Owl

Fog rolled across the moonlit battlefield, shrouding the scene in an eerie mist. Batman, cloaked in darkness, hovered in the air, a figure of dread against the pale glow.

Bane looked up, a flicker of awe in his eyes. The moonlight pierced the swirling clouds, casting Batman's imposing silhouette upon the ground.

He had dreamed of this moment countless times. A scene so breathtaking, so awe-inspiring, it filled him with both dread and exhilaration.

"Damn you! Court of Owls! You promised me a partnership, a shared rule of Gotham!" Scarecrow's voice trembled with rage. "When did you conspire with Bane behind my back? Don't you know we're rivals?!"

Bane, who had been fixated on Batman, turned to Scarecrow with undisguised contempt. "Silence, Crane," he growled. "Or I'll silence you myself."

The threat hung heavy in the air, and Scarecrow wisely fell silent.

A faint rustling sound began to fill the air, like cloth scraping against stone. It should have been imperceptible, the kind of noise that blended into the background of a bustling city.

But in the eerie silence of the battlefield, it was deafening.

The rustling grew louder, more insistent.

"Are you kidding me?" Penguin whispered, removing his monocle, his voice shaking. "This isn't possible."

Deadshot forced a smile, but his face twitched nervously. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Zoe's waiting for me at home."

"My butt hurts," Poison Ivy whimpered, wrapping herself in a cocoon of protective vines. With a snap of her fingers, Harley Quinn's baseball bat transformed into a writhing vine, binding the confused jester before depositing her beside Poison Ivy, safe within the leafy barrier.

Killer Croc simply hunched over, shielding his head.

From the surrounding rooftops, shadowy figures emerged. Talons.

They descended like a wave, a legion of Talons perching on every rooftop as far as the eye could see. Each figure was clad in black, armed to the teeth.

Then, in unison, they leapt from the buildings.

Thump. Thump. Thump!

The sound of bodies hitting concrete echoed through the night, a rhythmic percussion of death.

Spines snapped, limbs twisted, heads collided with the pavement. Yet, the Talons rose, seemingly unfazed. Broken bones mended, mangled limbs reattached themselves with sickening pops.

The assembled villains stared in disbelief.

"Hang on," Killer Croc interjected, "Being the brains of this operation, I just thought of something. Not sure if I should say it, though." The giant crocodile gulped.

Deadshot finished his thought. "If Scarecrow cracked the Bane venom and electrum combo for the Court of Owls, then,"

"Precisely," the white-masked figure on Lincoln March's arm chimed in. "They all have access to electrum and venom now. Perfect weapons!"

"Oh, and Batman, You probably don't know who we are yet. But you'll find out soon enough."

Adam's expression remained stoic.

"To be honest, this wasn't our intended battlefield. Your actions have disrupted our plans and timeline."

"But it matters little. It's merely a matter of when, not if – you know, bats eventually die."

Lincoln March turned the holographic projection, fully revealing the white-masked man to Adam.

March's expression was a mask of conflicting emotions. Anger at being treated as an outsider by the Court, yet also a deep admiration and fear of their immense power.

This clandestine organization, controlling Gotham from the shadows, wielding influence over politics, economy, culture, and possessing a terrifying capacity for violence.

How could they not be terrifying? They had held the city in an iron grip for centuries, pulling the strings from the shadows. Falcone, Maroni, even those who claimed to rule Gotham were mere puppets, dancing to the Court's tune.

The Waynes had defied them, and Crime Alley was their punishment. Batman, the World's Greatest Detective, had patrolled the streets for years, yet remained oblivious to their existence. Perhaps he had suspicions, but never proof.

He fought criminals, unaware that he was merely their guard dog, protecting their interests. How pathetic.

And Bruce Wayne, Lincoln March knew of his endless attempts to change Gotham through political and economic reforms, always ending in failure.

Destruction was always easier, more subtle, than creation. Bruce's plans were sabotaged before they could bear fruit. The money he poured into the city never reached those who needed it, instead lining the pockets of the Owls.

Yes, March thought bitterly. Owls were masters at infiltrating nests.

They had invaded the vast nest of Gotham, feeding on its lifeblood for generations. The Court of Owls knew all, and none could defeat them.

"Once we have your body, Batman, you'll receive the respect you deserve," the white-masked figure proclaimed. "The Court has decided to preserve your bones in the Labyrinth, a monument to a worthy adversary. Only three others in history have received such an honor."

"You're nothing but a delusional cult," Batman retorted.

The figure clicked its tongue. "No last words, then? Very well. Now, we shall decide how you die. For this, we've invited a special guest who recently joined the Court."

The white-masked man clapped his hands, and a chilling laugh echoed through the night.

"Hahaha! Hahahahahaha!"

"Well, well, well, Batsy. We meet again!"