Chapter 4

Inside the abandoned chemical factory, the silence was almost tangible. Shadows danced among the broken machines and debris, as if trying to conceal something from the world that should never see the light of day. The only sound echoing through the dead space was the dripping of water from the leaking roof, as if the factory was weeping over its fate.

Lying amidst this chaos, Hephaestus slowly regained consciousness. His body was bruised and sore, but the pain seemed to confirm that he was still alive. He opened his eyes, trying to remember where he was and what had brought him to this place. Slowly, with difficulty, he pushed himself up from the cold concrete, feeling every muscle protest against the movement.

He felt the weight of the darkness that permeated the place. It was a different kind of darkness than the one he knew from Olympus—not stemming from power or arrogance, but from something more primal, wild. He began to slowly look around, trying to piece together what had happened in the moments when his mind was shrouded in blackness.

His head still echoed with the insane laughter he had heard just before losing consciousness. The sound, now somewhat muted, seemed distant, as if it belonged to another world. But at the same time, he felt he was not alone. Something or someone was watching him from the shadows. Something that knew the darkness of this place far better than he did.

The factory, though abandoned, seemed filled with hidden gazes. Every step Hephaestus took echoed back at him, but there was something unsettling in the emptiness. Something that made every shadow seem alive, and every silence a prelude to something more terrifying.

Hephaestus knew he had to act. But before he could make any decision, he heard movement—a slight, almost imperceptible sound, as if someone had stirred in the shadows. He squinted, trying to see anything in the dim light, but what he saw brought a look of surprise to his eyes.

The figure, barely visible in the darkness, was approaching him. Its silhouette was distorted, as if emerging from the very fabric of shadows. The laughter, which he had previously only heard, now rang out again, this time more clearly, directly from the throat of this being. A laughter that could only come from someone who knew the true nature of suffering and played with it like a toy.

Hephaestus, though bruised and weakened, felt his warrior instincts coming back to life. He knew he had to be ready for whatever was coming. But this creature, whatever it was, seemed to emanate something he couldn't ignore. Something that stirred in him a sense of unease he hadn't felt in a long time. At that moment, he understood this was no ordinary adversary.

It was something far more sinister. Something that had been waiting for him in this factory, perhaps for a long time.

From the darkness emerged a figure with a grotesquely shaped face, instantly drawing Hephaestus's gaze. What he saw was a caricature of madness—the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime from Gotham, dressed in a tailored purple suit, as if preparing for an elegant dinner, not a confrontation with the darkest of nightmares. His hair, green like toxic ivy, fell carelessly over his forehead, and his wide, unnaturally stretched smile contrasted with the pallor of his skin, resembling a grotesque mask, behind which eyes full of cold calculation and unbridled madness stared.

The Joker exuded a sense of unease that permeated the air, making every movement of his seem both calculated and completely unpredictable. His gaze was piercing, as if he saw more than others, perceiving the deepest fears of his victims and playing with them with sadistic delight. In one hand, he held a long, silver knife, casually twirling it between his fingers, as if it were merely a toy, not a tool of torture that he could use at any moment.

His entire being seemed to embody pure anarchy—a person bound by nothing, neither morality nor reason, whose sole purpose was to sow chaos and pain. The Joker was like a silent hurricane, whose destructive force was impossible to predict. And though he appeared as a humorous jester, Hephaestus knew all too well that what stood before him was not a man—it was the incarnation of madness, the purest form of chaos, ready to turn everything it touched into dust. The Joker.

Hephaestus stared at the Joker, trying to control the pain that still throbbed through his body. The Joker approached closer, his smile stretching unnaturally wide. He paused for a moment, tilting his head as he gazed at Hephaestus, as if he were an intriguing puzzle he intended to solve.

"What a surprise!" the Joker exclaimed with theatrical enthusiasm, his voice vibrating in the air. "An Olympian god has fallen straight into my kingdom! Tell me, sweetheart, what brings you here?" He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight, as if every second of this conversation brought him immense satisfaction.

Hephaestus clenched his teeth, trying not to betray the pain still coursing through him. "It's none of your business, clown. I don't belong to your world," he hissed, struggling to contain the anger rising within him.

The Joker laughed, the sound echoing off the factory walls like a chorus of mad voices. "Oh, but quite the contrary, my dear! Gotham is my world, and anyone who ends up here becomes my... toy. So tell me, what are you doing here before I have to resort to more... persuasive methods."

Hephaestus narrowed his eyes, sizing up his new interlocutor. He knew there was no point in avoiding an answer. "I used Helios's chariot to escape Olympus. I'm no longer tied to that place, to their lies and hypocrisy. I was seeking refuge, and this factory... seemed suitable."

The Joker raised an eyebrow, his smile fading slightly, replaced by a look of interest. "Refuge, you say?" he mocked, twirling the knife between his fingers. "Well, you've come to the right place. Gotham is where all the crazies find their home." He paused theatrically, then added with satisfaction, "But you know, you're not the only one who's been looking for refuge lately. Even my beloved Harley decided to leave. She dumped me for that... greenery, Poison Ivy."

For a moment, his face took on an expression of deep contemplation, but it was quickly replaced by his familiar, megalomaniacal grin. "But that's irrelevant! She's not the first and won't be the last. After all, who could resist me? The world revolves around me, and Harley... well, she's just a passing whim. Sooner or later, she'll be back, like everyone else. Because in the end, who could leave me for good?"

Hephaestus watched the Joker closely, seeing something more than just madness in his eyes. It was a mix of pain and pride, something that reminded him of his own feelings. For some reason, he began to understand this man, who moments before had seemed like just another adversary. Yet now, Hephaestus could see the pain of losing Harley buried under many layers of the Joker's mental defenses.

"Perhaps she won't come back," Hephaestus replied calmly, observing the Joker's reaction. "But does it really matter? Anyone who left 'me' will eventually regret that decision. And now, look at me—I'm here, free, without any ties. What is lost can only strengthen my resolve."

The Joker seemed to grasp that this statement wasn't just about Harley and himself, but somehow it resonated with his own thoughts.

The Joker smiled broadly, as if Hephaestus's response was exactly what he expected. "Exactly! It's always nice to meet someone who understands that losses are just motivation for new, better plans! You may be a god, but there's something about you that I like."

For a moment, the Joker seemed to be deep in thought, then suddenly slapped his forehead as if struck by a revelation. "You know what, Hepa... Heprey... Hep... Damn it, what's your name again? Never mind! I've got an idea! How about we become roommates? This factory is big enough for the both of us, and together we could create something truly... explosive!"

Hephaestus measured the Joker with his gaze, considering the proposal. The man might be a lunatic, but Hephaestus saw someone who could prove useful. After all, they both knew what it meant to be rejected and betrayed. "Agreed," he said after a moment. "But on one condition. You don't interfere with my work, and I won't meddle in yours. If we stick to that, this might actually work."

The Joker burst into laughter, this time more joyous than sinister. "Deal! Hep, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful, crazy friendship!" With that, the Joker spun on his heel and began to pace around the factory, gesturing wildly as if already planning how to turn the place into his new, chaotic kingdom. Hephaestus watched him with a mix of curiosity and caution, knowing that this partnership could be as fruitful as it was dangerous.