messing with Trigon. But these aren't normal times, and Trigon has been acting quiet for a while now. A little too quiet. His domain, as I mentioned, is sealed off with no information coming from it. It's clear to those who know him that trouble is brewing. Almost as if he's preparing for something. So it's likely Trigon would either not care or let it slide for now—and collect payback later."
Barbara and Bruce exchanged a subtle glance before turning their attention back to Bobo.
"Now, the question remains, which nexus point did they use? My bar is immediately ruled out—no one uses the Oblivion Bar without my permission. Which leaves other nexus points."
"Bobo," John said, patience fraying, "just tell us who's behind this."
Bobo's expression turned ice-cold. He gestured at the door. "Do I tell you how to cast your spells, Constantine? Do I barge into your rituals demanding shortcuts? If you want what I've spent weeks gathering—at considerable risk—you'll let me present it properly. Otherwise, there's the exit."
John's jaw clenched, hands tightening on the armrests.
"My apologies, Mr. Bobo," Bruce interjected smoothly. "Please continue."
John shot Bruce a withering look but settled back with a low grumble.
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne." Bobo leaned forward. "Now that we know the attack came from the ocean, we can work backwards—eliminate the known nexus points until we find the most likely source."
John's eyes narrowed. "Someone in the deep ocean orchestrated this? Used demons as a diversion?"
"Precisely." Bobo nodded.
Bruce said nothing, his mind already sorting possibilities.
"You've both been investigating from different angles," Bobo continued. "John, you've been tracking the demons—following magical signatures, leaning on your infernal contacts." He shifted to Bruce. "You, on the other hand, cast a wider net—going after occultists, artifact dealers, working through criminal networks."
"Standard protocol," Bruce said. "Cast wide, then narrow down."
John grimaced. "I've burned every Hell contact I have. Nobody's talking. Suspicious in itself."
"Exactly what they wanted," Bobo said. "Brilliant, really. The sulfur, the demonic signatures, the demon attackers—every piece of evidence pointed straight to Hell. To Trigon. But your enemy is patient and cunning. They used misdirection masterfully—kept you chasing shadows while they operated freely. And they control a nexus point, or something functionally equivalent, giving them enormous operational flexibility."
John grumbled. "Alright, mate. Don't sound so bloody impressed—we're fighting them, remember?" He leaned back. "Seven possible oceanic locations. Tell me you narrowed it down."
Bobo met his gaze. "I spent three weeks investigating each nexus personally. Smuggling demons into a sentient house requires a stable interdimensional bridge—the kind that leaves traces no matter how carefully you hide them. I started with the most accessible, the Xebel Vortex, then worked my way through the Sea of Thorns, the Arctic Transept, the Marianas Threshold."
He shook his head. "Everything appeared normal. If someone was moving demonic forces through those points, they weren't using conventional access routes. Either they'd covered their tracks with extraordinary skill, or they were using a pathway I hadn't even considered."
"I was stumped," Bobo admitted. "That is, until a few days ago."
He produced a sealed vial and set it on the table. The liquid inside seemed to absorb the light around it. "Remember this? We found it near the breach point. Took me a while to track down someone who could identify it."
"What is it?" John leaned forward.
"Hold on—I need you to understand what we're dealing with." Bobo's voice was measured. "This substance is extraordinarily rare. Nearly impossible to acquire. That's why identification took so long. It contains trace amounts of lead, yes—but that's not the remarkable part. This lead has been subjected to pressures that shouldn't exist anywhere except a planet's core." He paused. "More significantly, it contains traces of Abyssal Silt."
His expression darkened. "Specifically, what's called Conceptual Decay. It's the physical residue of prayers—faith energy that manifested into material form because the gods meant to receive it no longer exist. When faith has nowhere to go, when prayers echo into an empty void with no one to answer, they don't just disappear. Eventually, they precipitate out of the metaphysical realm. They solidify. They become this."
Recognition flashed across John's face. He shot to his feet, chair scraping against the floor. "The Unspoken Waters."
"The deepest part of it, to be precise, the graveyard of the sea gods," Bobo clarified. "Some call it, the Abyssal Dark."
"But, that's impossible!" Zatanna exclaimed, rising from her seat. "The Unspoken Waters is unreachable. The pressure alone would crush anything attempting to descend that far. Even Atlantean vessels can't survive those depths. It's beyond the Midnight Zone, beyond the Hadal depths. Nothing can survive down there."
Barbara looked between them, clearly confused. "Guys, I'm lost. Can someone explain this in terms that don't require a degree in mysticism?"
Zatanna took a steadying breath. "The Unspoken Waters exist beneath all seven oceanic nexus points. Think of the nexus points as wells scattered across the ocean floor, and the Unspoken Waters as the vast underground reservoir connecting them—where everything eventually flows and settles. Ancient legends call it the graveyard of forgotten sea gods."
"All gods require active worship to sustain their divine essence," she continued. "When a civilization dies completely—when the last temple crumbles, the final priest passes away, when no living soul remembers a god's true name—those deities don't simply vanish."
"As belief fades, their divine essence weakens. They lose their anchor to existence, their place in the cosmic order. Most gods dissolve into the Dreaming or return to the Source. But sea gods?" She paused. "They fall. They sink through layers of reality—past the ocean floor, through the Trench, beyond the Midnight Zone, through nameless depths in the Under Realms—until they reach the absolute bottom, the Unspoken Waters and its deepest abyss."
She caught Barbara's troubled expression and softened her voice. "You're an archaeologist, Barbara. You've studied forgotten civilizations, excavated temples devoted to beings that were clearly worshipped. God-like figures with entire cults. Haven't you ever wondered what happened to those deities? Why there's no trace of them in the modern mythological record, unlike the pantheons we still know today?"
"When their last believers die and their names vanish from living memory, these entities lose all faith energy. They weaken and fall into the Unspoken Waters. They still exist—technically—but they're rendered mute, powerless, trapped in eternal stasis. Death would be mercy." Her voice grew heavier. "They're buried in Abyssal Silt—the physical manifestation of all those unanswered prayers. Faith energy that once sustained them, now with nowhere to go. It solidifies around them, entombing them in the very thing that once gave them power."
Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "It's a graveyard of abandoned faith. Forgotten belief made physically real. One of the most horrifying concepts in all of magical cosmology."
Bruce frowned. "You're describing pressures on multiple levels—physical and metaphysical. If these depths can crush matter and reality itself, how could anyone survive long enough to establish operations, even with advanced technology?"
"Exactly." Zatanna turned to Bobo. "Are you certain? Could there be another explanation?"
"When you eliminate the impossible," Bobo said calmly, "whatever remains, however improbable, must be truth. This is the only explanation that fits all our evidence. And strategically? It's brilliant—hiding in the last place anyone would think to look."
He leaned back. "Once I reached this conclusion, I asked myself three questions that needed answers."
He raised one finger.
"First, who would be desperate enough to hide in a divine graveyard? Who would willingly operate from one of the most inhospitable locations in the multiverse?"
A second finger joined the first.
"Second, who has the engineering expertise and connections to build a vessel capable of surviving the Unspoken Waters? At those depths, conventional technology fails instantly. You'd need something far beyond standard capabilities. A power source of extraordinary magnitude. Unless you stumble on such treasure by chance, that power comes from deals with powerful entities—deals requiring knowledge of who to contact and leverage to negotiate. Something that doesn't just reinforce the hull, but stabilizes reality around the entire craft against conditions that would obliterate anything less."
A third finger rose.
"Third—most important—who in your reality currently has something to prove? Who's desperate enough to orchestrate a power play using stolen mystical artifacts?"
He turned to Bruce with a knowing smile. "Care to guess, Detective?"
Bruce had been assembling the pieces throughout the conversation, matching them against the intelligence he'd gathered and recent developments. A name crystallized in his mind in the next moment.
"Orm Marius," he said. "The missing King of Atlantis."
Bobo laughed, slapping his desk. "Excellent! Your intellect never disappoints, Mr. Wayne. Yes, exactly—King Orm. Defeated, humiliated, desperate to prove himself the rightful king and demonstrate his superiority over his half-brother. Your reality's Orm differs from other versions I'm familiar with, but the core remains the same. It's not hard to see why he abandoned the throne and vanished months ago."
He leaned back, fingers drumming thoughtfully. "Arthur didn't want the throne initially, but he's been steadily gaining political ground in the Atlantean kingdoms since the Kryptonian invasion. That momentum only increased after he defeated Orm in ritual combat. Even though Arthur didn't claim the throne, he inadvertently made Orm lose face—people began doubting his strength. Orm's royal bloodline kept most kingdoms in check despite maneuvering by Arthur's supporters, but everything shifted when Arthur returned with the legendary trident and their queen mother. Suddenly Orm's control seemed hollow, his rule temporary. His motivations for vanishing become transparent."
"Oh yeah, what a tragedy. My heart bleeds for the guy," John sneered. "Give me a break, Bobo. The man's a prideful tyrant with a hatred for surface dwellers and a massive stick up his ass."
Bobo's expression turned serious. "Perhaps. But despite his flaws, your reality's Orm was an effective king. I do feel some sympathy for him." He paused. "Still, this raises far more questions. Even as king of Atlantis, he couldn't have simply stumbled upon the Unspoken Waters. How did he discover it? How did he learn to reach it? How is he surviving down there? What power did he acquire? What kind of base has he established? What does he want with the artifacts? And most critically—what's his endgame?"
John leaned forward urgently. "Bobo, are you absolutely certain Orm has the other items? Not Trigon?"
"Hell was in chaos after the Morningstar left for Earth," Bobo reasoned, "but the demon Arch Dukes eventually established a delicate balance. Their hierarchies and territories matter more to them than anything. If such powerful artifacts fell into infernal hands—even versions not unique across realities—do you truly believe they wouldn't be at each other's throats? The demonic civil war would be unmistakable. Hell would tear itself apart."
He shook his head. "The fact that it hasn't—that everything remains stable except for Trigon's sealed territory—tells us what we need to know. Yes, John, I'm confident Orm possesses the remaining artifacts. Trigon took what he wanted—the Dreamstone fragment—and left the rest for his partner."
John ran both hands through his hair, frustration twisting his features. "Damn it. Damn it all to hell."
Bruce turned to Zatanna, his voice steady but serious. "How dangerous are the other artifacts? I need complete details on their capabilities."
Zatanna's expression grew grim. "We were so focused on the Dreamstone fragment that I haven't fully briefed you on the others."
She began counting on her fingers. "Besides the Dreamstone fragment, there's the Hand of Glory—a mummified hand taken from a hanged man at midnight, preserved through specific dark rituals. It freezes people in temporal stasis within a localized field. More dangerously, it unlocks any door—physical or metaphysical. Any door, Bruce. Including dimensional barriers."
"Then there's Pandora's Box," she continued, her voice heavy. "Yes, that Pandora's Box. A skull-shaped container of ancient Greek origin. It originally held the Sins of Man—Greed, Envy, Wrath, and others—each a powerful entity in its own right. But its true function is storing massive quantities of raw magical energy. Think of it as a battery holding a nuclear reactor's worth of mystical power."
Zatanna's expression darkened further. "Finally, the Silver Wheel of the Thunderbolt. We were still studying it when it was stolen. Our preliminary research suggests reality-warping capabilities—not illusions or tricks, Bruce. Actual localized reality manipulation. The ability to rewrite the fundamental rules of physics within a limited area."
Barbara's expression turned solemn. "And all of these are in the hands of a tyrant king with a superiority complex, everything to prove, and nothing to lose?"
"Yes," John confirmed grimly. "And he's had weeks to study them, experiment with them, understand how they work together."
Bruce's mind was already working through the angles. "You were being surveilled, John. Someone monitored your activities and acquisitions. They wouldn't have known about these specific artifacts otherwise."
John slumped in his chair, massaging his temples. "I know. I've been going over it constantly, trying to figure out where the leak was, who sold me out."
Bruce stood, his posture straightening. "Then we don't have time to waste. We need to act decisively. From this moment on, limit your trust circle to your immediate team only."
He turned to Bobo. "I need everything you have on the Unspoken Waters—entry points if any exist, pressure thresholds, oceanic currents, geological surveys, any historical accounts of attempts to reach it. I need complete data before I can even consider designing a vessel capable of withstanding that journey."
Bobo nodded, already reaching for files and maps spread across nearby shelves. "Thought you might ask." He began spreading documents across the desk with practiced efficiency. "I had a feeling you'd need a complete dossier—everything I know about the Unspoken Waters." He paused, meeting Bruce's eyes. "Fair warning—it's not comprehensive. The Unspoken Waters doesn't exactly welcome anyone. Most who've tried to map it didn't return."
Bruce accepted the documents with a nod before turning to John and Zatanna. "I need you both to research magical protections capable of withstanding both the physical pressure and the conceptual weight of that place. We're dealing with an environment that's as much metaphysical as physical. Standard magical protections won't be sufficient." He turned to Barbara. "I'll be going to Atlantis tomorrow. I need to speak with Arthur and Mera directly, in person. We'll need to cooperate with Atlantis for any deep ocean operation."
"What about the League?" Barbara asked. "Shouldn't we brief everyone? If this goes wrong, if Orm has truly mastered those artifacts, we might need everyone."
Bruce was already thinking several moves ahead. "We'll brief them, but the actual operation needs to be surgical. A small, specialized team is better. Too many people creates too much activity—it could alert Orm that we've discovered his location. Right now, we have one critical advantage: the element of surprise. He thinks we're still searching Hell, still focused on the demonic angle."
His expression became calculating. "We'll need Arthur and Mera—their knowledge of Orm is irreplaceable. J'onn's telepathy and shapeshifting could prove invaluable for reconnaissance and communication in an environment that may interfere with standard methods. The Lanterns' constructs adapt to extreme environments better than most technology. I'd like to bring Clark, but the environment could potentially dampen his abilities."
He paused thoughtfully, recalling the champion who aided Superman against Black Adam. "I'll need to make a trip. There's someone I need to recruit."
Barbara asked quietly, "What about Orach? If Trigon is involved, shouldn't he know?"
The room fell silent at the mention of Orach's name.
"I'll talk to him," Bruce said, his voice heavy. "He trusted my judgment when I gave the stone to Constantine for safekeeping. That trust was violated, and he deserves to know." He paused, then sighed. "If Trigon is remotely as powerful as our intelligence suggests, Orach is the only one who can make the strategic call on how to handle him now that Trigon possesses that fragment—while we focus on recovering the other artifacts."
He looked directly at John and Zatanna. "Barbara and I are leaving for Gotham immediately to prepare. We'll reconvene at the Hall of Justice tomorrow at noon sharp. Use the time to prepare everything you can. Gather what you need, make necessary arrangements, consult your sources—but do it quietly. Use our new encrypted communication channel. Assume Orm has eyes and ears everywhere. If he's accomplished this much while operating from the most hostile environment imaginable, completely under our radar, he's proven far more formidable and resourceful than we initially assessed."
John stood, his expression solemn and determined. "Right. Z and I will hit the books, consult some of our more reliable sources. If there's a magical way to survive the trip down there, we'll find it."
Bruce nodded in acknowledgment, already mentally organizing the tactical elements.
"One more thing," Bobo interjected, his expression deadly serious. "When you confront Orm—and you will have to confront him directly—remember this, he's not just a prideful king nursing a wounded ego. From what we have seen so far, he's become calculating, cunning and above all patient. A man who genuinely believes he was destined to rule, who sees his brother as a usurper and all surface dwellers as inferiors barely worthy of existence. That worldview, combined with artifacts of immense power, makes him extraordinarily dangerous."
The chimp detective leaned forward, his voice dropping. "He won't negotiate in good faith. He won't surrender, regardless of the odds. He'll use every tool at his disposal, every advantage, every dirty trick. And if he's truly mastered those artifacts—combined them in ways we haven't anticipated—he may already be more powerful than any of you individually. Don't underestimate him just because he's been defeated before. This time, he holds cards none of you have ever faced. This time, he's had months to prepare on his terms, in his chosen ground, with artifacts that can rewrite reality itself."
"Understood," Bruce said grimly. "Thank you for your help, Bobo. This information will be vital to our planning and preparation."
As they prepared to leave the Oblivion Bar, each was lost in thought about the confrontation ahead and the unknowns awaiting them.