The quantum mainframe occupied the entire subbasement of Wayne Enterprises. It had no name. Alfred called it mystical eye " Bruce simply called it the Eye.
The artificial intelligence made with Wayne tech and brilliant mind, most advanced artificial intelligence on earth.
Satellites, traffic cameras, security feeds, ATM lenses.
Bruce stood before the central display six faces rotated across the screen. Men. Women. Young. Old. All flagged by the same behavioral algorithm. All showing signs of demonic possession.
"Filter by clustering," Bruce said. "Three or more flagged individuals within five hundred meters."
The screen narrowed. Six clusters lit up across the city.
"Industrial district. Sector seven. Four possibles. No, five."
---
Deadpool answered on the first ring. "Boss. Please tell me it's a pool party."
"Demon hunt. Industrial district. Five targets confirmed."
"Even better. I'll bring the snacks."
"On it. What about the kid?"
Bruce paused. Peter. The boy was brilliant, brave, already a hero in his own right. But demons weren't bank robbers. They didn't pull punches. They didn't leave room for mistakes.
"Not yet. He's not ready for this."
Deadpool's tone shifted, just slightly. "Understood. I'll call Flint."
---
The industrial zone was a graveyard of rust and concrete. Abandoned warehouses slouched against the river. Broken windows gaped like missing teeth. The air smelled of oil and dead water.
Bruce arrived first. Black tactical gear. Blade at his hip. Holy water pistol holstered on his thigh. In his pack, a reel of pure salt and a folded sigil diagram printed on reinforced tarp.
Deadpool rolled up in a stolen maintenance truck, Flint Marko shifting in the passenger seat like sand in a bottle.
Flint stepped out. His body held its human shape, but grains shifted beneath his skin, restless. "Demons. Actual demons."
"You've fought aliens," Bruce said.
"Aliens I can punch. Demons..." Flint shook his head. "My daughter. Penny. If one of them got to her—"
"She won't. You're wearing the bracelet. You have the tattoo. You're protected." Bruce handed him a second bracelet. "For your wife. And after tonight, we ward your home."
Flint took it. Slipped it into his pocket. "Then let's finish this fast."
Deadpool pulled out the speaker. It was a rugged military model, modified to play a continuous loop of the Latin exorcism rite. "So we trap them in the pretty circle, hit play, and watch the fireworks?"
"The sigil will hold them. The salt will seal the perimeter so they can't flee. The speaker forces them out of their hosts." Bruce unrolled the tarp. The sigil was painted in white and black, ancient geometry designed to cage anything from hell. "You two are the backup. If one breaks free, holy water rounds. Don't aim for the head. Aim for the chest. The smoke comes from the heart."
"Copy that." Deadpool chambered a round. "Flint, you're on crowd control. Literally. Turn into a sandstorm if it gets messy."
Flint nodded. His hands dissolved, reformed. "They can't hurt me if I'm not solid."
Bruce checked his watch. "They're in the central warehouse. Three inside. Two patrolling the perimeter. We take the patrollers first. Quiet. No exorcism until we have all five in the trap."
"Quiet is my middle name," Deadpool said.
"Your middle name is Winston."
"Which is a very quiet name."
---
The first demon was a woman in a security uniform. She walked the perimeter rail with a flashlight, movements too smooth, head tilting at wrong angles. Bruce came from behind. The holy water hit her back before she turned. Steam hissed. She shrieked, black smoke boiling from her mouth, and collapsed.
The second was a dockworker near the loading bay. Flint flowed under the door as sand, reformed behind him, and wrapped a salt-coated arm around his throat. The demon clawed at the grains, but Flint's body swallowed the blows. One squeeze. The host went limp. The demon still inside, trapped but unconscious.
Deadpool dragged both hosts into the warehouse. Bruce laid the sigil tarp in the center of the concrete floor. Salt lines traced the doorways and windows. No exit.
"Speaker's ready," Deadpool said. "Just say the word."
Bruce drew his pistol. "Now."
Deadpool hit the speaker. The Latin chant rolled out, ancient and rhythmic. The sound bounced off rusted walls, filling the vast space like something alive.
For a moment, silence.
Then the warehouse erupted.
The three remaining demons burst from the shadows. Their hosts were dockworkers, bodies possessed mid-shift. One flew across the room, telekinetic force throwing crates like toys. Another scrambled up a support beam, eyes black, mouth stretched too wide. The third charged straight at Bruce.
Bruce fired. Holy water hit the charging demon square in the chest. It screamed, stumbled, but didn't fall. The smoke inside it writhed but held.
Stronger than the ones on the road. Older.
Flint dissolved into a sand cloud, intercepting the crate being telekinetically hurled at Deadpool. The crate shattered against his form, wood splinters raining down. Flint reformed, grabbed the demon by the arm, and hurled it into the sigil circle.
It hit the tarp and froze. The sigil lines glowed faintly, and the demon's body locked in place, black eyes wide with fury.
The second demon leaped from the beam, aiming for the speaker. Deadpool caught it mid-air with a tackle that would have killed a human. Both crashed into a stack of pallets. Deadpool came up first, holy water pistol jammed under the demon's chin.
"Don't move, sweetheart. You're about to be evicted."
He dragged her into the circle. She joined the first, frozen.
The third demon was the oldest. Bruce could feel it — the way the air thickened, the way his spider-sense prickled not with danger but with something deeper. Wrongness.
"You think circles and Latin can stop what's coming?" the demon said. Its voice was layered, a chorus of tones. "The master has seen your little city. Your little wards. He's amused."
"Good." Bruce aimed. "I want his attention."
He fired. The holy water hit. The demon staggered back, laughing, falling into the circle.
Its laugh died the moment its feet touched the sigil.
All five hosts were inside now. Five bodies frozen in broken poses. Black smoke churning behind their eyes.
Bruce nodded at Deadpool.
Deadpool cranked the speaker volume to maximum. The Latin exorcism filled the warehouse like thunder.
The demons screamed. Not human screams. Something older. Black smoke erupted from five mouths at once, twisting into a single column above the sigil. The pillar writhed, shrieked, clawed at the air — and then plunged downward through the concrete, gone.
Silence.
The five hosts slumped to the tarp. Breathing. Human.
Bruce holstered his pistol. "Call it in. Anonymous tip. Five people found unconscious, possible gas leak."
Flint solidified fully. His breathing was heavy. "That was... easier than I expected."
"The tools work. The preparation works." Bruce turned to him. "That's the lesson. Demons aren't invincible. They're just invisible. If you can see them and trap them, they're nothing."
Flint looked at his hands. Sand. Flesh. Back to sand. "I want to learn. The sigils. The rituals. Everything."
"You will. Tonight, we ward your home. Tomorrow, you start training with the archives."
Deadpool dusted off his costume. "So, boss. Five demons down. How many more?"
The Eye had found ninety-six flagged individuals before Bruce left. Five down. Ninety-one to go.
"We keep hunting," Bruce said.
---
Dawn came grey and cold. Bruce stood in Flint Marko's living room, a small house in a quiet neighborhood. The wife was named Doris. The daughter, Penny, was still asleep upstairs.
Flint held his wife's hand while Bruce drew the sigil above the front door. Chalk, not salt. The diagram was permanent, sealed with a clear coat that would last years.
"This line means no demon crosses your threshold," Bruce said. "Back door. Windows. All the same. You also have the bracelets. Wear them until the tattoos are done."
Doris watched with wide eyes. "My husband...
Penny appeared on the stairs, rubbing her eyes. "Daddy?"
Flint scooped her up. "Hey, princess. Just some home improvement. New decorations."
She looked at the sigil. "It's pretty. Like a star."
Flint and family farewell to bruce. A she returned to Wayne mansion.
...
---
The news broke at noon.
TONY STARK RETURNS — STARK INDUSTRIES TO EXIT WEAPONS MANUFACTURING
The press conference played on every screen in the Wayne Enterprises financial wing. Tony Stark, gaunt and bandaged, sitting before a cluster of microphones, announcing that his company would no longer build weapons.
The stock ticker plummeted. Red numbers. Panic selling. Stark Industries was in freefall.
Selina Kyle leaned back in her chair, feet on the desk, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. "Buying opportunity."
Bruce stood behind her, watching the screens. "How much do we have now?"
"Eighteen percent. Another two and we're the largest private shareholder."
"Do it."
Selina tapped her phone. Another shell company. Another block of shares absorbed into the Wayne portfolio. The market kept panicking. Selina kept buying.
"Tony Stark shuts down his weapons division," she said. "Bold move. Stupid, but bold."
Bruce watched the screen. Tony's face was tired. Broken. But his eyes were clear. He had seen something in that cave. Something that changed him.
" Well, Ironman is ready! "