He's okay though he's also confused

Condiment Wizard found himself on a mountain, a very cold and high mountain. He looked around very confused at where he was and was trying to figure out where his new friend was. He looked around for a few moments, finding the cold quickly digging itself into his body and the air being rather thin. That's when his new friend appeared with his cat.

"There's my bestest friend; you're enjoying the sight." Klarion said, looking over the sheet cliff they were standing near. Condiment Wizard simply stared back at him, clearly confused as to why they were shaking rather violently from the cold. Klarion, seeing the clear question in his gaze, responded. "Don't worry, your old pal Klarion has a great plan that will show those gods not to mess in our playground. " Klarion said with a sadistic smirk.

Condiment Wizard looked at Klarion for a long moment, causing Klarion to give him a questioning look back. "There were gods involved?" Condiment Wizard asked firmly, to which Klarion gave a hesitant nod in return, curious about where he was going with this. "So while I was pouring tartar sauce into a circle, you were battling gods." Condiment Wizard said the disappointment in every letter of his sentence.

This statement caused Klarion to come to a realization, which was clear in his face. Teekl gave a hiss in response to him realizing the problem. "Okay, Teekl, I should have known he wanted to play too. You don't have to rub it in." Klarion said in frustration to his familiar before turning back to the Condiment wizard. "Okay, my friend, this time I'll be sure to include you. In fact, I've got a much better place than the dank cave from before." Klarion said in excitement before he snapped his fingers, and a small explosion occurred.

Klarion then skipped down the hole he had created. Condiment Wizard looked to the cat, who gave a shrug and a hiss before following after him. Condiment Wizard stood there a moment, thinking on whether this was a bright idea or not. Then another blast of freezing winds hit him, and he went down the hole shivering. As with all the girls wanting to adult things with him, he didn't really have much in the way of clothes when he portaled out.

Honestly, it was not surprising he hadn't already gotten frostbite from the extreme cold. He made his way down the dark path, being careful as he made his way down, as with no light it would be easy for him to trip and break his neck. As he made his journey, he thought on the earlier situation that had just happened. The woman had been nice; he would be the first to admit. He couldn't really call himself a man and not enjoy a hoard of beautiful women eager to pleasure him in any and every way possible.

In the end, that's not why he'd been there; he'd been there to commit a display of his magical might. Instead, he'd been stuck as a tartar sauce hose while his new daughter and Klarion fought gods and who knew what else. That would have been perfect. What better way to prove he was alive than having immortal gods recognize his dark magical power from having to face it.

That opportunity was lost to him for the moment as well as his daughter, as he'd never been told where they were when he gave her life. Though he hoped she was fine, which she should be. As there was nothing linking the two of them. Wonder Woman hadn't seen the two of them gather, and so nobody should be able to link him and her together. The concern was a strange thought for him to have.

As it wasn't just Condiment Wizard but also the echoes of a dead man. The whiskers of Jeremy Sawyer came to him in that moment. Though he spoke of so many concerns. Was he good enough to be a father? Was his daughter safe? If she was, did she really need the broken one, and if she wanted to, how could he help her? For a dead man, he was very chatty, which was a strange thing for the dead.

His thoughts were interrupted as he went from going to walking down a hill to walking on flat ground. Then out of nowhere Klarion appeared in front of him, a flash of light, and then snapped his fingers; everything around them came to life. Condiment looked around in amazement, then looked to Klarion for confirmation. He replied with a simple "Yes. Yes, it is." Then Klarion laughed aloud, the sound bouncing off the metal walls around them.

Thomas looked at his son Bruce; the two were sitting in the personal office of their home, looking at each other man to man. "Son, I love you, and because I do, I can tell something's wrong." Thomas said, looking at his son, who was refusing to look at him. His wife Martha was currently having family time with their grandson Damian. Thomas had reached a dead end at the moment in his research to bring back his master.

Gothan had many psychos pretending to be doctors. He was able to use his reputation to get their notes and files in the horrors they inflicted on the people of Gotham. So he had a lot of info that could be used to resurrect his master's body once they went to claim it from whatever foul mass grave the city put its villains in, but he didn't have a way to bring back the soul to it. For that, he would need more magical procedures, which he lacked. As he was going to find a hundred phonies before he got to one real magical procedure.

So with a dead end till he got info on where he needed to go to get what he needed, his focus shifted. He went back to focusing on family time and noticed rather quickly his son was not quiet all there, and something was weighing on him. So that's why he was now interrogating his son to find out what was wrong. Bruce Wayne helped for a bit but eventually broke under his father's worried look.

"There was an incident at work," Bruce said, being as close to the truth as he dared with his father. "I tried to help someone do the right thing, and now someone is dead because of it." Bruce said to his father, "Shame and regret clearly eating him alive." His father gave a sigh that seemed to physically hurt Bruce.

"I understand, and it's not your fault." Thomas said clearly to his son, causing Bruce's head to snap up warningly fast. He stared at his father silently, asking a question he was too terrified to voice aloud. "I've been in that position, son. Over the years I've saved lives as a doctor and had the privilege of seeing those lives do great things with the second chance I've given them." Thomas said nostalgia clear on his eyes as he thought of those moments.

Bruce was hanging on every word as he got the advice and wisdom he had missed most of his life when his parents were taken from him. "I've also seen the other side of it. Those I've saved going on do commit evil deeds to use the time I've gotten them to hurt those around them." Thomas said the pain was clear on his face as he remembered saving a man in a fatal car wreck and then seeing the man's wife the next day; the scars of his constant beating of her were clear to him. This was one of many horrors that had haunted him.

Bruce stared even more intensely staying as silent as the grave his need to know how you dealt with the guilt of someone you saved hurting others an almost palpable thing in the air. Thomas wasn't blind and deaf, so he answered the obvious question. "You just have to live with it." Thomas said the answer clearly was not one Bruce was prepared for, willing to accept.

"But Dad, how do I do that!" Bruce said loudly, coming dangerously close to yelling at his father. Thomas didn't say anything for a moment; he merely got up, walked over to his son, and gave him a hug. His son returned it as tears burned his eyes. "How Dad?" I need to know," Bruce whispered into his father's ear.

Thomas let go of his son and walked over to a nearby cabinet. "It's simple, son; you have to accept the idea of choice and that someone would willingly choose wrong." Thomas said to a confused Bruce he explained further. "You see, son, we all can make right choices and wrong choices, but no one can make them for us. We have to decide what we do and those that we help have to decide as well. It's a fact of life." Thomas said his son Bruce slowly nodded, understanding the wisdom but clearly not liking it.

"Well, it helps as well if you have someone to talk about it with." Thomas said, laying down two glasses and filling both with whiskey. "Now let's have that drink we should have had when you were eighteen." Thomas said, to which Bruce grabbed a glass and drank. The two men would drink and talk the night away as father and son, learning of each other and the stories they never said to each other till now.