Near Tussock River, 1:00 A.M
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A caped figure stood on the riverbank of the Tussock River, cloaked in a heavy, dark coat that fluttered faintly in the breeze. The faint glow of gas lamps from the distant streets reflected on the rippling surface.
“So, this is where those kids are kept,” Atlas muttered, his voice low and steady.
His eyes were fixed on a deep black stronghold, nestled into the riverbank like a predator in wait.
‘That stronghold is quite the camouflage. Built deep into the riverbank and disguised as a natural cave. With the banks almost 12 feet high, no one would even see this unless they were down here.’
Without hesitation, Atlas stepped forward, his cloaked figure disappearing into the cavern's entrance. The cave was poorly lit, with torches scattered every 20 meters or so. It was the perfect setup for an ambush. With his corpse collector’s intuition, Atlas could sense that the cave stretched for kilometers, its walls reeking of blood and despair. This wasn’t just any cave; it was a cavern. A cavern holding secrets darker than the shadows that surrounded him.
Minutes passed as Atlas pressed on, his frustration mounting. He grit his teeth and cursed under his breath. If he didn’t move faster, everyone would die—including him. Clicking his tongue, he decided to sprint.
....
Unknown Cavern … ???
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*Huff… Huff… Huff…*
After what felt like hours, Atlas finally reached the end of the tunnel. Gasping for air, he leaned against the damp wall.
He knew he couldn’t rescue the children in his current state. He needed a moment to recover.
‘Why are they using a place like this for trafficking? With this extravagant cavern, Capim would have already been caught. Am I missing something?’
‘The way I got this information is suspicious. How do two men in a bar know about child trafficking? When I interrogated them, they claimed they overheard it from Tommy. This reeks of something bigger. Is there a higher power at play? Is this the law of Beyonder Convergence?’
His thoughts were interrupted by chanting. Using his spirit vision, Atlas identified 31 distinct lights. Twenty-seven of them were dark—a sign of the children. The other four glowed blue, exuding an aura of absolute coldness.
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Four men stood in a circle, their hands interlocked as they turned clockwise, step by step. From the flickering light of the candles, Atlas could see they were all dressed in heavy gowns. The children sat cross-legged around them, silent, their wide eyes reflecting terror and dread.
At the center of the circle stood a single, tall candle, its flame splitting and flickering in all directions. Next to it was a beautifully carved phoenix totem, its intricate design capturing the moment it rose from the ashes. The men’s movements seemed timed to the candle’s flickers, creating an unsettling rhythm.
Atlas could hear their voices now:
“The Eternal Flame that Burns Through Time,
The Ashen Sovereign Who Rules Over Rebirth and Oblivion,
The Author of Reality and Weaver of Fate’s End.”
Atlas’s heart sank. He knew what this was—a prayer. But not just any prayer. They were summoning an Outer God.
He had to act.
Rushing into the cavern, Atlas drew his hunting knife from his utility belt and hurled it at one of the men. The man sensed the attack but reacted too late. The blade sank into his skull, killing him instantly.
“You idiots! How dare you summon one of them!” Atlas shouted, his voice echoing through the cavern. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry, but he knew one thing: this was bad.
The six remaining men turned to him, their gazes sharp and unnerving.
“How did you get here?! Only the chosen can! So, who are you?” one of them demanded.
Atlas sneered. “It’s called walking. Ever heard of it? Oh, and by the way, I’m Batman.”
The leader flushed with rage. Turning to his comrades, he barked, “What are you waiting for? The Evernight Goddess herself to command you? Attack him!”
The men lunged toward Atlas.
“Kids, I’d tell you to enjoy the show, but now’s not the time. Run!”
The children snapped out of their stupor and bolted. The leader’s expression darkened at their escape but quickly turned his attention back to Atlas.
“Don’t kill him! We need information. Maim him at best!”
Atlas drew his revolver and fired at the first man, but his opponent dodged skillfully and retaliated with a paper dagger.
Atlas’s instincts screamed danger. He dodged the seemingly harmless dagger, which buried itself deep into a pillar behind him.
‘If that hit, Marie Antoinette wouldn’t look so lonely in the headless department. A clown, then? Interesting.’
A second man fired a shot at him, grazing Atlas’s arm and sending a cold shiver down his spine.
‘If I lose focus, I’m dead.’
Steeling himself, Atlas decided to take out the second man first. The clown could wait. As he charged, another paper shuriken flew at him. He blitzed forward, ignoring the projectile.
At close range, Atlas fired another shot, grazing the man’s shoulder.
“Argh!” the man grunted, but his eyes suddenly turned a glowing purple.
“ARGHHHH! WHAT AM I SEEING?!” the man shrieked, his words devolving into gibberish before his body swelled grotesquely and exploded.
Atlas recoiled, shocked. “What in the Everlasting Earth Mother…?”
Shaking off his horror, he stored the body in his artifact—a bag Alfred had gifted him for his corpse-collecting duties. It could hold up to 10m³ of non-living material.
“What did you do, you filthy maggot?!” another man roared.
“Oh, shut up,” Atlas snapped, dodging another paper dagger. This time, flames erupted in front of him. He leaped aside, but part of his flesh and suit were scorched.
“ARGH!” Atlas cried out, biting back tears as pain seared through him.
‘A pyromaniac. Great.’
His arm was soon impaled by another paper dagger. Though the suit softened the blow, the pain was excruciating.
Atlas’s vision blurred as he bit his tongue to stay conscious. Focusing his fury, he lunged at clown. His attacks were precise. But the clown danced around them with infuriating grace.
Finally, Atlas feinted a punch, aiming instead for the man’s calf. The clown stumbled, and Atlas took the opening to throw his hunting knife, landing a killing blow.
As he stored the clowns body, Atlas turned, locking eyes with the pyromaniac.
Before either could make a move, the phoenix totem screeched.
Both collapsed, blood pouring from their orifices as a cacophony of voices filled the cavern. The ravings were maddening, speaking in countless languages—English, Mayan, Russian, Japanese—and filled with arcane knowledge about potions, rituals, and ancient secrets.
Atlas watched the pyromaniac explode like a balloon. Realizing his only hope was the Sefirot, he called out:
“Death who has been trapped in this era,
The Witness of the Infinite Future, The Omniscient,
The Endpoint of all Fate!”
A tattoo of a surging river appeared on his chest. Darkness enveloped him, and he found himself in the familiar landscape of the River of Eternal Darkness.
The shadows clinging to his body began to dissolve, cleansed by the Sefirot.