Life: 18. Bats and Devils (Patreon)

Chapter 18: Bats and Devils

Max PhenexGotham, NJ, USA

I had a sister now, a big sister. She was annoying. Sarah, the chef-lady who made me awesome food, assured me that this just meant I was getting the full experience.

“This is boring. Why are we doing this?” she complained.

“Because Rigal’s the boss and he said so,” I grunted. I hovered a foot off the ground, an easy way to draw attention. 

“Yeah, but why?”

“You’re the one who read the books. You know better than I do.”

“Desire equals contracts equal demonic power. Yeah, yeah, yada yada. This is still stupid. Making us hand these flyers out by hand is just hazing.”

“Probably. If you don’t like it, get enough demonic power until you can bind a familiar of your own. Rigal has Rick Grayson hand out all his flyers.”

“Can I just… start a social media account with a PDF attachment? Say, you did that fitness modeling gig, right? Wanna go viral?”

“No.”

No matter her whining, she still dutifully stood next to me and held out her flyers. She really was complaining just to hear herself talk.

We were seated right outside Gotham Academy. According to Rigal, it was the best school in the city, arguably in the country. It was also an elevator school for Gotham University, whatever that meant.

The school year started today, two-thirds of the way through the month of September. Rigal had been weirdly insistent that we should pass out our flyers here. I had no idea why.

“You!” someone hissed behind me.

I turned, and the dots connected. “Fucking Rigal.”

“What are you doing here?” Artemis asked, then paused. “A-And Dr. Roquette, too?”

“I’m sorry?” Serling began. Her brows furrowed in thought. “Sorry, I’ve never been very good with faces. Have we met before?”

“O-Oh! I-Uh-Yeah, sorry, I… I follow your work,” the definitely-not-a-hero muttered lamely.

“She’s Artemis,” I said tiredly. “You know, the archer. From the Fog incident.”

“You’re not supposed to say that!”

“Meh. It’s not like Rigal wouldn’t tell her. She’s one of us now.”

“One of you how?”

“She joined his peerage,” a second girl said. She had black hair and vivid, blue eyes. She held her hand out for me to shake. “Max, right?”

I took it, gently squeezing so as to not crush her fingers. “You know me?”

“You’re a dead ringer for Superman and I can feel demonic power coming from you so you must be Rigal’s brother. I’m the girl he’s been trying to recruit, Zatanna Zatara.”

“Ah, makes sense. He said you were magical.”

“Yup. How is that, by the way? The whole ‘not a human anymore’ thing,” she asked Serling.

“The sunlight is annoying. There’s way too much physical exercise involved. Oh, and I spent three hours doing some kid’s summer homework for him because he put it off until the last minute yesterday. How does that even count as a demonic contract?” Serling griped.

“Haha, yeah, magic isn’t all fun and games, is it? People expect magic to be, well, magical. But it’s not. It’s got its own rules and laws that can be just as frustrating as any mundane restriction.”

“So I noticed. There are some real perks, though. I’ve never been stronger or healthier. My research budget is more than twice what I had back in Royal University. Oh, and magic. Runes and formalcraft are really fascinating.”

“Formalcraft, you say? You know, I know a thing or two about that sort of thing,” Zatanna said, eyes twinkling with interest. “Wanna give me your number? We can meet up after school and talk shop.”

“You know what? Sure, why not? Knowing him, this is probably why he had us come here in the first place.”

“Heh, I should be concerned that he’s keeping tabs on me, but it’s not like he’s been hiding his interest.”

I stood by with Artemis as the two became fast friends. Watching them, I had to give it to Rigal: My bro was way more cunning than he appeared. Maybe it was just a happy coincidence, but I doubted it. 

He always said that Zatanna girl was his ideal Bishop. He was even willing to blow both pieces on her, or even a Queen if he really had to. Having them meet like this, he could reel her in.

I now understood why some people online called this “fishing.”

X

Serling Roquette

The Fog. It was my magnum opus. There was a time when I thought it’d change everything, both for me and the world.

I realized now how naive I’d been. It wasn’t just my kidnapping. Putting that headache aside, I’d been careless. As Rigal would say, I bought into my own hype. I was a “genius,” of course I couldn’t make mistakes.

The most frustrating part of this was that I still wasn’t sure what I should have done differently. Clearly, I’d fucked up, but how? When? What options did I have?

The League of Assassins would have found me anyway. Avoid them? Fight them? I wasn’t Batman. I wasn’t Rigal. The only way to avoid drawing attention would have been to not announce my nanite project at all. That was no answer, not when I wanted to make a difference in the world.

At first, I thought Abra Kadabra was the key. He’d been an active supervillain for several years now. As far as I knew, no one had managed to hack or compromise his technology. Maybe it was because no one bothered to try, but I thought that if I could harness network security protocols from the future, then I could consider building the Fog again.

Nope. Not good enough. It wasn’t as if programming paradigms changed all that much. The rules underpinning every network security program didn’t change. Sure, his tech was faster, more streamlined, but it wasn’t incomprehensible to me, and I refused to believe I was the best. I couldn’t even think that about myself without laughing anymore.

So, I turned to magic. Rigal was right; formalcraft and runes really were like the grammar and vocabulary that made up a foreign language. I didn’t know how many mages knew programming languages, or how many programmers were even aware of the supernatural, but I was willing to bet the two circles didn’t exactly overlap.

And that meant I was in a unique position to exploit both. Could I edit formalcraft, the “magic grammar” with what I was familiar with? The spellbooks Rigal gave me said no. There were rules to this sort of thing.

But those same spellbooks were for humans. They were primers about human magic systems. Rigal loved to harp on and on about how important imagination was to devils. If I believed it’d work, if it made internal, logical sense to me, then would demonic power bridge the gap?

I’d find out. When I did, I’d rebuild the Fog. It’d be better than ever, reinforced in a hybrid magical language that only I understood. A shield, a sword, and once I was strong enough, hopefully a tool to change the world.

Until then, these annoying “contracts” would continue. That first contract ended up being prophetic of the kinds of requests I’d receive.

Yes, I was highly educated. No, I didn’t want to tutor high school geometry. No, I didn’t want to troubleshoot some kid’s first programming assignment. It was a disorienting jump between the mundane and supernatural.

Grumbling, I headed home from the library where I met my client. And it was home. Before I knew it, the Phoenix Roost had become a place where I could relax, where I could feel safe.

Being a devil was, dare I say it, reassuring. As a human, I would never have dared to walk home by myself at night in Gotham. But now, the darkness felt comforting and familiar. I could see into every alley, under every shade, as if it was daytime.

I was strong, strong enough to fold Markell, a career military man, like a pretzel. And if all else failed, I had two of the city’s biggest fish as my backup. This was security, the kind I hadn’t felt since the incident.

I peeked into an alley. Seeing only a pair of rats humping in a rubbish bin, I took the shortcut. Except, this was Gotham. I should have kept an eye on the rooftops as well.

There was the faint sound of something fluttering, like bedsheets in the wind. Then, pain exploded across my back as I was dragged to the ground.

My face hit the dirt. There was something slimy that smeared across my cheek. I gasped in pain. The building yell in my throat turned into retching as the rancid aroma of week-old food waste hit me.

I felt something bite down on my neck. Needle-sharp teeth punctured skin. White-hot pain flashed up my neck. My eyes began to see spots and the momentary disgust I felt at the grimy ground evaporated.

I thrashed like my life depended on it. There was no conscious input; my brain exited stage left. Yet, my body moved, guided by instincts ingrained into my body through hours of combat practice against Rigal and Max, men who could and did punt me through concrete pillars for fun.

Even as I flailed, the motions weren’t entirely random. I got my knees under me. My hand reached up to claw at eyes and grab my assailant’s shirt. Then, with literally demonic strength, I pushed myself to my knees and hurled the bastard over my shoulder.

I cried out as fangs were torn from my body. My supernatural body, which I knew for a fact was pretty close to knifeproof and bulletproof. That alone told me that I was looking at one of Batman’s stronger crazies.

I could feel blood flowing freely. I reached for the vial of phoenix tears in my breast pocket, but hesitated. I only had one of these. Instead, I looked at the guy who just tried to eat me: Man-Bat. That explained the fluttering wings.

“Of fucking course,” I swore under my breath. My heart pounded in my chest. Now that I could get a good look at him, I wondered how eight feet tall could be so fucking silent.

He lunged with a screech that made my ears ring. I raised my arms in a sloppy guard. His claws ripped into my forearms but I managed to grab them before he could pull back.

We wrestled like this for several seconds. He was strong in a way that defied reason. I thought that Man-Bat was supposed to be based on flying rodents; since when were bats capable of matching devils?

He tried to bite me. I leaned back and kicked him in the shin. We were evenly matched for now, but I could feel myself slipping. Devil or not, blood loss was blood loss and I had no idea what to do from this position. There was probably some neat judo flip or something, but that involved more thinking than I could manage at the moment.

Fire. Sound. Light. All these things, Man-Bat should be weak against. That was probably why he jumped me in an alley. I willed my magic to form. Demonic power bubbled inside me. Magic circles I’d studied for weeks wrote themselves into the air.

Then, he let out another screech. It struck me like a physical force, bypassing my skull and rattling my brain. I yelled in pain and let go, stumbling back to get away from the noise. My magic circles dispersed harmlessly into motes of light as I lost concentration.

I landed on my ass. I looked up at him as he readied to pounce. Then, I saw a robin of all things swoop down, pecking at his eyes. I’d never been more delighted to see one of those feathered poop factories.

“You did well,” Rigal said, tousling my hair gently as he stepped past me. I had no idea when he arrived. For a guy with blazing wings, he was scarily stealthy when he wanted to be. “Go ahead and drink that tear, Serling. You deserve it.”

Man-Bat stilled. He glared at Rigal. Even with his mind clouded by the beast, there was a spark of intelligence in his eyes. Or maybe there was some base survival instinct that made him hesitate.

Whatever it was, he got over it quickly. With a screech of rage, he picked up a nearby dumpster and hurled it like a baseball.

Rigal caught it and set it on the ground with a carefree nonchalance that I envied. “Rude. I’m curious. Which one are you? Are you Kirk? Abraham? Robert?”

Another brain-shaking screech was his only answer.

“Fine, no matter. Hellfire Cassowa–” Fire clad his shoes, condensing into solid talons that gouged the ground as if it was made of wax. But before he could finish, a blade spun into the opposite wall. Some kind of throwing knife shaped… like a bat… “Oh? Hello, Batman. I suppose these two have caused enough of a fuss to draw you out.”

The Dark Knight dropped down from the rooftops. He was scowling as if his face was carved that way out of granite. He stood between Rigal and Man-Bat, neither facing one nor the other. Together, they formed a weird sort of Mexican standoff.

The Man-Bat studied both men with an intelligence that wasn’t entirely human. It was telling of the kind of reputation Batman had in Gotham, that the werebat freak of nature was just as wary of him as he was of the literal devil.

And truthfully, I agreed. Batman just had that kind of presence to him, an aura that said he’d find a way to do the impossible. It only made me feel even more out of my depth here.

“Stand down, Rigal,” the Batman growled. He spoke like he expected the devil to obey. It was the kind of delusional confidence I wished I had.

“I’m not usually in the habit of letting my enemies live,” Rigal mused, unbothered by the hero’s glare.

“He’s not your enemy.”

“Isn’t he? He tried to eat my friend. I’m pretty sure that makes him a rabid dog to be put down.”

“Langstrom needs a therapist, not an executioner.”

“Langstorm, you said. Kirk? Abraham?”

“Kirk.”

Rigal scrunched his nose in annoyance at that. “You know, I would have preferred it to be Abraham. At least he’s a guilt-free target.”

“I wouldn’t let you kill him, either,” the Bat promised.

“You’d fail. But fine, he gets to live.”

Rigal became a blur. Before I fully registered what he’d done, he’d crossed the distance to Man-Bat. He grabbed the creature by the throat, completely ignoring the way his claws tore through his jacket.

Batman threw more of those bladed boomerangs. They collided with a wall of solid air, erupting into a spray of what was probably holy water. Before the hero could do anything else, Man-Bat slumped to the floor in a boneless heap.

“There, knocked out,” Rigal said as he casually tossed the unconscious werebat at Batman’s feet.

“Hypnosis? How long will it last?” Batman asked.

“Theoretically, a full night’s sleep. What? Did you think hellfire was my only gimmick? Pretty much every high-class devil can do this, you know.”

“You resort to hellfire when you have nonlethal options available.”

“I do. Things that threaten my peerage deserve to burn. Not everyone has the same moral standards as you do, Bats.”

“You seem to have changed your mind when you learned his name,” he pointed out.

“I did. Dr. Kirk Langstrom developed the man-bat serum to help deaf people, only to get addicted to his own stash. Would you believe me if I told you there is a world in which he joins the Justice League?”

“I would. People can change. People can overcome.”

“Sometimes.” Rigal walked over. He picked me up in a bridal carry. “Well, whatever. I know you were busy with Two-Face and Riddler, but clean up the rest of the Arkham crowd already, Bats. Or, if you need help…”

“We’re working on it. Stay out of Gotham’s affairs, Rigal,” Batman said, shooting down the implied offer.

“Maybe… Depends on how bored I am. But if your rogue gallery insists on making themselves my problem,” he said, looking meaningfully at me, “then I won’t be as lenient next time.”

X

Rigal Phenex

Things were going well. I was learning to wield holy magic. Max was building a resistance to moderate doses of kryptonite. Serling was learning formalcraft and developing a bare minimum level of proficiency in close combat. 

The Man-Bat incident kicked Serling in the rear. In a way, I was grateful to Kirk Langstrom. He became the bridge that connected Serling’s academic interest with real world implications. She needed the motivation.

For that, I mailed a vial of phoenix tears to Wayne Manor with a note telling him to use it on Kirk once the transformation wore off. Phoenix tears didn’t reverse transformations, but they sure could clear addiction. At least, the physical symptoms.

In another life, Kirk joined Justice League Dark, a division of the League dedicated to combating supernatural threats. He worked alongside some big names like Wonder Woman, Jason Blood, and Zatanna. If this Kirk had even half that willpower, he wouldn’t succumb again to the psychological temptations of the serum.

In any case, Serling had been with me for over a month. She’d been a devil for a few weeks now and was as settled as could be expected. I wondered if I should consider other peerage candidates.

Zatanna was great. Zatanna was my ideal Bishop. But she was also unattainable, at least if I wanted her to join without regrets. Hell, until this year, she attended Catholic school because her father was devout. That didn’t make recruiting her impossible, Aunt Xenovia and Aunt Irina were both former exorcists, a wielder of Durandal and a human-turned-angel at that, but it certainly made things tricky.

Perhaps, it would suit me to consider other candidates. Gotham itself hosted several even excluding the heroes.

There was Poison Ivy, who’d probably make for a decent Bishop in her own right. Preferably, I’d resurrect her as a Pawn, if only because I had a feeling Zatanna would demand both Bishops.

She’d likely be a package deal with Harley Quinn, another Pawn candidate. Not that the pairing was a bad thing; they tended to be their most stable, likeable selves when they got together. Trouble was, I didn’t really know if this was one such timeline.

Depending on the iteration, I wouldn’t mind considering Killer Croc or Clayface, either. And if it was pure martial skill I wanted, I couldn’t forget Cassandra Cain, who most definitely wasn’t a Batgirl yet. She was easily the most gifted martial artist of her generation, most definitely a Knight candidate.

I closed my journal and stood. There were plenty of candidates in Gotham and beyond, but my musings only mattered if I was in the right timeline. For all I knew, they either didn’t exist here or were very different people.

No, woolgathering in my study was pointless. Now that I had a plan regarding Klarion and Serling was settling in nicely, it was time to go scout some candidates.

That was how I found myself outside the Gotham Arboretum and Botanical Garden. I figured that if I was going to scout new peerage members, I may as well start with the one that was right in front of me. Ever since the Arkham breakout, Ivy had been holed up in here. No Harley, but Ivy would do for a start.

The botanical garden was a Greco-Roman-looking building with marble pillars and arches. Like with most nice things in Gotham, the Wayne Foundation sponsored its construction a decade or so ago. If I remembered right, Bruce Wayne waved it off as “a bit of spare change lost on a drunken bet.”

Truthfully, I had no real plans here. Pamela Isley was a flexible character. She could be a complete lunatic eco-terrorist who thought all men should be castrated, or she could be a misunderstood environmental advocate who was desperately trying to understand her connection to the Green.

So, I did what I did best. I went in loud and proud, like only a birdbrained, KFC Cluck Bucket could.

Kicking in the doors, I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Pamela Isley! I have come to bargain!”

Author’s Note

Zatanna meets Rigal’s pieces for the first time.

Serling is going to be Gaara-lite, except every grain of sand is a nanite. I’m not actually sure why she’s been so prevalent these past few chapters, either. My muse keeps wanting to write more of her.

It’s funny, but Man-Bat is way stronger than people think he is. For context, he can backhand a moving van while flying next to it, sending it rolling. He’s also overpowered Killer Croc before, can lift and hurl police cruisers, and has a noticeable healing factor.

I’m still not sold on Pamela Isley, which is why I stopped the interaction there. You’re free to argue for or against. Just know that I reserve the right to do whatever.

Animal Fact: There is a type of bird called a jacana. They’re sometimes referred to as lily-trotters or Jesus birds. However, unlike the Jesus lizard, they’re frauds.

Whereas the more famous lizards can run on water using the surface tension of the liquid, Jesus birds step on lilypads or other semi-submerged plantlife. They can do this thanks to highly specialized feet. Their toes are extremely long and distribute their weight across the whole lilypad.