CHAPTER 64:
"Conflict In the Batcave"

The tension between them was at its peak and the hostility was at the boiling point.

Dick felt his head and looked at his glove. The palm of his glove was covered in blood from his head wound, but he wasn't feeling woozy or light-headed, which was a good thing. He ripped off his mask and threw it down. The blood from his wound was preventing him from seeing much with it anyway.

"There's no point in hiding my identity, everyone here knows who I am," Dick Grayson said. "Let's end this, Jake. You wanted to fight me on Treasure Island, so let's do it now. Your reign of terror has gone on far enough."

"Oh, my reign of terror has just begun. Once I rebuild my Sub-Harmonic Shock Device, the world will be mine to seize." Handles put his gun back in a hip holster, then unfastened his belt and dropped it. "Yes, let's end this. I owe you for what you did. Let's settle this like men, the old fashion way." Squeezing his left hand, Jake's knuckles cracked.

"You tried to murder me, take my entire self-being. But there seems to be angels on my side. Even after everything you tried to do, I'm still kicking. Things have come back around to our battle in Germany, we never did finish it properly. We've both had our brushes with death since then. Like I said to you once: things and people have a way of coming back to kick you in the ass. Well, here I am—and I'm all out of bubblegum!"

Nygma fired his gun into the air, like a warning pistol. Then brought it back down to Arkells. Everyone in the Batcave looked at him, the sudden start shook those apart from Nygma.

"If you wish to act like barbarians, then do so on your own time," Nygma said. "Finish what needs to be done, Handles, and let us be off. I will not stand ideally by and watch a futile gladiatorial match. Stats wager you two are evenly matched."

"This is none of your concern, Nygma," Handles replied gruffly.

"On the contrary, Mr. Handles, I believe this little game of revenge has now gone fowl. You are at an impasse with your own self. The arrogance of some people is staggering. For a man of your intellect, you have made quite a few errors in judgement. Not finishing what you started" —he gestured to Nightwing— "is a prime example. It is a neurological disorder that you have no say in the matter, however. You are your own worse enemy. Frankly, I no longer wish to associate myself with you. It is time for me to depart. You offered me riches beyond averse, and now that I have said riches—and information—they have become fools gold, beyond tainted."

Handles eyes widened with shock. "What? How dare you! You coward!"

"To flee has nothing to do with being a coward. It is the better part of valour to fight another day."

Dick saw Jake distracted and took advantage. He grabbed Jake and wrapped his right forearm around Jake's throat and squeezed tightly, flexing his bicep. He had no intention to kill Jake, but with enough pressure, he could cut off his oxygen and knock him out.

But it was a futile maneuver, and his old Spyral comrade easily got out of it, being trained in such, and stomped on Dick's foot, forcing a quick release. Handles whipped around and delivered a hard right cross to Dick's face, a left hook, and then another right cross—pushing Dick back. He did his best rendition of Rocky Balboa and continued with the punches forcing Dick back.

Dick found himself back-pressed against the Batmobile. Jake reached out and clutched Dick's throat with both hands. "I'm going to kill you, Dick! No more second chances! I loved Julie, and you took her away from me!"

"You did that yourself, Jake," Grayson croaked out, clutching Jake's arms with his hands in an attempt to pull them away. Jake's left arm was flesh and bone, but his right was not, and Dick felt the metallic fingers dig deep into the side of his neck.

Dick brought up a knee, but Jake countered with his left leg, his artificial leg, and banged it into Dick's kneecap, forcing a cry. If he didn't know any better, Dick could have sworn he heard a crack.

Quickly thinking, Dick slammed his left hand against the side of the Batmobile, which triggered something. He knew every weapon the Batmobile possessed, even distraction tactics. So, when the front of the vehicle began to spew out smoke from a secret compartment, the cave began to fill with smoke. Jake looked surprised, and coughed. So, did Dick. But it gave Dick the moment he needed. He head-butt Jake, forcing a release, and both men stepped away from the other, each clutching their head, coughing.

Jake coughed. "Jesus, you were always hard-headed, Dick…"

"Ow," Dick voiced, feeling his head, and coughed. "That was stupid, even for me."

"Father…" came Dafoe's voice.

It was beginning to become too much, Dick realized, the constant head injuries. His vision began to blur. He put a hand to the side of the Batmobile and used it to move along its side like a crutch, his knee from Jake's hit hurting, too. But it wasn't broken; good.

Filters within the cave suddenly activated, it's vents sucking at max, and cleared the smoke after the Batmobile ended its distraction.
"Oh, what a pathetic display," Nygma said. "I've seen better bouts from children. Equalization of one's skills undermines the joust of victory. Apparently, you two are too evenly matched. You know the other too well, working together in Spyral. Therefore, victory will never be achieved by fist-o-cuffs. An advantage must be given to one for a victory to be achieved."

"Dick can take'm, Nygma, just you watch," came Arkells voice from the floor.

Dick looked at Arkells after he said it. Thanks Arkells, but I think Riddler's right, he thought. I can't win like this…

Just then, the elevator dinged, and the doors thrust open, and out came Enigma. Something was wrapped around her arms and torso. Strange as it seemed, and Dick had to take a double take, Riddler's daughter was wearing what looked like a picture frame, or to be more precise, a painting from the Gallery.

How the-? Good thing Bruce had duplicates made up of each of the painting to put up during parties just in case…

"What the devil happened to you?" Nygma asked, albeit demandingly.

Dafoe stared, Dick noticed. But it was not a look of who is this woman, it was a look of who is this woman…and it was a look he had seen on Tim's face many times over the years when he saw a beautiful woman. First it was Cassandra Cain, and then, now, with Stephane Brown. But Steph was alway's Tim's favourite. Love at first sight.

Dafoe was of that age of discovery and kids these days develop so fast. Love at first sight?

Enigma tried to wiggle out of the picture frame. "I was framed, Pops. That little shit of a Wayne did this when I fought him in the Gallery, after he emerged from the Ballroom. Things are out of control up there. I never found Duela." She frowned. Then she noticed the kid near her. "Who the hell are you?"

Dafoe approached her. "Can I help? You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he said openly. He took hold of the picture frame and pushed it down, like he was bringing down a woman's slip. Enigma stepped out of the frame when he was done.

Dick saw Jake roll his eyes and shake his head.

Kids, Jake…they all grow up.

"Dafoe," the kid said, introducing himself.

"Bugger off, brat. I'm not in the mood to play with snots!"

Dafoe frowned. "That was uncalled for. You don't even know me, yet." He was acting like he would do anything for her. To Dick, it appeared Dafoe had fallen head over heels for her in an instant.

Just then, the entrance to the hidden staircase in the wall that began from behind the grandfather clock in the Study, burst open after a sudden explosion—and entrance worthy of excitement—and Superboy, followed by Damian, dressed in his Nightwing Junior outfit, emerged in dramatic, fighting force fashion. Damian held his sword, his escrima sticks were strapped to his back.

Dafoe turned and fired at them, but Superboy quickly shot two narrow heat beams from his eyes and melted the particle gun in hand. Dafoe dropped it before the hot metal reached his hand.

After a moment of shock, he reached into his jacket, and plucked out a normal gun, a small Beretta, and began to fire. Damian had ducked out of the way after Dafoe had fired his particle gun, but now bullets rang through the air, directed at Superboy.

But, sharing his father's powers, they ricocheted off him like they were mere annoyances.

Superboy approached Dafoe with each shot. He was even so powerful, that he began to swat each bullet out of the air with a hand before it touched him like they were mere insects. Dick figured, with bullets bouncing everywhere, they would no doubt hit someone. Clark Kent's son was a smart kid, but he needed to realize the fault in what he was doing.

Damian, despite his academic prowess, was hot headed, and suddenly charged Dafoe with both hands on the grip of his sword. He was fast, and managed to slice the barrel of Dafoe's gun in two. Then he shouldered Dafoe, knocking him down. He held the kid at bay with his sword, the tip inches from Dafoe's throat.

"Concede, whoever you are?" Damian demanded.

Jon Kent approached. "Hey, doesn't that look like…"

"Yeah, it does. Who the hell are you? You're not Jason Todd."

Dafoe smirked slyly. "Quite right, Damian Wayne; Jon Kent. I know who both of you are. My father has filled me in on both your profiles." He pointed to his father, Jake Handles. "My name is Dafoe, and as if right now, I am your worse enemy!"

Dafoe rolled back, folded his legs in, and then kicked out, winding Damian in the stomach, knocking him back.

Damian staggered, holding his midsection.

Suddenly, a large blast came from behind him, and took Superboy out, launching Jon Kent halfway across the Batcave, crashing hard into a stone wall, breaking through it. Debris fell from the collapsed wall's opening on top of Superboy.

"Kent!" Damian shouted. He sneered, and then left Dafoe, immediately running over to his friend, trying to dig him out. "Jon!"

Dick snapped a look, witnessing what took place. The blast had come from Riddler's Q-Staff, his hidden gauntlet gun. He held his Q-Staff aloft much like an elephant gun with both hands. His other, smaller gun, pocketed. Dick knew the shot would not kill Superboy, but it would probably render him out of the fight. Dick knew Jon Kent was not as strong as his father.

Then he saw Jake pivot and go for his gun belt that he had dropped to the floor, forgotten until now.

Dick leapt for the gun belt, just narrowly missing. His escrima sticks were still in their holsters on his back, but he needed to get to the guns before Jake. Jake appeared to have his own escrima sticks, but he chose to go for the guns instead. Just as Jake grabbed one, and brought it to bare, Dick grabbed his arm, forcing it upright. Jake fired the weapon into the air in reaction.

Dick fought hard and thought he heard something brake, but it wasn't from him.

The gun dropped, and Jake's right wrist suddenly went limp. His artificial hand twisted in such a way that it had broken from its servos. Dick didn't know his own strength, which was a drawback from his years training with Slade, Deathstroke. After his training with Slade, Dick, from that point on, knew he had to keep his own abilities in check, or risk hurting someone, and fatally.

Here, however, he threw all that restraint out the window when it came to Jake, and let his full strength come out now.

Dick ripped Jake's robotic hand from his artificial arm, including wires, unleashing sparks and mini-explosions in doing so. Then he threw it asunder. He then grabbed Jake by his arm, flipped him over a shoulder, and tossed him across the roof of the Batmobile, in an unrestrained roll to the other side. Jake dropped to the ground and Dick heard a heavy thud.

Dick leapt over the vehicle, and then jumped down, and unleashed hell's fury upon Jake Handles, delivering a series of hard punches. Jake tried to stop them, putting his arms out in front. But Dick then grabbed Jake's left wrist and unintentionally twisted it the wrong way, hearing a snap.

Jake cried out in pain.

Dick released Jake's arm, shocked.

This was what he was most worried about. He allowed a blindness to drive his fighting. And this was the reason why he was always at odds with myself when fighting an enemy, to never go too far. He had gone too far this time.

With both hands incapacitated, however, Dick now had Jake right where he wanted him.

Moments later, his victory suddenly came to an end, as Dafoe came around from behind, with one of Jake's guns in hand, and said, "Get off him, Grayson! Get off him now!"

Dick sighed, but kind of relieved that Dafoe had stopped him. He had almost won, but he had almost lost. Lost himself in the fight. He put up his hands. He was on top of Jake, pinned him down, legs spread across his torso. He got up.

"Need a hand, father?"

Dick looked down at Jake, his old friend seething with both anger and pain. Dick smirked, that was the kind of pun worthy of himself, if unintentional. Hands in the air, Dafoe pointed his gun at Dick. "Get back! Get away from him!"

Dick did so, and Jake sat up, then leaned up against the side of the Batmobile, cradling his left arm to his chest.

"Gotta hand it to ya, Jake. This little guy came in handy. Anything you can't handle he can turn the tide."

"Oh, shut the hell up, Grayson! Damn you and your stupid puns!"

x x x

Tim Drake watched everything unfold near the Batmobile. He struggled against his restraints, but the metal brackets that had been hammered into the wall would not budge. He turned his attention to Damian and Jon Kent, after observing first, that Steph was okay, with Alfred, the cat, in her arms, her leg shackled to the floor, sitting in a chair near a workbench, and out of any line of fire.

Damian was digging Jon Kent out of the wall, hauling out boulders that had toppled onto his friend after he crashed through, struck by Riddler's gauntlet gun Q-Staff. Then he witnessed Enigma approach her father.

Nygma said, "Departing is such sweet sorrow, but I think it best, my dear. Better to flee and fight another day or risk it all and end up with nothing." Enigma agreed with him.

Just then, Tim saw Damian flash a series of secret hand signals directly at him. He focused in closely, caught a few, then waited for them to repeat. Damian told him in sign-language: Do Not Move. Stay Very Still.

Tim didn't know what that meant, but it was not like he could go anywhere. So, he remained still as directed.

Suddenly, from the hole where Superboy crashed through, two narrow red beams shot through the air, narrowly hitting both Nygma and Enigma—they had to duck to avoid them—and each beam struck true the two brackets that bound Tim to the wall. After a few moments, Tim yanked his wrists free and the beams ceased. Jon Kent must not have been as injured as Tim thought.

Tim said thanks, and then fully broke free. But kept the brackets in hand.

Nygma turned, lifted his Q-Staff, and tried to get off a second shot.

Tim threw both brackets at him and Enigma, giving him a moment of reprieve. They both ducked to avoid them.

Tim then grabbed Enigma's Q-Staff that she had left leaning against the wall as she was throwing water balloons at him. Luckily, she failed to take it with her when she departed to look for Duela Dent.

He twirled it around like it was his bo-staff. Then using the fundamental methods practiced in both Kung Fu and Tai Chi, he twirled and twisted it, spinning it around shoulders and back, somewhat showmanship-like, bringing it to bare.

"Care to dance, Riddler?" Tim taunted.

Enigma protested. "Hey, that's mine!"

"Yeah, thanks. And I'm about to use for something proper."

Tim charged Riddler, and Nygma had to put up his Q-Staff to defend, crossing staffs. But it was a quick and fumbled maneuver by Nygma to protect himself, obviously unprepared. Tim pushed and bumped Nygma's staff into his face, knocking off his bowler hat. Nygma stumbled back.

Enigma tried to enter the fray, but suddenly, she screamed.

She put her hands to her rear and began hopping around. Alfred was seen sinking his fangs deep into her butt. Tim had not even seen the cat escape Steph's hold and run over to help him.

Maybe he's not such a bad little feline after all…

"Get'em off! Get'em off!" Enigma screamed.

Tim then mouthed to Steph: "Rescue you soon, love."

She smiled, nodding.

Riddler put a hand to his face, sneering. There was no blood, but the indignation of being hit like that was enough to make him mad.
Nygma turned, seeing Enigma pry off Alfred, tossing him down. The cat landed on its feet, and then ran back to Stephane Brown. Nygma turned back to Tim Drake.

"You insipid swine! How dare you!" Nygma seemed to snort out the rest of his frustration. "Fighting you is beneath me. I'm well beyond your hemisphere. My daughter is quite capable of standing in my stead." He handed Enigma his Q-Staff. "Enigma, you have my permission to go wild. Teach this pion a lesson in respect."

Enigma appeared beyond proud to accept her father's Q-Staff, it was like passing the torch of honour.

"Yes sir, diddi, Pops," she said, taking it, rubbing her butt with her other hand, obviously to ward off the pain Alfred had inflicted. Nygma didn't scold her for using the seemingly offensive parental term.

Nygma stepped back, giving her space. Enigma twirled the Q-Staff like a martial artist, much like Tim did her own staff. Then she brought it to bare in sharp succession. "Time to go nuts, pretty boy. You know, you're not half bad. I've taken a few lessons myself before I joined Pops in crime. I bet you get all the girls with that hot body of yours? And yes, I'm interested."

"I thought you were with Duela?"

"Friends with benefits," she explained. "Gotta alleviate the boredom somehow, you know the deal. Like you and blondie."

Time clenched his jaw incensed. Steph and he were more than just friends with benefits, they were in love, with a passion rekindled after so long being apart.

He twirled his own staff again and stopped short, bringing it to bare, to show Enigma he was ready, and to show that he could be a match for her. "You have no idea what love is until you've experienced it for yourself. Until then, shut your mouth!"

Tim observed Nygma smirk. "Love is an illusion and peppered with niceties that eventually wilt like so many flowers," the villain said bitterly. "And in the end, it turns to dust with little remembrance. Much like Enigma's mother and I."

"Relationships are difficult and you have to work at them, Nygma," Tim retorted.

"Stop preaching to the chore, Timothy Drake; you are too young to know better," Nygma said in an astringent response. "And kids these days know nothing of the parental difficulties and how hard it is to raise a child in this crazy world we live it."

Tim smirked crookedly. "So, whose preaching now?"

Nygma sneered. "Hold him off, Enigma. I believe I can make use of Jake Handles sub-harmonic technology for my personal use. Last I knew it was incomplete, not all the perimeters were formulated. But I know people who can fill in the gaps. I'll snatch his external hard dive and then we'll depart. Things have gone a rye here and I do not wish to be caught in the crossfire."

Nygma went to leave.

"No!" Tim cried out.

Enigma stepped between them. "Dance with me, pretty boy," he then said. "I'll show you a few moves that'll knock your socks off."

Suddenly Arkells jumped Nygma, his paralysis from Dafoe's particle gun seemingly over. He tackled Nygma to the ground. He had gotten to his feet, but then his legs collapsed beneath him, most likely a residue of the gun's effects, causing his muscles to momentarily atrophy. The pair fell. Arkells on top.

Riddler struggled against Arkells, and swore, but it was no good. Arkells was bigger and stronger. "Get off me, you sorry excuse for a hybrid!" But Arkells held on tight. Arkells held Nygma's arms down when he attempted to go for his pocketed gun.

"Tim! Get that nasty witch for the both of us!" Arkells said.

Tim nodded.

"Pops!"

Tim slammed the end of his staff down to get Enigma's attention. She turned back to him.

"Hey, puppy-dog-tails, look here!" —referring to her hair. "I owe you for throwing those water balloons at me." He suddenly sneezed, sniffed, and wiped his nose with a sleeve. His hair was still wet with his chest exposed to the chill of the cave, open shirt. "Do you know how cold it gets down here? And to be soaked on top of that. After everything said and done, I may end up with a cold."

He made a quick couple of spins with the staff before bringing it back to bare.'

"But before I do, it's time to heat things up," he continued. "You've messed with the wrong family, Enigma. Jake Handles isn't the only one who make mistakes. Time to reveal why people call me the Master of the Bo Staff."

Well, some do, anyway…

To be continued...