Intricate silver candelabras cast a warm, flickering light across the dining room. Fresh, vividly colored fruit arrangements sat as centerpieces on the pristine white tablecloth. Spotless white gloves held silk cloths, meticulously polishing the sterling silver soup spoons, meat knives, dining forks, and crystal drinking glasses until everything gleamed with absolute elegance.
"Mr. Wayne, everything is ready."
"Very well, Alfred. Please welcome in tonight's guests."
On one side of the long dining table sat a guest with bone-pale skin, dressed in a sharp, formal purple suit. If it were anyone else, one might assume they had dressed up specially for a banquet hosted by Gotham's richest man. But for the Joker, this was just his everyday attire.
Behind him stood Oswald, the Ventriloquist, and Mr. Freeze, all staring vigilantly across the table at their bitter rivals.
Opposite them sat the Riddler. He wore his signature open-chested green suit, a calm, arrogant smile plastered across his face. It was a stark contrast to the Joker's gloomy, world-weary expression. Behind the Riddler stood Killer Croc, Bike Stripper, and Poison Ivy. If a brawl broke out, the Riddler's faction definitely held the sheer physical advantage.
Two-Face was originally supposed to attend, but he had told the Riddler he was sick of high-society banquets and thoroughly disgusted by billionaires like Bruce Wayne. He argued it would be much better to send someone whose only real talent was surviving and running away, just in case Batman crashed the party.
So, the Riddler had brought Okhoric Thor.
Bruce Wayne, dressed impeccably in a tailored tuxedo, sat at the head of the dining table. He played the part of the gracious host, though his eyes secretly analyzed the deadly guests flanking him. Alfred stood rigidly behind Bruce's chair, his expression completely unreadable.
The first course was served. An appetizer.
The porcelain plates were delicately arranged with slices of toasted baguette, imported artisan butter, and a vibrant garnish of mixed greens. The interweaving colors were beautiful.
The Joker didn't even glance at his plate. He stared dead at the Riddler, skipping any semblance of etiquette. "You are a piece of shit."
Bruce said nothing. He simply watched the Riddler, who was calmly spreading butter onto his baguette. Hearing the Joker's blunt insult, the Riddler just let out a hearty, patronizing laugh.
The Joker's face darkened. He couldn't find anything to laugh about in this moment; he could only watch the Riddler chuckle, which irritated him even further.
Behind the Riddler, Jude stared intently at the butter on the table, genuinely curious if it tasted as good as it looked.
The second course arrived: a steaming, aromatic hot soup.
"Gentlemen, please allow me to interrupt," Bruce said lightly, picking up his silver spoon. "Although I do enjoy the jokes and the riddles, we have a great deal of serious business to discuss tonight. My city—our city, the city the Wayne family built and is willing to die for—is suffering greatly in this current war. Just as all of your respective factions are suffering."
Bruce looked down the table. "We are gathered here today to find a way to end this deadlock."
At this time, the third dish was served: a delicate fish fillet, pan-fried until the skin was perfectly crispy.
"Edward."
The Joker picked up his fish knife and fork, staring unblinkingly at the Riddler. "Have you ever had to chop off a man's head—while he was still alive, I mean?"
"Oh?" The Riddler cut a piece of the golden fish, placing it in his mouth with a relaxed expression. "Occasionally, yes."
"Have you ever noticed," the Joker continued, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "that a person's final tremor doesn't actually mark their final moment of life? After that... after their final, violent struggle, they're still alive. Just lying there. Staring at you. And then, a little while later—after they've lost a certain amount of blood—they actually die."
Bruce frowned slightly at the gruesome, vivid description. He looked over at the clown. "Is this a joke?"
"I don't know. Is it?"
Grumble—
The Riddler paused with his mouth half-open. The three men at the table slowly turned their gazes toward the man in the black robe standing behind the Riddler's chair. The pumpkin mask completely obscured Jude's face, but there was zero doubt about where the incredibly loud stomach growl had come from.
Noticing the dead silence and the heavy stares, a deeply apologetic voice muffled out from beneath the pumpkin. "Sorry. I didn't get to eat before we came over. Please, you guys keep going."
The Riddler let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Mr. Wayne," the Riddler said, recovering his arrogant smirk. "What the Joker is trying to explain to you is that your attempt to solve our problems through diplomacy is ridiculous. According to him, that fleeting moment of calm observation—after a person stops struggling, but before their brain stops thinking—is the only thing that holds meaning."
The Riddler casually waved his fork. "In other words, when faced with the absolute end, people stop fighting for their causes. Whether they wanted a result, an answer, or a goal, it all ceases to matter. He believes this proves that all answers and results are meaningless. Like dreams. Like bubbles. In the end, the only thing that is real to him is the knife, and the fatal blow."
The Riddler gave a sarcastic, mocking laugh. "It's a completely absurd, intellectually bankrupt view of the world, of course. But he'd probably insist that it is his view."
Hearing his twisted philosophy summarized so dismissively, the Joker's face contorted with rage. Without a word of warning, he violently flicked his wrist, hurling his silver fish knife directly at the Riddler's face, eager to prove his point with the man's life.
Or maybe he didn't even care if the Riddler died. He just wanted to throw something.
The Riddler's eyes tracked the spinning blade. He immediately calculated its trajectory. He wasn't just a purely intellectual criminal; his reflexes were sharp. He calmly raised his hand, fully prepared to effortlessly catch the knife by the handle and look incredibly cool doing it.
"Watch out, Boss!"
Just as the Riddler opened his hand, a black-robed arm wildly slapped out from behind him.
Clang!Shhk!
The first sound was Jude's hand violently deflecting the flying knife off its original path. The second sound was the silver blade sinking deep into the Riddler's own shoulder.
"Boss, are you okay?!" Jude panicked.
The Riddler's expression completely froze. The Joker's knife was now embedded in his shoulder. He could hear his subordinate's 'concerned' greeting in his ear, but internally, his mind was screaming. He felt like he was under attack from both sides.
What the hell are you doing?! the Riddler roared in his head. If you hadn't swatted at it, I would have caught it perfectly!
Damn it. He had miscalculated. If a firefight broke out right now, he only had two reliable henchmen under his command. Jude was worse than a liability. The Riddler suddenly realized he was no longer at an advantage.
Chaos erupted. Behind the Riddler, Killer Croc roared, baring his massive fangs, while deadly vines instantly slithered up Poison Ivy's arms. Jude immediately took two large steps backward and raised his giant bulletproof riot shield to protect himself.
Across the table, Oswald aimed his gun, Mr. Freeze leveled his cryogenic cannon, and the wooden puppet 'Scarface' in the Ventriloquist's hands racked the bolt of a miniature Tommy gun.
"I thought this would be a friendly exchange, but it looks like we're doing this the hard way!" Scarface screeched. "Say your prayers, bugs!"
Bruce sat perfectly still in his seat, fighting an intense internal battle to control his facial expression. He knew Jude was exceptionally good at sabotaging the villains from the inside, but he never expected him to be this incredibly effective.
He looked both ways, then said, "Alfred?"
Alfred calmly replied, "I'm here, Master Bruce."
"The fish is beautifully prepared, but it doesn't seem to suit our guests' taste."
"Please stop the bleeding, bandage and apply medicine to Mr. Edward. Mr. Clown, this is my dinner party. I hope you won't do something like this again. It's very rude, very disrespectful."
"Now, let's clean up these things and prepare the next course."