[Third Person's PoV]
"I... I don't know what to do. I just feel so lost," Danny muttered, his voice trembling as he grabbed his head, fingers digging into his scalp in frustration. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, like his mind was slowly unraveling. The chaos of his thoughts refused to quiet, and the pressure of the choice before him was becoming unbearable.
After everything he had just witnessed making a decision felt infinitely harder. If he destroyed the spell, then maybe—just maybe—those people wouldn't have had to die so early, so senselessly. Some of them were only children. So young. Innocent lives that were extinguished far too soon. Deaths that could have been avoided if only someone—if only Batman—had existed in time to save them. And even more lives could still be saved, if he just acted, if he did something rather than standing by.
It might not make sense from a purely logical standpoint, but in Danny's heart, the conclusion felt painfully clear: if you have the power to stop a tragedy and you choose not to act, then in some way, that blood is on your hands. You may not have caused the pain directly, but you allowed it to happen. And that, to him, was just as damning.
"Danny," Death said softly, her voice was warm, steady, and full of quiet understanding, "No one is expecting you to make this decision right now. You're not being forced into anything, and you shouldn't pressure yourself to find an answer in a single moment. This isn't something you can simply figure out overnight. Of course you feel lost—how could you not? That's perfectly normal. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."
She reached over, placing a supporting hand over his shoulders, "Just take your time, and don't rush your decision. Think it through — carefully. And when you do decide… make sure it's something you can live with. Something you're proud of, even if it's hard."
Danny looked up at her slowly. His eyes were tired — dark rings forming underneath them, his usually sharp gaze dulled by the weight of everything pressing down on him.
"That's not to say you won't have regrets," Death added, her lips curling into a soft, sad smile. "After all, you're only human… well, half-human in your case. Regret is part of what it means to be alive — to care. So yes, you'll likely have regrets. But just make sure that whatever you choose, it's what you truly believe is best — not just for them, but for yourself as well."
There was a long pause as Danny let her words settle inside him. And then, his voice broke through the quiet again, weak but sincere.
"Just… why me?" he asked, eyes searching hers with a look of desperate confusion. "Why is it up to me? That's what I want to know most of all. Just… What did I do to deserve this? Why was I chosen?"
Death's expression softened. She reached out and gently cupped Danny's face, brushing her thumb across his cheek. Her eyes — ancient, understanding, and infinitely deep — locked with his.
"You were chosen because you care," she said softly. "Because even when you're drowning in pain and uncertainty, your first thought is still about others. You mourn people you didn't even know. You want to fix a world you had no hand in breaking. That… that is rare."
Danny's lip trembled slightly.
"You didn't ask for this, and that's exactly why you were given it. Because you didn't chase this power or responsibility out of greed or pride. You were given it because someone, somewhere, believed that your heart — even with all its pain — was the kind that could change things."
Death leaned in just a bit closer.
"You are not alone in this, Danny. I'll be with you every step of the way. But the choice must still be yours… because the future depends on someone who truly understands the cost of life and death. And that someone — is you."
Danny sighed, he felt the weight of the choices he had to carry just a little more bearable, even if it was just a tiny bit, "I'll think this through carefully… But I'm unsure if I'll make the right decision when the time comes."
"There is no right decision, only the one you can live with," Death replied, her tone calm but filled with meaning. "Every path comes with consequences. Every choice, a price. There's no escaping that. But what matters is that you choose with your heart and your conscience—not out of fear, not out of guilt, and not because someone else tells you what's 'right.'"
Danny nodded, his smile becoming more sincere and heartfelt. "Thank you," he said softly. "I don't think I'd be nearly as calm as I am right now if it weren't for you. You're... you're really a good listener."
Death smiled proudly, tilting her head just slightly as warmth filled her expression. "I'm glad I was able to put my skills to good use, then," she replied gently.
Danny rose to his feet, brushing off the dust from his pants before offering a hand to Death. She accepted it with a light chuckle, allowing him to help her up from her crouching position. Despite the gravity of their conversation, a strange peace lingered in the ruined chapel.
Without another word, Danny began to rise into the air, floating just inches above the cracked stone floor of the long-abandoned chapel. The moonlight filtered through shattered stained-glass windows, casting fragments of color across his face. "I owe you one," he said sincerely, glancing down at her. "I don't know if I'm much of a listener myself, but... I hope someday I can return the favor. Maybe there will come a time when you need someone to offer you words of comfort."
Death looked up at him with a playful, teasing glint in her eyes. "Hmm? Danny, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were cursing me to have a bad day in the future."
"Ack—what? No! That's not what I meant at all, I swear!" Danny flailed in the air, his arms waving frantically. "I hope all your days are amazing—the best! I just meant I want to repay your kindness, that's all!"
Death burst out into a hearty laugh, covering her mouth delicately as her shoulders shook. "Relax, Danny," she said between giggles. "I was only messing with you. I understood exactly what you meant. And thank you. If I ever find myself in need of comfort... I'll be sure to keep your offer in mind."
Danny's cheeks turned a distinct greenish hue, the ghostly flush of embarrassment rising quickly to the surface. "Right, well—uh—anyway. It's getting late. I, uh, have somewhere I need to be. Bye!"
Without another word, he spun around and shot out of the chapel like a rocket, fleeing the scene before he could humiliate himself any further. As he vanished into the night sky, Death could still hear his muttering echo behind him.
"Nice going, doofus. God, why do I always end up embarrassing myself the second I open my mouth...?"
Death shook her head with amusement as she turned and began walking down the dusty central aisle of the old chapel. She closed her black umbrella and tapped lightly against the floor with every step, and a faint, genuine smile rose to her lips, touching even her normally solemn eyes.
---
Meanwhile...
Back in Gotham, Danny phased through the stone walls of the chapel and emerged into the city's night sky. He rose higher, leaving the forgotten sanctuary behind as he soared above the skyline. His movements were slower than usual, almost contemplative, as if he were absorbing the city from a different perspective.
Down below, the streets of Gotham stretched endlessly in all directions. Some areas in the distance were overrun with thick, wild vines—green and monstrous. Other districts glittered with unnatural frost, enormous pillars of ice jutting up like fangs from the earth. The city was fractured, divided, and unnatural... but Danny's attention wasn't on any of that.
His focus was on the one place that had come to mean the most to him in the past three months: Wayne Manor.
When he finally reached the estate, he hovered silently above it and frowned. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected—it looked almost nothing like the proud, imposing home he had come to know.
The manor was desolate. Forgotten.
The once-pristine hedges were now wildly overgrown, weeds choking the garden paths. The front gate sagged on broken hinges, barely standing. Several windows were shattered, and ivy curled through the gaps like veins of neglect. The whole structure seemed to groan under the weight of time and loss.
Danny flew forward cautiously and phased through the door.
The interior surprised him even more.
It was dark—completely dark. Shadows swallowed every corner of the vast halls. But unlike the exterior, the inside was disturbingly... immaculate. Dustless. Tidy. Unnaturally clean, as if someone had scrubbed the place obsessively or as if no one had lived there at all.
Danny raised his hand, summoning a soft, green glow of ectoplasm to illuminate his path. The light flickered against the polished surfaces as he moved forward.
"Hello?" Danny called out, his voice uncertain, echoing eerily through the empty halls. "Anyone here? Alfred?"
He stepped carefully toward through the manor, going room to room, until he entered the kitchen, the silence pressing in on him. But then—he felt it.
A sudden pressure behind his head. A presence.
Click.
A shotgun cocked.
Danny froze. Slowly, he raised both hands in surrender.
Then came a voice—deep, gruff, and threatening. "Who are you? What do you want? If you came here to steal anything valuable... you'll live to regret it."
"I didn't come to steal anything!" Danny replied quickly, his voice steady but earnest. "I was looking for the butler who lives here."
There was a pause. A dangerous silence.
"And why the hell would you be looking for the butler?" the voice growled.
Danny slowly turned around, his hands still raised.
"I wanted to see how you were doing... Alfred." He said with a forlorn expression.
The man standing in front of him was almost unrecognizable.
Alfred Pennyworth looked older—much older than Danny remembered. His eyes were sunken, heavy with fatigue and grief. His face was marked with deep scars, and his once-pristine hair and beard had grown into a haggard, unkempt mess. Yet beneath the roughened appearance, his body was strong. Muscular. Hardened.
This wasn't the calm, composed man who had driven Danny to school, who had served tea with quiet dignity.
This was a warrior, a survivor.
And in that moment, Danny realized just how deeply the world had changed.
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