Author's note: Sorry for the long wait. I'm a bit of a slow writer, and I edited this chapter a lot to get it right. I hope everyone is safe during these tough times. No Stiles in this chapter, but he'll be back for the next one.

Enjoy!

Bruce had visited each of the donors, learning everything he could about the items stolen from the auction. After what Joker had told him, it was clear that the robbery had been a distraction. The shapeshifter had been looking for something specific and any of the items could have been the target.

Eleanor Jones was the last donor on the list. She had been an anonymous donor, so it had taken Alfred some time to track her down. But as soon as he did, Bruce had driven over to her house in Midtown.

Alfred waited for him in the car as he walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. It was Eleanor who answered, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder and struggling to put on her left heel. It seemed he had caught her on her way out to work. "Hi," she hung up her phone, "can I help you?"

"Ms. Jones, my name is Bruce Wayne-"

"Bruce Wayne," she interrupted him as her eyes lit up with recognition. "As in the Bruce Wayne?" Eleanor asked, patting down her jacket in an embarrassed fashion.

Bruce smiled in response. He was used to people getting a little star-struck around him. "Yes, I am. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the antique mirror you donated to the auction. But if this is a bad time, I can come back later."

Eleanor quickly checked her watch. "No, I've got some time. Why don't you come inside?"

She pushed the door open wider and let him pass into the foyer. He followed behind her as she led him to the kitchen, and along the way, he couldn't help but notice the antiques furnishing her house. "Are you a collector?"

"I wouldn't call myself a collector. I just like old things. They have a lot of character." Eleanor pulled out a chair for him to sit at the table. "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please."

"I figured you as more of a coffee person," Eleanor said, setting a kettle on the stove.

"I grew up with a British butler, so I'm a bit of both."

"So, what did you want to ask me?"

Bruce clasped his hands together over the table. "I don't know if you're aware, Ms. Jones, but the mirror was one of the items stolen at the auction."

"I heard about that. I'm so sorry." There was genuine sympathy in her voice.

"It's why I'm here actually. The police have been trying to locate it, and the more they know about the mirror, the easier it will be to find."

The kettle let out a whistle. Eleanor took out two mugs from her cupboard and prepared their tea.

"I'm not sure what else there is to say. I had it up in the attic since it was willed to me by my grandmother. It was gathering dust up there, so I decided to do something good with it. Well, before it was stolen."

"Is there anything special about the mirror?" Bruce asked, receiving the mug she offered him.

"Um, it's late 18th century. It's oval and has this goldish border around it that's carved with flowers. It doesn't have anything special special about it, but," a smile came to Eleanor's face, "there was a story my grandmother used to tell me. A bedtime story. She would say that the mirror had magical powers. If you asked it a question, it would give you the answer, but here's the kicker, it would always be in riddles."

"And did you?"

"Ask it a question? No. My grandmother never let us near it when we were younger. She didn't want us to break it. And as an adult, I never really gave it a try."

Bruce finished off his tea. With everything he'd seen, a magic mirror wasn't so far fetched. And while Ms. Jones didn't believe in the mirror's powers, it was becoming apparent to Bruce that the shapeshifter did. It begged the question- what did he need an answer to? After some thought, Bruce came to a troubling conclusion. The shapeshifter was looking for the suspected nemeton in Gotham. The mirror could lead him straight to it.

"Thank you for the tea, Ms. Jones," Bruce said, setting his empty mug to the side. "And thank you for sparing a few minutes to speak with me. I think it's time I get going, but if I hear anything about the mirror, I'll let you know."

Dick walked into the dispatch center carrying two hot, steaming coffees. He made a beeline for the computers in the back, specifically one station belonging to Juliet Thorpe, his go-to person when he needed information for his cases.

"Juliet," he said, giving her his most charming smile.

She looked up from her computer and sighed. "Dick."

He set a cup in front of her on the desk. "I brought you coffee."

"You don't bring me coffee unless you want something, so spill, why are you here?" She asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Okay, you caught me." He pulled up a chair to sit next to Juliet's desk. "I'm here to ask you for a favor and the coffee may or may not be a bribe."

"Like that wasn't obvious," Juliet said. She took a sip from her cup. "Well, what's the favor?"

Dick got straight to the point. "I need information about a call made back in October."

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that. We get hundreds of calls every month. Do you have an incident number or case number? Date? Time of day?"

"I got an incident number." He handed her a slip of paper where he'd hastily written it down. "That's all I got. There's supposed to be an incident report, but it's been misplaced. All I know for sure is that it was on October 11th. And that Officer Tom Dougherty was the one that filed it. I need to know what it was about."

It was the day before Dougherty was murdered. He was hoping that whoever had gotten to the incident report wasn't smart enough to follow up with the dispatch records.

"-4457. Here it is."

"Great, what's it say?"

Juliet scrolled through the report. "It was called in initially as a B&E. Officers Tom Dougherty and Jacob Lansky responded to the call. Then, a few minutes after they got there, they reported shots fired and asked for backup. That's when Officer John Stilinski and his partner Officer Mason Hicks arrived. They did a thorough search of the house, but the suspect was gone."

"Who made the call?"

"There was no name given. The house was abandoned, so it could've been a passerby."

"And you're sure it was Stilinski and his partner who responded?" Dick asked.

She pointed her thumb at the screen. "Positive, it says it right here."

John Stilinski and Tom Dougherty responded to a call together the night before one supposedly killed the other. Whatever happened that night could be crucial to finding out how and why Tom died. Dick decided his next step would be a visit to Blackgate. John would be able to fill in any holes left from the missing report.

"Thanks for this, really. Can I get a printed copy?"

"Sure. And next time it's going to cost you a bagel and a coffee."

Dick took the paper off the printer and then picked up his coffee from her desk. "Heck, I'll get you a hundred bagels if you want."

Dick had called the prison ahead of time, letting them know he was on his way. John had accepted to see him, but his visitation was limited to about half an hour.

As he made his way into Blackgate, Dick couldn't help but shudder. The prison always gave him the creeps. It was dark no matter what hour of the day it was, and you could hear the prisoners banging against the bars throughout the prison. He felt bad for John. It was easy to lose your spirit in a place like this.

They sat on opposite sides of the glass partition. Dick was surprised to see how much Stiles took after his father. They had the same brown untameable hair, freckles, and sharp chin. The only difference that he noticed was in their eyes, which Dick could only assume Stiles inherited from his mother. John sat up straight in his chair, a habit that he probably acquired from years of discipline in the military. His face, however, was lacking in any energy. He looked exhausted, and why wouldn't he be? His son was still missing. And he was serving a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit.

Dick picked up the phone on his side. "Hi, Mr. Stilinski, my name is Dick Grayson. I know this is all very sudden, but I really needed to see you."

"Dick Grayson? You're one of Bruce's sons," John said. "Stiles wrote about you in a letter."

Dick paused for a moment. "He did?"

John nodded, his face suddenly lighting up. "Yeah. He said you made his Christmas really special. Thank you for that. I know it was a difficult time for him with me being in here."

He had no idea he had made such an impression on Stiles. But as his thoughts lingered on the missing teenager, he started to wonder if it was a good idea to come to the prison after all. John was probably anxious about his son's whereabouts and Dick didn't have anything to give him. The only thing that he could do was help prove John's innocence, so they could be reunited on the outside.

"Stiles deserved it. He's a good kid." Dick took out a notepad and pen from his pocket and laid them on the table. "Now, John, the reason I came here is because I've been investigating your case."

John looked confused. "I thought it was closed after the verdict? Did Gordon reopen it?"

"Not officially. He's letting me investigate 'under the table'. I've found some promising leads, and I was hoping you could shed some light on them."

"What have you got?"

"I've been combing the records room. A lot of Dougherty's reports are missing. There was one, the day before he was murdered, that I followed up with dispatch. The CAD report said you and Dougherty both responded to a break-in on the Upper East Side. Do you remember that?"

There was a crease in John's forehead as he tried to grasp at some faraway memory. "I think so. It was the last call of the night."

Dick picked up his pen. "Walk me through it. From the beginning, if you can. Any detail could be helpful."

"We were on patrol. It was late, almost at the end of our shift. I was driving when dispatch radioed about a 10-48. We were the closest so we took the call. I remember that it was quiet when we got there and I saw Tom's patrol car in the driveway. Tom and Jacob were waiting for us by the door. They said there'd been gunshots coming from inside."

"What happened next?"

"Mason and I decided to go through the back while Tom and Jacob took the front entrance. Wait-no. I think it was the other way around. I'm not really sure."

"That's okay," Dick said. He hadn't really expected John to have perfect recall. "Just keep going."

"We entered the house...we entered the house…" John looked blankly to his right before turning his attention back to Dick.

"John?"

"Um, I got lost there for a second. As I was saying, we entered the house-" John pressed a hand against his forehead and screwed his eyes shut. "My head, it's killing me."

"Do I need to get someone?" Dick asked, alarmed. Something was wrong. He was so busy getting all the facts down that he hadn't noticed how pale John had gotten. There was also a slight tremor in his hands that wasn't there before.

"No," John shook his head, "it's just a headache. It'll pass." He then continued, "I remember going in, and-"

This time John dropped the phone and gripped both sides of his head. His face was twisted in pure agony.

"John!" Dick shouted into the phone.

John didn't respond.

A sheen sweat coated his forehead and his eyes seemed unfocused like he was struggling to stay alert. After a few seconds, however, he took a deep shuddering breath, slowly regaining his composure. John reached for the phone with shaky hands and put it to his ear. "I don't know what that was."

"Has it ever happened before?"

"Never. I was trying to think back to that night, but it's like walking through a fog. I know it's there but I can't reach it. And the harder I try, the worse my head hurts. I'm sorry, Dick, I think we better call it a day. It's just not happening."

Dick put his notebook aside. What John was describing wasn't your typical forgetfulness. The vacant stare, the violent tremors, the breathlessness- it all reminded him of something that he had seen before. But it couldn't possibly be that, could it? Dick decided to test his theory. "I know you must be tired, but can I ask you one more thing? Let's skip the part about you entering the house. What else can you tell me about that call?"

"We met out front after we cleared the house. The suspect was gone. We got back into our patrol cars and drove back to headquarters."

Dick was surprised. John's recollection of what happened afterward was much clearer. The time in between seemed to be the problem. "Do you remember being in the house at all?"

John was quiet for a moment. "No. Actually, I don't, now that you mention it."

He was right then. John was missing a part of his memory. Almost as if it had been erased. What John was experiencing was what he'd seen happen to Dr. Light after Zatanna had erased his memories. But the last time he checked, Falcone didn't have anyone on his payroll who had that ability. He would have to check with Bruce to see if there were any new metahumans in town.

"I wouldn't worry about it. It was a long time ago. We tend to forget things."

John didn't look entirely convinced but nodded in agreement. "I wish I could have helped you more."

"You did help me. More than you know."

The sun was setting by the time Dick arrived at Finnigan's pub. It was a relatively small establishment. The name painted on the window was faded with age, and the white exterior was worn down, revealing a patchwork of brick and grime. Finnigan's was a relic of the past, unchanging, and somehow still standing as the city advanced around it. But Dick supposed that this was part of its allure. It lived and breathed Old Gotham, making it a go-to for nostalgic patrons and a popular hangout for the GCPD.

A bell chimed over the door as he walked in. Inside, the smell of beer and whiskey hung in the air. It was particularly busy today; every GCPD officer seemed to be there. Some looked like they had just gotten off their shifts, while the rest were already on their third or fourth drink. He weaved his way through the crowd towards an empty stool at the bar and ordered something light.

The final game between the Gotham Wildcats and the Central City Cougars was playing loudly on the TV. The Wildcats were in the lead, and with every point they scored, the pub erupted in a round of cheers. He wasn't much of a football fan but even he couldn't resist raising his glass in support of his hometown team.

"Can I get you a refill, officer?" The bartender asked.

"Actually," he read her name tag, "Carrie, I was wondering if you could help me with something else." Dick reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a photo. He slid it over to the bartender and watched as she picked it up. "Have you seen this man here before?"

It took her less than a second to respond. "Sure have. That's Mason Hicks. He's a regular. Matter of fact, he's sitting over there," she said, pointing to the back of the pub.

"Thanks, Carrie."

He left her a tip on the counter and then made his way over to where Mason sat. John's old partner was a tall and broad-shouldered man, young despite the fact that his brown hair was already starting to gray in places. He was leaning back in his chair and swirling a glass of brandy in his right hand.

Mason was the reason he was at Finnigan's Pub. After his visit to Blackgate, Dick had realized that he needed to find out more about the call that occurred the night before the murder. And the only way he was going to do that was by asking someone who had also been there. Obviously he couldn't go to Dougherty, and Jacob Lansky hated John just as much as his partner had. That only left Mason, who had quietly kept out of the spotlight since his partner's arrest.

"Mason Hicks?"

"Who's asking?" Mason retorted, slurring his words together as he spoke. It was clear that he was drunk, but Dick extended his hand towards him anyways.

"Dick Grayson."

Mason eyed his open hand with disdain. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"No, I suppose not." Dick dropped his hand and slid into the seat across from Mason. "I transferred in from Bludhaven."

Mason's mood instantly cheered up. "You're the new guy." He then tapped his chest excitedly, "I'm from Bludhaven. Moved here a couple of years ago after the recession hit. I can't say that I miss the place though. Gotham may be a shit hole but at least the pay's good. Why'd you transfer?"

"Same as you," Dick lied. "Got tired of getting paid dirt."

"Carlos Rivera has the ball and he throws it to Joel Haines…"

Mason took a swig from his glass. "Will you look at that! The Wildcats might actually win this season."

"That would be something. I'm surprised they even got this far."

With Mason in such a talkative mood, Dick knew this was his chance to ask him about the call. But before that, he wanted to test the water, get some idea of how Mason felt about the entire situation. "Mason, the guys were just telling me that you used to know that cop they arrested. I think his name was Stilinski."

"They told you that, huh." Mason rubbed a hand over his face. "I bet they told you other things, too. Those bastards never know when to shut up. They're always judging me, criticizing me. Well, fuck them. They can shove their self-righteousness up their asses for all I care."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hit a sore spot."

"You didn't know." Mason laughed bitterly. "They think Tom's death was somehow my fault. I was his partner. How could I not see what was happening?"

"I'm guessing that it caught you by surprise."

"Everyone will tell you something different. But if you asked me if John was capable of killing a man in cold blood, I'd say that you were nuts. John's a boy scout not a murderer."

"So you think he's innocent?" Dick asked.

"I didn't say that."

"But you believe he is. You wouldn't be drinking alone in a bar if you didn't."

Mason slammed his glass on the table, brandy splashing upwards from the force. "How is that any of your fucking business?"

"Because I want to help clear John's name," Dick said, dropping all pretense. "So I think that makes it my business."

There was immediate suspicion in Mason's eyes. "Who are you?"

"Just someone who wants to right a wrong."

Mason shook his head. "John was found guilty. The case is closed, and there's nothing that you or me can do about it."

"But what if there was?" Dick pressed on. He needed to get Mason on his side. "I've been investigating and there are things that don't add up. The night before the murder, you responded to a call at an abandoned house, but the report is missing. I talked to John, but there were gaps in his memory. I thought that you could help fill those in. It could be important."

"Nothing happened that night. I get that you feel bad for John, but you're looking for trouble where there isn't any. I can't help you."

And with that, Mason grabbed his jacket and got up from the table. He then headed for the back exit of the pub. Not wanting to lose his only lead, Dick quickly followed after him, stepping into the alley and the cool night air. It was completely dark now, and the only light came from a dull streetlight across the street.

Mason hadn't gotten far. He was resting against the wall a few feet from the door, still clutching his jacket in his hand. Dick was about to approach him when Mason turned his head and spoke. "You don't give up, do you?"

"John needs you. So does his son. He's seventeen years old and will never see his father again. Not if you don't tell me what happened that night. Please, Mason."

Mason looked conflicted. Dick could see his jaw clench and unclench as he worked through something in his head until finally he sighed in resignation. He looked up and down the alley, making sure that they were really alone. Once he saw that they were, he came up close to him, whispering low, "This thing goes deeper than you think. We weren't even supposed to be there that night. Wasn't in our area. I-I convinced him to go. They told me that they were going to scare him a little. I swear I had no idea what they were going to do to him."

Dick was stunned by Mason's revelation. The call wasn't random; John was led to the house on purpose.

"Who's 'they' and what did they want with him?"

"Tom and Jacob. And another guy I didn't recognize. I thought they were going to rough him up a bit, but instead they dragged him into the basement. John put up a helluva fight. After a while, it went real quiet. Then the door opened and John walked out like nothing happened. He didn't say anything to me, just walked right out of the house. Crazy thing is, after John left, I could hear his voice coming from the basement. It scared the shit out of me, so I got out of there fast."

It was a lot for Dick to process. John was ambushed by Tom, Jacob, and an unknown man. And whatever they did to him in the basement could hold the answers for all of his questions (like why John couldn't remember anything about that night and why Tom was murdered the next day). There was also the voice that Mason heard in the basement, but Dick didn't know what to make of it. Mason was already spooked during the attack, and he could have misheard. Or it could be something else, something that Dick hadn't considered yet.

"Why didn't you come forward during the trial? You hung your partner out to dry."

"Because I had no choice!" Mason yelled angrily. "You don't think I tried to help him? They pointed a gun between my eyes and told me if I said anything that I would be next. And I believed them because Tom was dead by morning. He went against the mob and they killed him for it. I'm risking a lot even talking to you."

The back door suddenly swung open. It was Debra. She didn't notice them at first, too busy lighting her cigarette, but when she did, she looked at them questioningly. "Mason? Dick? What are you doing here?"

Mason froze at the sound of her voice. His face had gotten a few shades paler and his hands were fidgety like he wanted to bolt right then and there. Dick gave him a concerned glance before answering her. "Just having a friendly chat."

This snapped Mason out of his daze and he leaned close to Dick's ear, quickly making one last remark, "Check the basement. Everything is there, you'll see."

He took off after that, running away from them like he had fire licking at his heels. Debra watched him with curiosity. "What was that all about?"

"Like I said, we were having a friendly chat."

"In a deserted alley?" Debra said in an incredulous tone.

"Have you tried talking in there? I can't even hear myself think. How's the game going anyways?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation away from Mason.

"Still ahead. Why'd Mason leave?"

"He had somewhere to go. I was just leaving, too. I have some paperwork to finish."

"Always the workaholic." Debra rolled her eyes. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at the station."

She went back into the pub and Dick was left by himself in the alley. He stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking to his bike. Mason's parting words were all he could think about-

"Check the basement. Everything is there, you'll see"

Bruce raced across the rooftops, keeping the vampire in his sights. He could make out its shadowy form ahead of him and the outline of the woman it snatched over its shoulder. She was screaming loudly into the night, kicking her legs frantically in an attempt to escape.

Zatanna and Constantine were on the street below them. They were trying their best to slow it down with their magic. Spell after spell reached the rooftops, but since Bruce was so close to the vampire, he narrowly avoided getting hit himself.

"Try aiming at the actual thing and not at me," Bruce growled into his earpiece.

"You're dressed like a bloody bat! How am I supposed to tell the difference?" Constantine yelled back.

Bruce saw the vampire jump off a rooftop, and he used his grappling gun to drop down after it. On the ground again, Bruce knew he had only a small window to save the woman. His heart was pounding in his chest as he pumped his legs hard against the pavement. The vampire, however, was faster than him. Before he could catch up, it disappeared into the entrance of an abandoned subway tunnel. He skidded to a stop, holding his arm out to prevent Zatanna and Constantine from going any further.

"Be careful. We don't know what we're walking into. Vale said there were more of them in the area."

They both nodded. Bruce shined his light into the entrance. The dark tunnel immediately lit up, illuminating rotting stone and tracks that had long rusted a deep shade of reddish-brown. He slowly made his way inside, straining his ears for the woman's yells. They were growing fainter by the second.

Bruce followed the tracks until he spotted a trail of blood on the ground. It seemed to go on for a distance, eventually leading to a clearing where the subway tunnels intersected. They continued, and once they reached the end of the bloody trail, they saw a figure hunched in the darkness. The woman was lying still in its arms, her head hanging limply to the side.

Constantine pushed past him and extended his arm out towards the vampire, a rosary in his hand. The effect was immediate; the vampire dropped the woman and recoiled against the brick wall.

"That's right, you bloodsucker. Stay back!"

"Zatanna, get her out of here," Bruce ordered.

Zatanna picked her up gently. But when she turned around to go back, Bruce saw her eyes go wide and her stance become rigid. "Bruce," she said, warningly.

His hand shot straight to his utility belt as he looked around for the new threat. At first, he couldn't see what had Zatanna on red alert. He searched the shadows with his light, and to his surprise, found the light reflecting off of dozens of unnaturally colored eyes. Bruce stepped back and watched as they seemed to crawl out from every corner and crevice, surrounding the trio and blocking all the exits.

Constantine held out the rosary, preventing any of the vampires from coming too close. "Stay together. They can't come near us if I have this."

"Are you sure about that, exorcist?" The vampires surrounding them moved aside and a figure emerged. To the untrained eye, the vampire that was walking towards them looked like an ordinary man. And perhaps he was in a previous life. He was dressed in a construction uniform but walked with the grace of a natural-born leader. As soon as he reached them, he took one look at the rosary in Constantine's hand and plucked it from his grasp. "That puny thing won't work with me."

"You're the leader," Bruce stated.

The vampire turned his attention to Bruce. "Josef. And you're the Batman. What brings you and your friends to my home?"

"You're kidnapping people from the Narrows. I can't allow that to continue."

"We need to feed. You call it kidnapping, I call it a public service. Who's going to miss a few prostitutes and criminals?"

"There's a code," Constantine said. "You can't just kill people because you bloody feel like it."

"And who makes these rules!" Josef hissed angrily. "Humans. We never had a choice in the matter. For years we've been forced into the dark and hunted down like dogs. But not anymore."

The other vampires seemed enlivened by their leader's proclamation. Bruce, on the other hand, found himself at a loss. In his career as Batman, he's had to deal with all types of criminals. But when it came to magic and the supernatural, he was still relatively new to the game. They were angry (and they might have every right to be), but at the same time, he couldn't let them continue preying on the people of Gotham. "This is not going to end like you think it is. You start killing at random and people are bound to notice. They'll fight back. And I'm betting that there's more of them than there are of you."

"That's where you're wrong. There's a whole army of us. Other supernaturals that feel just like we do."

"Then why don't you talk to us. The Justice League will listen to what you have to say. We can work something out," Zatanna interjected.

"It's a little too late for that. We don't want half-assed concessions. Outis promised us the world. We won't take anything less."

Bruce paused at the mention of the name. So, that's what the shapeshifter's been going by. Clever. It was the name Odysseus gave the cyclops in the Odyssey. Also greek for 'nobody'. "Whatever this 'Outis' promised you, he's lying. This won't get you heard, only feared."

Josef got closer to him, his face coming within inches of Bruce's. "That's exactly what we want."

Zatanna suddenly shouted in alarm. He spun around and saw one of the vampires pull at the injured woman's body. "Hsup meht kcab!"

When the ones nearest to her were thrown back, the entire mood in the tunnel changed. The vampires, who were barely managing to show restraint before, let out a shrill shriek and attacked the three of them.

Josef lunged at Bruce, knocking them both onto the ground. He bared his fangs and aimed for his throat, but Bruce stopped him with the fins of his gauntlet. They struggled for control. Josef was stronger and faster. Bruce wasn't worried though; he'd faced off much worse. Bane came to mind as he rolled away from a punch that was seconds from hitting his head. Josef's fist embedded itself into the cement, throwing pieces of stone into the air.

He heard Constantine yell and quickly got to his feet. But before he could come to his aid, Josef lunged at him again. Bruce lifted his gauntlet and pressed a button on his glove. A spray was shot into the air, and Josef recoiled, his face sizzling like a hot iron was pressed against his skin. Liquid silver. Bruce was glad Alfred had made sure to equip his armor with it before he left.

Looking over to his side, he saw that Constantine was being overwhelmed by a group of vampires. They were sinking their fangs into his neck and other parts of his body. He was slack in their grasp and was turning a deathly shade of white.

"John!" Zatanna screamed. She was fighting her way towards him but still had the woman in her arms, slowing down her approach.

Then, without warning, the vampires around Constantine fell to their knees. They writhed on the floor in agony, their bodies burning from a hidden poison inside their veins. Constantine stood in the middle, holding his bleeding throat with his hand. He had a smug look on his face. "Demon blood. Not the snack you were looking for, ey?"

Bruce felt relieved at the sight of the alive, albeit weak, exorcist. It didn't take long after that for Zatanna to finally reach Constantine. She stood in front of him, her eyes hard as she threw out spells with less mercy than before.

With Constantine out of harm's way, Bruce began looking for an exit. The longer they stayed in the subway tunnels, the higher the risk that they won't all get out alive. Constantine wouldn't last much longer and the woman was barely clinging to life. He saw an opening by the east side of the clearing and was about to yell to Zatanna and Constantine when a pair of arms wrapped around his throat.

"Not so fast," Josef snarled.

Bruce tried to wrench himself free, but Josef's grip was unrelenting. Other vampires joined in, grabbing at his arms and his legs. He was trapped and by the looks of it, the others weren't faring as well either. Cold fangs tore through his cowl and sunk into his neck. The only thing Bruce could do was look up helplessly.

"We are both creatures of the night, Batman! Give in, don't fight it."

It was then that Bruce saw a sliver of light coming through a crack in the ceiling. Morning couldn't have come at a better time. He tried to muster the strength to call out to Zatanna. "The ceiling! Blast it Zatanna!"

At first, he wasn't sure if Zatanna had heard him, but then a loud explosion reached his ears, followed by the thuds of large debris hitting the floor. Sunlight invaded the darkness of the tunnel, seemingly touching every corner of the clearing. The vampires barely had any time to react before one by one their bodies burst into flames, quickly turning them into ash.

Bruce laid on the ground trying to catch his breath. Everything was spinning and his movements felt sluggish like he was treading through water. Pushing through the rubble, he staggered to his feet and surveyed the scene around him. There were piles of ash scattered across the clearing. Only one vampire remained. Josef was crawling on the ground as flames engulfed his back and slowly overtook his body. Despite being in obvious pain, Josef was oddly quiet. He stopped in front of the ashes of one of the fallen vampires and ran a trembling hand through it.

"My brothers! My sisters!" Josef exclaimed with grief lacing his voice. He then turned to Bruce, not with anger, but with a look of resignation. It then took only seconds for Josef himself to suffer the same fate. His skin crackled as the flames consumed him but not a sound escaped his lips. He was reduced to ash just like the others.

Bruce turned away…the loss of life, any kind of life, was something that he tried to avoid at all costs. But Josef had given him no other choice. Still, it left a sick feeling in his stomach like he had unfairly become judge, jury, and executioner. It shouldn't have ended this way, and if they had listened before, perhaps the vampires wouldn't have gone to Outis.

"It's for the best," Constantine said, coming up next to him.

"No, it's not."

He went over to Zatanna and took the woman from her arms. "I'll take her to Gotham General. You two go to Watchtower and get your wounds looked at."

"I should say the same to you, mate. You look like shit."

"I'll be fine," Bruce said. He walked over the wreckage and started out for the tunnels again. When he finally stepped outside into the morning light, he was glad to feel its warmth on his skin. He stood there for a moment watching the empty streets. Gotham was quiet for now but he knew that the streets would soon be busy. And he'd have ready for what the coming night might bring.

The woman shifted in his arms reminding him of where he needed to go. With that, he made his way down the street, leaving the tunnels behind him.