The sleep of reason...
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In the moments after the battle, the gods and Amazons, though victorious, felt an unnatural heaviness press upon their spirits. The fatigue of maintaining the magical fortress against the ceaseless assault of Bruce Wayne's mind weighed on them, their divine focus blurring as the last remnants of his technological presence vanished from the Astral Plane.
Amidst this, in a quiet space between wakefulness and sleep, Morpheus—Lord of Dreams—felt his opportunity.
Unlike the gods and goddesses, Dream was neither bound by the physical world nor confined to the realm of the day or night. The Olympians, exhausted by their efforts, had drifted into a state of half-sleep, their consciousnesses slipping ever so slightly into the Dreaming. It was here that Morpheus chose to act.
With a whisper, he entered the dreams of Olympus.
In Hera's ethereal sleep, the queen of the gods found herself in a space that seemed both vast and intimate. She stood within the confines of Bruce Wayne's mind, though it did not resemble the chaotic mess of mortal thoughts she had expected. Instead, it was an organized battlefield of intellect. A myriad of strings, notes, and calculations filled the dream, laid out with meticulous precision. Chalkboards covered in symbols lined the walls of this dreamscape—maps of physics equations, diagrams of the human body, and the known laws of magic, each arranged in perfect order. Every detail had been committed to memory, the precision of a man trained to process information at inhuman speed.
Before her, Morpheus appeared, his figure ghostly and pale, the blackness of his cloak merging with the shadows of the room. His dark eyes gazed intently at her, filled with the knowingness of what was to come.
"Welcome, Hera," Dream spoke softly, his voice like a whisper carried on the wind. "I thought you might wish to see what lingers in the mind of this mortal."
Hera narrowed her gaze, sensing the gravity of his words. "You bring me here for a reason. Show me."
Morpheus extended his hand, and the dream shifted. Hera now stood within Bruce Wayne's Batcave, though not the physical one. It was a manifestation of his thoughts, a nexus of memory and strategy. She saw it all—the calculations, the maps, the lines connecting the points of attack. Wayne had traced the moment he sensed the Amazons' scrying magic, memorizing the feel of the spell's energy, the rhythm of its casting, and the subtle pulse it left behind. In his mind, this fleeting sensation was not dismissed but cataloged, examined, and studied with the cold logic of a detective.
Wayne had used this memory as the foundation for his calculations. On one wall, Hera saw diagrams of magical signatures from every known civilization—Atlantean, Kryptonian, even those of the mystical realms. Each had a unique speed, a different frequency, and left a distinctive residue that Bruce Wayne had learned to analyze through sheer force of will.
"Every magic has its own fingerprint," Dream murmured as Hera watched in disbelief. "Wayne is no magician, but he is a master of observation. He has found patterns where others see only chaos."
The queen of the gods watched in silent alarm as Bruce's calculations grew more precise. He had measured the exact speed at which the Amazon scrying spell had reached him, using its feel to estimate the distance from which it had originated. Latitude, longitude—he had broken the ancient secrets of Themyscira down to a series of numbers and coordinates, each inching closer to the island's hidden location.
"He's getting too close," Hera muttered, her voice filled with frustration and disbelief. This was a mortal—yet his mind seemed to push against the barriers that even gods had set in place. The notion of a man challenging their secrets with nothing but logic and technology was intolerable.
Suddenly, Hera felt the weight of dread press upon her. She reached out with her divine senses, even as her sleeping mind drifted in the dreamscape, sending an urgent call to the gods of Olympus.
The Furies.
In an instant, the skies of the Dreaming darkened, and the three winged spirits of vengeance—the Erinyes—descended. Their screeching cries echoed through the realm, their twisted faces filled with the fury of divine retribution. Hera had summoned them to torment Bruce Wayne, to make him pay for his arrogance in daring to approach the threshold of Olympus.
But Morpheus, standing calmly amidst the growing storm, raised a pale hand, halting their advance.
"Be careful, Hera," he warned, his voice carrying the weight of his authority over this domain. "You walk a dangerous path. His mind is unlike any other mortal's, and if you seek to torment him, you may only harden his resolve."
Hera's eyes blazed, but deep down, she knew Dream's words held truth. Bruce Wayne was not a man easily broken. His will, once set upon a goal, was nearly unshakable. He had come closer than any mortal to uncovering the secret of Themyscira. And now, he was on the verge of discovering the magic that had shielded the island for centuries.
In the physical world, Bruce Wayne lay unconscious in his Batcave, his mind calculating even in sleep. He was unaware of the Furies' approach, but Morpheus knew the danger they represented.
"I will not allow him to be tormented in his sleep," Dream declared, his voice like thunder in the dreamscape. "This is my domain."
Hera glared at Morpheus, but she could do little within the Dreaming. She knew the rules here—Morpheus held power even over the gods when they entered his realm.
In the distance, the Furies hovered, their wings twitching with the desire to unleash their wrath upon the mortal who dared to defy the gods. But Morpheus' will held them at bay.
"Let him dream," Dream said softly. "For it is within dreams that he finds his strength, his vision. And when he wakes, the balance of power between magic and technology will be tested once more."
With a final glance at the strands of Bruce Wayne's intricate thoughts, Hera reluctantly withdrew. The Furies faded into the shadows, their cries silenced, for now.
As the dreamscape began to dissolve, Morpheus looked down upon Bruce Wayne, a faint smile touching his lips.
"You will dream again, Bruce Wayne," he whispered. "And when you do, the gods will have much to fear."
In the waking world, Bruce Wayne stirred, his mind still buzzing with the knowledge he had gleaned in his dreams. His pursuit of Themyscira was far from over, and though the gods had sent their vengeance, it would only strengthen his resolve. The duel between technology and magic had just begun, and the Olympians, for the first time in eons, felt the stirrings of fear.