The Soul Walkers on New Genesis had grown to a total of three hundred thousand. After Kanto's negotiations with Metron, over a hundred thousand of them were taken away.
Their loyalty to Highfather was beyond question—they loved their land and their people with all their hearts. But the fact remained: they were dead.
The living and the dead fighting side by side sounded beautiful, the kind of thing you could build stirring legends around. In practice, it was a nightmare. The living radiated an energy that seemed to scorch the dead, while the dead exuded a darkness that corroded the living from every angle. Pure mutual destruction.
Rejection. Contempt. Coldness. It was only a matter of time before outright humiliation followed.
Since keeping them served little purpose, Highfather adopted a voluntary policy—anyone who wished to leave for the Underworld was free to go.
"What a kind old man..." Thea received the army of over a hundred thousand souls, and after listening to Kanto's report, she couldn't help but sigh. A leader this charismatic—it did sting a little, knowing she was about to screw him over for Diana's sake.
With everything arranged, she returned to Earth, planning to check in on her mother.
She hadn't expected to find an email from Damian waiting the moment she arrived.
A quick read—he was just asking her to call him back.
What did the kid want? She dialed.
Damian held nothing back. "Maybe it was my mother who gave me life, but he's the one who taught me how to live."
Listening to the genuine emotion in his words, Thea thought of Malcolm. Her own father wasn't as noble as Batman, but he'd earned the title all the same.
"You're worried about his safety, so you want to build a suit of armor as a birthday present for your father? Got it. Leave the rest to me—I'll make sure it's powerful and safe."
Thea hung up, thinking it over.
Damian's concern for his father was admirable—no issue there. But why should she be the one handling this? Better to rope in the whole original Justice League roster.
Superman, who hadn't left his house in ages. The Flash, who'd practically grown fond of his jail cell. Aquaman, locked in his eternal love-hate feud with his brother. And Hal Jordan, freshly returned to the team.
With herself and Diana included, that made six founding members—everyone except Batman—in one room.
Thea laid out Damian's request. The heroes all had their own headaches to deal with, but every one of them thought highly of the gesture. They agreed to pitch in without hesitation.
"Despite Batman being a bit self-righteous—" Superman hadn't even finished before Aquaman cut him off.
"Petty. The man's this petty." Aquaman held up two fingers about a centimeter apart.
"And controlling."
"Always barking orders at us like we work for him."
"Never once admitted he was wrong..."
The heroes chimed in one after another with their grievances, and to Thea's dismay, even Diana had complaints. If a woman of her caliber was badmouthing Batman behind his back, the man's interpersonal skills were clearly catastrophic.
But could we please stay on topic, people? We're here to design a birthday present, not hold a public grievance session!
"He secretly built a super high-speed targeting scope—who do you think that was meant for? Did he really think I wouldn't find out?" Two weeks in prison had done nothing to improve the Flash's temper.
"Exactly! He's been covertly studying Atlantean genetics too—probably cooking up some kind of agent that could wipe out every Atlantean in one shot."
"He's definitely hiding a Yellow Lantern Ring somewhere!"
"And collecting Kryptonite. Plus he built a secret anti-Superman suit."
"Hmm... he also built an anti-Thea suit!"
Thea had initially tried to rein them in, but the atmosphere grew more heated with every accusation, and before she knew it, she'd been swept up in it too.
The discussion was exhilarating. They'd found common ground, and every personal worry they'd been carrying seemed to evaporate. By the time the venting reached its peak—all of them practically picturing Batman pinned to the ground and forced to cry uncle, Superman grinning like a man in a dream, and even Thea considering whether she should just drag Batman over for a beating—they finally remembered why they were there.
Wait. Weren't we supposed to be making a birthday present? How did we end up this far off the rails?
The heroes sheepishly reflected. It wasn't that they were petty—they'd all just been under so much pressure lately...
"Ahem." Thea cleared her throat and pulled up the main display. A black suit of armor appeared on screen. "This is the exterior Damian designed. It's called the Hellbat Armor. Let's divide the work."
Superman and Aquaman took the outer shell. One would forge it in the heart of a star; the other would quench and condense it in the deep ocean. The result would be a shell of unprecedented durability.
Diana would add Olympian enchantments, granting near-total immunity to most magic.
The Flash contributed the Speed Force, pushing the armor's speed to the limit.
Green Lantern Hal wove courage into the cape—so that even in the darkest of worlds, its wearer could find a sliver of light.
The final touches fell to Thea. The original timeline's explanation—metabolic manipulation as the power source—was laughable. This was Darkseid they were talking about. An armor driven by metabolism could go toe-to-toe with him? Absurd.
Without a massive energy source, the armor couldn't even boot up, let alone trade blows with Darkseid for over a dozen rounds. That demanded enormous power. For this, she used the divine power of Death.
As she'd once noted, from the moment Batman connected with the Dark Multiverse, he'd stopped being an ordinary human. The divine power of Death would kill a normal person instantly, but with an entire universe as a buffer, he could wield it for a considerable time.
She kept all of this to herself. The official explanation remained metabolic drive. Even if Batman studied the armor thoroughly, the most he'd conclude was that it consumed the user's lifespan—perfectly consistent with the fundamental principle that extraordinary power demands a price.
They worked for a week and delivered the finished armor to Damian.
Damian had provided the original design and would handle the final paint job himself.
Thea left him with a warning. "Damian, this armor is dangerous. Neither you nor your father should use it lightly."
Damian agreed wholeheartedly. Then, half a month later, fidgeting and bashful but trying desperately to look casual, he wrapped the armor in an oversized box as if it were a trinket picked up at a street stall. He shoved it toward Batman. "Here. Your birthday present."
"Oh." Equally awkward with father-son feelings, Batman had no idea how to respond. His reply came out flat.
Watching Damian stride out of the Batcave with the composure of a tiny adult, Batman—that eternally stone-faced monument—allowed the faintest trace of a warm smile.
Only after his son had left did he unwrap the gift. A few seconds of examination told him everything: this wasn't just from Damian. It carried the heartfelt goodwill of every one of his old partners.
"Life force as the power source, huh..." A sticky note sat in a prominent spot on the armor, written in Damian's handwriting—though the words were clearly Thea's.