Deathstroke's plan goes into motion.

Slade Wilson smiled behind his mask. This was going better than he had hoped!

So far, the Police department was surrounded by its own law enforcement officers, aiming their weapons up at the brightly coloured assassin as he had their commissioner bound and hanging upside down from a rope tied from the flagpole. The man gave a brave front in front of Deathstroke, but the assassin could care less. After all it wasn’t HIM he was after.

“Slade Wilson, surrender the commissioner or we will open fire.” Called out one of the offers hiding behind the police cruiser in front of the station, speaking through an intercom linked to the cruiser itself. The officer never had the chance to dodge when he found a stiletto knife in his shoulder. The rest was a black and orange blur to the Gotham police. Only a select few knew just how dangerous Slade Wilson was, earning the nick name the Terminator in his long history of assassin and mercenary work. Many compared him to Batman if the Dark Knight just no longer cared. Right now, that seemed very close to the truth.

The police were not prepared for him when he summersaulted into the air, a pair of pistols in his hands as he fired what appeared to be at random, until 10 officers dropped dead to the ground, all with head shots. The instant he landed on his feet he darted from one police cruiser to the next wounding anyone who made a move; slashing and cutting with his short sword. Even SWAT was unprepared, his movements too quick, to precise, they didn’t even realise he had thrown a grenade backflipping behind a car until the little metallic ball rolled to tap against one of the officer’s feet.

Reloading his guns and ignoring the blast that took out the 8 heavily armored officers and the van they came in with, the Terminator walked up the steps back to the whimpering detectives and police he had captured, clutching grenades with the pins removed to keep them from escaping. Once he was back at the head of the steps where Commissioner Gordan raged impotently in his bindings, Slade paused and looked over his shoulder, hearing an afterburner off in the distance.

“Finally, I was getting bored.”

The Batmobile roared off in the distance, speeding down the streets towards the station at top speed. A black metallic spear tip on wheels trailing a plume of flame behind it like a rocket. Reaching the barricade of police cruisers and news vans, the Batmobile screeched to a halt, the canopy opening at the last second to ejects its pilot out into the air. Spreading his cloak wide like the wings of a bat, then duck into a flip, throwing handfuls of batarangs towards Deathstroke. None of them made their mark, the assassin already had his blade out and struck each offending metal disk away, sidestepping to avoid Batman as he landed heavily on his feet and held his gauntlets up.

“You wanted me Slade… Here I am.”

“Well its about damn time! I was worried it would take me to blow up something you cared about to get you here… Bruce.”

Glaring more intently and clenching his gloves tight, Batman maintained his stance, circling Deathstroke.

“So, she was telling the truth! This makes this job even more entertaining.” Unsheathing his other sword and flicking it to rest behind his forearm while his other blade looked ready to strike, Slade made his move. A blur of sword strikes back and forth from different angles with the strength and intensity of a man who had gone berserk, but Slade was anything but. He was a super soldier; his senses, reflexes, strength, speed, all of it was heightened to their peak. And yet despite all his enhancements, Batman was keeping up with him blow for blow. Even managing to backhand one of the blades away and catch the other in his palms, snapping the blade by its hilt. Head-butting the man away, Slade’s helmet cracked from the impact, forcing the man to discard so he could see better.

Unmasked, Slade looked like a man well into his 50s if not older, long grey hair tied in a ponytail behind him and a short beard of grey hair at his chin, an eye patch covered his right eye. And yet despite his age, the man fought with a ferocity of someone a third his age.

“So all this time, drunk playboy Bruce Wayne was the Batman all along, makes sense, explains the gear.”

“Who told you I was Bruce Wayne?”

“Wouldn’t YOU like to know…” Stepping back, Slade’s attention went to his ruined sword and back at the Dark Knight, planning a new strategy of attack.

“Give it up Slade, no more people have to die today.”

“No… Only you.” Dropping his broken sword for the pair of knives behind his back, the man came in close to strike, swiping and slashing with the handheld blades while the Dark Knight countered him with every strike and jab. The sharp prongs of his gauntlets catching the blades and creating sparks from their razor edges. Grabbing the man by his arms, the two men struggled with the blades, infuriating Slade further that the man could keep up with him. Surprising Batman, Slade dropped his knives and kicked himself away, rolling backwards to roll up to a stand and unholster his pistols. Within the split second of reaction time, Deathstroke opened fire, full-automatic into the caped crusader. To the shock and horror of the hostages, news cameras and surviving police, everyone could see the armor piercing bullets spear through the Dark Knight, ripping holes out the back of his cape.

Looking down at the gun wounds to his chest, the Dark Knight Staggered back and fell to his knees, collapsing forward.

“Too easy…” Holstering his pistols, Deathstroke took his time gathering his remaining sword, ignoring the panicked screams coming from the people behind the police barricade and his hostages.

“Deathstroke…”

Stopping in his tracks and looking over his shoulder, Slade didn’t understand what he was looking at. He should be dead, dead ten times over! Instead, he stood there surprised to find Batman slowly get to his feet, roll his shoulder and cough up blood to spit out a metal slug. Raising his fists, the man looked no worse for wear, an impossibility, yet there he stood.

“Nice try Slade, but it’s a bit too late for that to work now, FAR too late.”

Reaching for his pistols again, the man recoiled when a pair of batarangs managed to catch the hilt, making him snap back and clutch at his hand. “How are you still alive? I put enough lead in you to drop a cow.”

“Yes, you did, shame none of it was silver.”

*

John Constantine stood where he was, wavering somewhat from the buzz he got from drinking so much alcohol, but it was necessary if he were to survive what he summoned to deal with Dracula and his brides. He had a pretty good idea that Dracula was fully aware of the demons of Hell, there may have been a chance they knew Dracula well enough that they wouldn’t do what he commanded against the undead count. Which meant he had to summon from a plane only the most insane or nihilistic would look for help.

Chhhhrrrrraaakzzzzhllllooommmmnfrrrrrooodrrrrrzzz was a demon from the abyssal plane, a realm of pure chaos and darkness. It was a Cognito hazard; a creature so toxic to the mind that to even see, smell, hear or taste of its presence would drive even the strongest willed person insane by its whispers and illusions. He had no idea if his mad plan was working, but since he wasn’t dead, there was already a good chance that Dracula and his brides were losing their wits by the second just being in front of the abyssal demon.

He had made his decision when it looked like Zatanna was truly gone to him, he knew he had nothing that could kill her or the others, but THIS, this would see to it she and the other vampires would be no harm to anyone.

Even as he thought this, Dracula and his three brides stood motionless. Transfixed and wide eyed they stared into the multiple eyes of the shapeless, tentacled abomination floating in front of them. Vicky Vale was the first to slowly fall to her knees, foam coming out of her fanged mouth as she collapsed.

It wouldn’t be long now.