Fwoosh.
A black orb swirled through the air, its darkness compressed into a dense, crackling sphere. It flew like a cannonball, splitting the wind as it hurtled toward its target.
With a casual sidestep, Solomon dodged it effortlessly, letting it pass by him. A second later, an explosion erupted behind him—dust from the desert floor flaring into the air in a thunderous burst.
"You have to be faster. How are you going to defeat your father with attacks that slow and weak?"
Raven panted hard, her feet shifting in the sand, each movement made more difficult by the shifting terrain. They had been sparring for over an hour, and her body was starting to give out. Her magical reserves were still full, but her physical stamina was faltering fast.
Solomon vanished—his figure blurring like a glitch in reality. He reappeared behind her almost instantly. Even the sand beneath his feet didn't shift.
Raven's eyes widened. How? How could someone move like that and leave no trace? Not even a ripple in the sand?
"I know you're stronger than this," Solomon said.
Raven whirled around and teleported on instinct, appearing a dozen meters away. She glanced at where she had just stood—right before a crater formed around Solomon. The force of his attack was so intense it compressed the very ground beneath him. The sand began to flow inward, filling it slowly.
"DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME?!" Raven yelled in disbelief.
"Well, I knew you'd dodge," Solomon replied coolly, like the blow wouldn't have shattered every bone in her body.
Raven dropped onto her back, exhausted. Sweat clung to her skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Solomon stood over her, expression unreadable—but his gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have on her legs.
He didn't show it, but Raven was… distractingly attractive.
"Fine. Training's over for today," he said.
A scarlet-red portal shimmered beside him, warping the air with its power.
"Oop."
He bent down and picked Raven up with ease, carrying her out of the desert and into his newly built home.
The house stood gracefully on the coastline's edge, modern but warm. Its wide glass panels allowed the golden rays of the sun to spill through, illuminating sleek wood floors and clean architecture. Despite its inviting appearance, the home hid a terrifying level of technology behind its walls—artificial intelligence, magical wards, dimensional shielding… all integrated seamlessly.
"I need a bath," Raven muttered, dragging her arm over her sweat-drenched face.
Solomon had insisted she needed to work on her stamina, but she was starting to feel like this was more physical torture than training.
"Okay. I'll be gone for a bit," Solomon said.
He walked through a doorway, entering a private lab. The shift was immediate—the homey vibe vanished, replaced by stark white walls and a sterile, futuristic lab environment. Machinery buzzed softly. Runes glowed faintly.
Solomon didn't need to walk. He summoned his suit directly onto his body, the sleek armor forming around him with a hum of energy. The new design boasted countless hidden improvements—hard to see unless you knew where to look.
In the corner stood his old, reliable shovel—its metallic surface gleaming under the white lights.
"It's time to get back to work," Solomon said quietly.
He picked up the shovel and opened a portal. As he stepped through, the calm serenity of his island home was replaced with something vile. The air was thick with malice. A wave of polluted magic slapped against his passive barrier.
Since taking Raven in, Solomon had learned more about magic than most mages do in a lifetime. Raven had documented everything she knew about Azarath's mystical systems. She hadn't mastered all of it herself, but Solomon didn't need long. In under an hour, he had absorbed every detail.
He had already begun crafting his own spells.
Enchantments had transformed his suit—it now self-repaired, purified itself, and had more defensive layers than a fortress.
Solomon made sure not to breathe in Gotham's air. Even though it couldn't harm him, the sheer difference in atmosphere irritated him.
"I really need to build an air purification system. Maybe deploy some cleaning bots. Gotham is a mess."
He sighed and teleported a kilometer away—closer to his target.
"I also need to improve my short-range teleportation," he muttered to himself.
With every step, his body flickered—phasing in and out of sight. A ghost haunting the streets of Gotham. Step by step, he closed in.
People noticed. A young girl tugged on her mother's sleeve.
"Mom, did you see that?"
"Shhh. That's the Ghost of Gotham. He only goes after bad people," her mother whispered.
Solomon had become a legend in the city. A phantom. A symbol.
The Scarlet Death.
The Ghost of Gotham.
The One Who Cleanses Sin.
No matter what name you called him, seeing him meant one thing:
Someone was going to die.
Solomon finally arrived at his destination—a mansion lit up like a carnival, music playing, rich laughter echoing. The smell of expensive food spilled out from the windows.
Outside, dozens of starving people knelt in the dirt. They begged. Pleaded. Leftovers were hurled at them like scraps for dogs.
The elite inside laughed, fat and smug in their fine suits. Their bulging bellies and glittering jewelry marked them like a brand.
Solomon watched quietly. He'd grown numb to Gotham's cruelty—but not indifferent. His gaze fell on a woman. Thin as paper, a dying baby cradled in her arms. She reached for a moldy scrap on the ground.
"Stop," Solomon said gently, a warm smile briefly touching his face.
He stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm, stopping her before she could grab the food.
"Why are you stopping me?" she asked, panicked. Her eyes locked onto the suit. Her breath hitched.
She recognized him.
Everyone did.
The others nearby turned to look—faces going pale as fear set in. Even the woman flinched.
But then… something strange happened.
She stood.
Her fragile frame shook under the strain, but her arms tightened around her child.
"Even if you want to kill me, I won't let you hurt my baby," she said, defiant.
Others rose too. Scared, but standing in front of her. Protecting her.
Even in this hellhole, surrounded by filth and cruelty, they hadn't lost their humanity.
Not yet.
I wonder if anyone got the reference. If you did, then comment down below. I would love to meet a fellow fan.