The Morrison Building cast a sleek shadow over the financial district as Tony approached on his motorcycle. The gleaming glass monolith represented everything he typically avoided: corporate wealth, high society, and people who thought money could solve any problem. Usually, they were right. Just not about the kinds of problems he handled.
He parked his bike in a nearby garage, ignoring the attendant's disapproving glance at his worn leather pants and red coat. The coat was new, replacing the one shredded in last night's encounter. Same style, different coat. He owned six identical ones.
"Penthouse office," Tony muttered to himself as he checked his reflection in the polished elevator doors. He'd made minimal concessions to the meeting location: his white hair was combed back, and he'd left Rebellion at home. But Ebony and Ivory remained holstered under his coat. Some things weren't negotiable.
The elevator whispered upward, numbers climbing until it stopped at the top floor. When the doors opened, Tony found himself facing a reception desk manned by a woman with severe features and a phone headset.
"Tony Redgrave for the ten o'clock," he said, flashing what he considered his most charming smile.
The woman didn't return it. "Ms. Morrison is expecting you." She pressed a button, and double doors behind her unlocked with an audible click. "Go right in."
The penthouse office was a study in modern minimalism. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of Gotham Harbor, where cargo ships crawled like water bugs across the gray surface. A woman stood with her back to him, gazing out at the view.
"Mr. Redgrave," she said without turning. "Punctual. That's refreshing."
"I aim to please," Tony replied, stretching the truth considerably. "Though I usually prefer more details before meeting clients."
Camilla Morrison turned to face him. She was older than Tony had expected, perhaps in her early fifties, with silver-streaked black hair pulled into an elegant knot. Her suit probably cost more than everything Tony owned combined.
"Please, sit." She gestured to a chair across from her glass desk. "Would you like coffee? Water?"
"Coffee, black," Tony said, dropping into the chair with casual disregard for its probable cost. "And answers. Starting with how you found me."
A slight smile touched Morrison's lips as she poured coffee from a carafe. "Wayne Enterprises maintains extensive databases on... specialized service providers."
"Is that what I am?" Tony accepted the cup. "A service provider?"
"You have a reputation for handling unusual problems. Discreetly." She settled into her chair, fingers steepled. "The kind of problems that conventional security cannot address."
"You mean demons," Tony said bluntly, sipping his coffee.
To her credit, Morrison didn't flinch. "Do you always speak so directly?"
"Time is money. Isn't that what you business types say?"
She nodded, something like respect flickering in her eyes. "Three nights ago, one of our warehouse facilities near the harbor was breached. Security footage showed nothing, but five guards were found dead. The official report cites wild animal attacks."
"But you don't buy it."
Morrison opened a drawer and removed a folder, sliding it across the desk. "This is what the coroner didn't include in his official report. At my request."
Tony flipped open the folder and found himself looking at crime scene photos. The victims' bodies were mutilated, but not randomly. Specific patterns had been carved into their flesh. He recognized the symbols immediately.
"Summoning marks," he said, closing the folder. "Someone's trying to open a door."
"A door to what?"
Tony leaned back, studying her. "That depends. What's in your warehouse that might interest the kind of people who carve occult symbols into security guards?"
Morrison's expression didn't change, but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. "The facility contains various Wayne Tech prototypes. Nothing that would seem relevant to... occult interests."
"They're not interested in your tech," Tony said. "They're interested in the location. Old cities like Gotham, they have history buried beneath them. Layers of it. Sometimes literally."
"You believe there's something under our warehouse?"
"It's a theory." Tony finished his coffee and set the cup down. "I'll need access to the site. Tonight."
"That can be arranged." Morrison wrote something on a business card and slid it across the desk. "This will get you past security. The address is on the back."
Tony pocketed the card without looking at it. "My fee is five thousand. Half now, half when I solve your problem."
"You'll find ten thousand has already been deposited in your account." She smiled at his surprised expression. "As I said, Wayne Enterprises maintains extensive databases."
"Glad to hear my credit score passed muster." Tony stood, adjusting his coat. "One more thing. These symbols, they're specific. Connected to a entity called Trigon. Mean anything to you?"
Morrison shook her head. "Should it?"
"Probably not," Tony shrugged. "Just covering bases."
As the elevator carried him back to the lobby, Tony pondered the meeting. Morrison was hiding something. Clients always did. The question was whether her secrets would get him killed.
....
...
...
The harbor stank of fish, fuel, and something else Tony couldn't quite place. Something wrong. He arrived at the warehouse just after sunset, parking his bike in the shadows beneath an overpass. The Wayne Enterprises facility stood apart from other warehouses, surrounded by high fencing topped with razor wire and sporting security cameras at regular intervals.
Tony approached the main gate and held up Morrison's card to the guard. The man examined it, then made a phone call. After a brief conversation, he buzzed Tony through without a word.
The warehouse interior was cavernous and eerily quiet. Shipping containers and large crates created a maze within the space, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Yellow police tape still marked where the bodies had been found.
Tony crouched beside one of the tape outlines, running his fingertips over the concrete floor. Faint residue clung to his skin, invisible to normal sight but glowing faintly to his enhanced senses. Demonic energy, but diluted. Amateur work.
He moved through the warehouse methodically, following the energy trail. It grew stronger near the back of the building, where a large area had been cleared. The concrete floor here was newer than the rest, recently poured.
"Bingo," Tony murmured, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. He used the tip to scrape at the concrete, revealing older material beneath. The blade struck something that wasn't concrete or stone, producing a metallic sound.
Tony worked faster, clearing a larger area. The metal surface underneath had markings etched into it, ancient symbols that predated modern languages. He recognized enough to understand their purpose: a seal, meant to contain something powerful.
And it had been damaged. Deliberately.
"Step away from the seal."
The voice came from behind him, female and commanding. Tony turned slowly, keeping his hands visible but ready to draw his guns if needed.
A hooded figure stood among the shipping containers. Female, slender, wrapped in a blue cloak that concealed most of her features. But even in the dim light, Tony could see her eyes glowing with an unnatural white energy.
"You're not the typical Wayne security," he said, rising to his feet. "Let me guess. You're here for the same reason I am."
"I doubt that," she replied, voice flat but tense. "I'm here to prevent a catastrophe. You're here to disturb a seal that should remain intact."
"Preventing catastrophes is literally in my job description," Tony said, spreading his hands. "Tony Redgrave, supernatural problem solver. And you are?"
"Raven." Her eyes narrowed. "You reek of demonic energy."
Tony grinned, trying to defuse the tension. "That's just my cologne. Eau de Hellspawn. Very exclusive."
She didn't smile. "Your humor doesn't mask what you are."
"And what exactly am I, according to you?"
"A threat." Power gathered around her hands, dark energy crackling with barely contained force. "This seal contains an ancient evil connected to Trigon. I won't let you free it."
"Whoa, hold up." Tony raised his hands higher. "I'm not here to break seals. I'm investigating murders. Five security guards died here three nights ago."
Raven hesitated, the energy around her hands flickering. "The cultists. I tracked them here, but arrived too late."
"Cultists? Plural?" Tony's eyes narrowed. "How many are we talking about?"
"A dozen, at least. Followers of Trigon." Her voice hardened when she spoke the name. "They seek to create breaches that will allow his influence to enter this dimension."
"And you know this because...?"
Before she could answer, the lights went out, plunging the warehouse into darkness. Emergency lights kicked on seconds later, bathing everything in an ominous red glow.
"We have company," Raven said, turning toward the main entrance.
Tony heard them before he saw them: multiple footsteps moving with ritual precision. He drew Ebony and Ivory, the familiar weight comforting in his hands.
"I count twelve," he said quietly. "Just like you said."
"This isn't the time for validation." Raven's hands began to glow again. "They mustn't be allowed to complete what they started."
The cultists emerged from between the shipping containers. Men and women in identical red robes, faces obscured by ornate masks. They moved with eerie synchronization, spreading out to surround the seal area.
"Hey, cult people," Tony called out. "Private party. You're not on the guest list."
The lead cultist raised a ceremonial dagger. "The Son of Sparda," he intoned, voice distorted behind his mask. "Your presence was foretold. Your blood will strengthen the ritual."
Tony sighed dramatically. "It's always about the blood with you types. Very unoriginal."
He fired, the shot knocking the dagger from the cultist's hand. The group hesitated, then attacked as one, pulling weapons from beneath their robes. Raven reacted instantly, dark energy expanding into a shield that blocked several cultists from reaching them.
"Son of Sparda?" she questioned, glancing at Tony.
"Family drama," he replied, firing precise shots that wounded rather than killed. "Tell you later, if we survive."
The cultists chanted as they attacked, their voices creating a dissonant harmony that made Tony's skin crawl. He recognized the language, ancient and forbidden, designed to thin the barriers between worlds.
Tony holstered one gun and drew the combat knife from his boot, engaging the nearest cultists in close combat. They fought with surprising skill, suggesting training beyond mere religious fanaticism.
Raven moved like a shadow, her powers manifesting as dark energy that incapacitated cultists with terrifying efficiency. Tony found himself impressed despite the danger. Her fighting style complemented his, covering his blind spots while he covered hers.
Three cultists broke away from the main group, rushing toward the damaged seal. They carried vials of dark liquid, blood mixed with something that glowed with unnatural light.
"Stop them!" Raven shouted, her concentration split as she held back four cultists with her powers.
Tony cursed and sprinted toward the seal, vaulting over a fallen cultist. One of the three turned to face him, thrusting a ceremonial spear at his chest. Tony twisted, the spear grazing his side as he slammed into the cultist, both of them crashing to the floor.
The other two reached the seal, pouring their vials over the damaged section. The liquid hissed when it touched the metal, eating into it like acid. The warehouse floor trembled, and a low hum filled the air, felt more than heard.
"No!" Raven's shout was accompanied by a surge of power that knocked back every cultist still standing. She flew toward the seal, hands outstretched.
The metal beneath the concrete cracked, dark energy seeping through the fissures. Tony felt a familiar sensation, the same he'd experienced countless times when demons entered the human world: reality bending, making way for something that didn't belong.
Raven landed beside the seal, chanting words in a language even Tony didn't recognize. Her hands pressed against the damaged metal, her power flowing into it, attempting to repair what the cultists had broken.
The leader of the cult, recovered from Tony's disarming shot, rushed toward her with manic intensity. Tony intercepted him with a flying tackle, both men sliding across the concrete floor.
"Your interference is meaningless," the cultist hissed, struggling against Tony's grip. "The breach has begun. His influence will spread."
"Yeah, yeah. Doom and gloom." Tony headbutted the man, cracking his mask. "Heard it all before."
A blinding flash of light from the seal area threw stark shadows across the warehouse. Tony shielded his eyes, maintaining his hold on the cult leader. When the light faded, he saw Raven still kneeling beside the seal, her cloak singed at the edges, her breathing labored.
"Did you stop it?" Tony called out, hauling the dazed cultist to his feet.
Raven's voice was strained when she answered. "Temporarily. The seal is weakened beyond my ability to fully repair. It will need to be reinforced properly."
The warehouse doors burst open before Tony could respond. Three figures stood silhouetted against the night sky: a teenager in a cape and mask, another in a black t-shirt with a red "S" emblem, and a third in red and white with an impossible-to-ignore energy about him.
"Raven?" the caped one called out, voice younger than Tony had expected. "We got your signal. What's happening?"
"Perfect timing," Tony muttered, tightening his grip on the struggling cultist. "The kids are here."