THE DEATH KNELL-Chapter 34: WHISPERS IN THR DARK

Two figures led the way, followed by three non-combatants. Barbara clutched her laptop, while Vic held the microphone, and Pete, pale-faced and trembling, carried the camera at the rear of the group.

His staggering steps and dazed expression made him look like a walking corpse in the rain.

Slade Wilson had seen this kind of thing before—it was a bad omen. It felt like they were on the verge of opening an underground research facility, only to be met by a horde of ravenous monsters.

Drawing his twin blades, he struck twice against the wire fence, sparks vanishing instantly into the downpour as he carved an X-shaped opening. Then, bending the metal aside, he created a hole large enough for a wheelchair. Barbara moved in first.

She gave him a nervous smile before shifting her attention to the darkness around them.

The junkyard was filled with skeletal remains of vehicles, stripped of engines, batteries, and anything valuable before being tossed here like discarded bodies. Piles of them formed twisted, jagged hills, looming in the darkness.

No matter where they looked, the towering silhouettes of scrapped cars surrounded them from every direction. Everything seemed to stretch endlessly, blending into the shadows.

Neither Barbara, Vic, nor Pete had ever ventured into such a remote and eerie place at this hour.

Every Gotham native knew what lurked in the darkness. Some actively sought it out, while others avoided it like a venomous serpent.

Slade Wilson felt it immediately—someone was watching them. He looked up and saw a lone drifter in the cab of an abandoned car, peering through the broken-out windshield.

At first, he dismissed it.

Until she started making that sound.

"Coo... coo..."

A gunshot rang out.

The sudden burst of violence stunned Barbara and the others. The unexpected shot, without hesitation or warning—was this what they called the death knell of a mission?

But to their shock, the woman evaded it with an unnatural movement. Her neck bent at an impossible angle, as though she had no bones at all, and the bullet passed just above her head.

By the time she reemerged from the wreckage, her appearance had changed. No longer a ragged drifter, she now stood in the open, masked, wearing round spectacles.

With a flickering movement, she leaped onto the roof of an abandoned car. The black leather uniform she wore bore intricate golden designs, its outdated lacework reminiscent of the hunting suits once worn by European nobility.

Her round glasses, glowing faintly, gave her an owl-like appearance as she looked down at Slade Wilson's group.

"Protect them," Slade Wilson ordered, dropping the command before drawing his twin blades and leaping onto a junked car to face the strange woman.

"I always thought their existence was just a legend..." Cindy murmured as she drew her weapon, stepping in front of the others. "It looks like Slade was right. Gotham hides too many secrets."

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Vic, ever the journalist, immediately motioned for Pete to shield her with a poncho, protecting her equipment from the rain. She flipped open her notebook, ready to document everything under the dim glow of the camera light.

"Miss Cindy, you seem to recognize our masked guest. Care to explain who she is?"

Cindy shot her an unimpressed glance. She had her suspicions that Slade's team was made up of more than ordinary people from another universe, but here, Vic was just a civilian. And civilians who knew too much in Gotham didn't last long.

"You only need to know that they're the assassins of an ancient force within Gotham. If you learn any more than that... you won't live long enough to report it."

"That's fine." Vic's eyes gleamed with excitement, her face flushing. "As a journalist, I've long since accepted that risk. Tell me. The truth deserves to be heard!"

Cindy sighed, shaking her head. She wasn't sure if she was giving in or simply humoring Vic, but in a low voice, she recited an old Gotham nursery rhyme—one that had been whispered for generations.

"Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time. Peering through the darkness, perched atop the spires high. It hides beneath your bed at night, behind the walls it creeps. Speak its name, and feel its claws tear into you deep."

Vic shuddered, but her instincts as a reporter had already kicked in. She scribbled down every word, determined to dig into Gotham's hidden history. If she had the chance, she'd investigate further—perhaps uncover something long buried.

Slade Wilson, however, was already putting the pieces together.

He wasn't just some outsider. He had knowledge from another world. And here, in the storm, standing in Gotham, hearing the telltale sound of an owl's call—he immediately knew what they were dealing with.

This woman, the one disguising herself as a vagrant, was an assassin of the Court of Owls. A Talon.

Back in his own world, DC Comics had never fully unveiled the depths of the Court's reach. He only knew that it was an ancient cabal, formed by Gotham's oldest families, manipulating the city's fate from the shadows for centuries.

No one knew their true identities. Every member of the Court wore an identical white owl mask, and each possessed a distinctive ring as a token of their allegiance.

The Talons were their enforcers—elite assassins trained and conditioned from childhood, their bodies enhanced through an unnatural resurrection process, making them virtually unkillable.

Long before the rise of Gotham's gangs, before even Falcone or the four ruling families, the city had been under the grip of the Court of Owls.

Internal power struggles had nearly destroyed them. In the chaos, Falcone and other crime lords had taken control, forcing the Court to retreat into the shadows once more.

Maybe Batman or Falcone himself knew the extent of their influence. But Slade Wilson knew something they didn't.

Their origins went back even further—centuries earlier, to an age before recorded history.

In the mythology of the DC Universe, human civilization had been shaped by four ancient tribes: the Bird Tribe, Wolf Tribe, Bear Tribe, and Bat Tribe.

Batman was a descendant of the Bat Tribe.

The Court of Owls? They hailed from the Bird Tribe.

Most disturbingly, their loyalty wasn't just to Gotham's elite. The Court had long since fallen under the thrall of something far more sinister—Barbatos.

A dark god, the Dragon of the Dark Multiverse, the true lord of the shadows. A deity whose sole desire was to consume the light of the multiverse and drag all existence into his domain.

From a certain perspective, the Court's worship was not misplaced. To them, Barbatos was the one true god.

Unfortunately for them, Barbatos saw his followers as nothing more than tools—expendable pieces in his grand game.

But that didn't mean Slade Wilson could afford to take this lightly.

If a Talon had appeared here, it meant the Court of Owls would soon follow.

And if the Court knew... Barbatos would know too.

Things were about to escalate far beyond anything Gotham had seen.

Slade Wilson tightened his grip on his blades.

He had to end this here—delay the Court's plans as long as possible.

No matter what, this Talon could not be allowed to escape.