The medbay was quiet, but not peaceful. Machines hummed, monitors beeped, and the sharp tang of antiseptic hung in the air—an all-too-familiar symphony of survival.
Even after their victory against Asmodeus, the atmosphere inside Titans Tower was somber.
Raven lay unconscious on one of the stark white beds, her pale face framed by strands of midnight hair damp with sweat. Beside her, Cyborg and Beast Boy were strapped to their own beds, their bodies wrapped in bandages and enchanted seals. Both had taken the brunt of Asmodeus's fury—Cyborg's metal plating was dented and scorched, and Beast Boy had yet to stir, his breathing shallow but steady.
The other Titans weren't much better. Robin's ribs were taped and bruised from when the illusion fractured. Starfire's energy reserves were dangerously low, her glow dim and flickering. Even Miss Martian, usually unshaken, carried a haunted look in her eyes.
Physically, they were healing—thanks in part to Wildcard, whose rare combination of medical knowledge and light magic had patched wounds and soothed burns. Yet, while their bodies mended, the invisible scars of trauma lingered. Their minds remained captive, heavy with the weight of the battle.
The fight was over, but the cost of it lay lined up in front of them.
***
It hadn't been immediate, that relief.
When Asmodeus had finally been consumed by the Purifying Burst, laughter dissolving into nothing, there had been no cheer of triumph—only silence. The Tower groaned and cracked around them as the illusion gave way, leaving behind the real stadium floor beneath their feet.
For a heartbeat, they simply stood there, stunned, trying to understand that it was done.
Then Raven had collapsed.
The urgency came flooding back at once. Robin and Wildcard had sprinted to her side, while Starfire lifted Beast Boy in her arms despite her own trembling limbs. Cyborg's systems sparked and failed one after another until he too slumped, smoke hissing from ruptured circuits. The battlefield turned into a scramble—not for victory, but for survival.
They had lifted their fallen comrades and left the stadium behind, carrying the weight of exhaustion and fear with every step.
***
The battle that decided everything had not been won by strength alone. It was built on instinct, desperation, and a plan that only emerged in the chaos of the final moments.
When Asmodeus had tightened his grip on Raven, bending her will with threads of abyssal magic, Wildcard was the first to see it clearly. His Sharingan cut through the veil of demonic power, exposing the faint current of mana that bound her to the demon's command. What looked like possession to the others revealed itself to him as a tether—a channel Asmodeus constantly reinforced to maintain his dominance. Destroying that channel would not destroy Raven, but sever the demon's control.
With seconds to spare and no time for words, Wildcard shared his discovery in the only way possible. His Sharingan flashed, transmitting his vision and strategy to M'gann, whose telepathic link spread it through the team. Each Titan knew the role they must play, as if the idea had originated in their own minds.
The next exchange unfolded like instinct. Wildcard and Starfire launched themselves forward, a storm of steel and fire converging against Raven. The controlled empath lashed out with elemental fury, tearing apart the ground and sky with her corrupted power. But amid that storm, Wildcard struck—a hand to her throat, a desperate grab that seemed futile when a violent burst of wind hurled him backward. Yet contact was all he needed.
The curse seal, drawn with the finesse of chakra and intent, flared briefly before dimming against her skin. It was incomplete, unstable, but its design was simple: to choke the flow of mana. If it worked, it would erode the demon's hold on Raven's body, unraveling the possession at its roots. But the seal worked slowly, and Asmodeus knew it. The Titans would need to buy time for it to take effect.
The battlefield descended into frantic improvisation. Wildcard, Starfire, and M'gann became the vanguard, keeping Raven occupied, forcing her to split her power between offense and defense. They struck as one—fire, steel, and psychic barriers weaving together in a desperate rhythm. For a moment, they succeeded. Raven was driven to the ground, pinned beneath a binding jutsu that coiled like serpents around her.
But the demon's influence within her lashed out violently. In a blink, Raven vanished and reappeared behind Robin, her eyes burning with unnatural malice. The psychic attack that followed dropped him to his knees, clawing at the edge of consciousness. Chaos spread, the team's formation shattered.
It was then that Wildcard executed the gamble. A clone rushed forward, reckless, intercepting Raven's strike and allowing Asmodeus's power to pierce it. To the demon, it was a victory—another Titan struck down. But the real Wildcard had already vanished into the shadows of the chaos, free from the demon's gaze. The clone dissolved in smoke, revealing the deception too late.
The curse seal flared at that exact moment. Its slow burn reached its peak, choking the demon's influence like a clenched fist around a throat. Raven convulsed as the link frayed, Asmodeus's control slipping in sudden jolts of resistance.
Wildcard emerged from the smoke, twin blades in hand, and hurled them with unerring precision. The steel sang through the air and buried themselves in the demon's form, pinning him with paralyzing force. For the first time, Asmodeus faltered.
The Titans surged forward in unison. Starfire's blasts tore through the darkness. M'gann unleashed psychic waves that cracked the foundation of the demon's illusions. Cyborg's cannon roared, Beast Boy, in a hulking form, struck with primal force. Every Titan committed to the strike, pouring what little strength remained into one final assault.
And then, as Asmodeus reeled, Wildcard summoned everything left within him. Chakra ignited, condensed, and erupted in a blinding surge. The Purifying Light Burst tore through the demon's form, unraveling him piece by piece until the abyss that had consumed the field collapsed inward. The tether snapped. Raven was free.
When the dust settled, silence reigned. The stadium was broken, scarred, and littered with smoke and ash, but the threat was gone. Asmodeus's presence had been erased. What remained were the Titans—bloodied, battered, but standing.
It was not triumph that followed, but exhaustion. They gathered their fallen, lifted Raven, Cyborg, and Beast Boy with grim urgency, and left the hollow battlefield behind. Victory had been bought, but its price weighed heavily on every step back to the Tower.
***
Now, in the sterile light of the Tower's medical wing, the adrenaline had drained, leaving only fatigue.
Robin sat at Raven's bedside. His posture was rigid, but his eyes betrayed the strain of the past hours. Even after collapsing from Asmodeus's psychic assault, he had recovered the fastest. Training under Batman had honed him to endure both physical and mental punishment. Still, the silence weighed on him. His gloved hand rested lightly against the sheets, not touching Raven but close enough to remind him of the responsibility he carried.
I should've seen it coming. I should've been better prepared. The thought clawed at him, but his jaw tightened, and he gave nothing away.
Starfire floated nearby, her fingers interlocked, her hands pressed to her lips as though she were praying. "Please… recover, all of you," she whispered, her voice cracking despite her best effort to sound hopeful. Her fiery hair glowed faintly under the fluorescent light, a flicker of warmth in the otherwise cold room. She stayed close, unwilling to let go of hope—because letting go wasn't in her nature.
Miss Martian stood at the foot of the beds, arms folded tightly, eyes closed. She kept her breathing steady, like she was forcing herself into calm. But every so often, her green eyes flicked open, and she glanced toward Jinx. Her voice was steady when she finally spoke, though quiet. "They're stable. That's all that matters right now."
Jinx leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, her usual smirk absent. "Stable doesn't mean fine," she muttered. There was no venom in her tone—only guardedness. Her pink hair framed a face that gave away little, but her gaze lingered on Raven longer than she probably intended. "Demons don't just disappear. You all know that."
Robin didn't answer, but his silence was agreement enough.
Outside the medical wing, the Tower's hallways fell into uneasy quiet. Not all of them chose to stay.
Wildcard wasn't there.
He didn't linger in the Tower's whitewashed halls, nor did he wait for gratitude. He had no need. The only reason he had fought alongside them was because he knew what would happen if Asmodeus claimed Raven fully. He wasn't a hero—never pretended to be. But he wasn't a fool either. Letting the world collapse out of negligence was stupidity, and he refused to wear that crown
Wildcard stood alone in the observation deck, overlooking Jump City. His figure was half-shrouded in shadow, the neon glow of skyscrapers reflecting in his eyes. He hadn't gone to the med bay—he never would. "Not my burden," he murmured to himself, though the city lights held his gaze longer than he liked.
The night outside was alive, electric. Downtown pulsed with energy—skyscrapers, neon signs, the endless rhythm of a city that refused to sleep. Cars cut through streets like veins of light. The suburbs beyond lay quieter, tree-lined, uniform rows of houses—an illusion of peace untouched by the battle that had just taken place.
But Wildcard knew better.
"The battle's won," he said under his breath, "but the war hasn't even begun."
A soft chime cut through his thoughts. Her voice followed—calm, precise, and almost playful.
Sage.
"Brooding again, Kairon?" she teased. "You know it doesn't suit you. You've always looked better when you're scheming."
Wildcard didn't turn, but a faint smirk touched his lips. "And you've always had too much to say."
"That's what friends are for." Her voice softened, less artificial, more… human. "They're not your responsibility. But you didn't walk away either. That means something, whether you admit it or not."
His smirk faded. "Don't start. I'm not here to play hero. If Asmodeus gets Raven, the world burns. I don't intend to live in ashes."
From the balcony outside the Tower, his gaze fell upon Jump City.
The city pulsed beneath the moonlight, alive with neon veins running through its skyscrapers, every street buzzing with motion and noise. A contrast of steel and light against the gloom that clung inside the Tower. Beyond the downtown glow, the suburbs spread quiet and orderly, small houses like chess pieces laid across tree-lined streets.
Victory had been won tonight, but only barely. The war had just begun.
And Wildcard knew—Asmodeus would strike again.
He closed his eyes briefly, hands tightening against the railing as the wind dragged across his coat.
Sage's voice cut gently through the silence.
"Brooding suits you, Kairon. But don't mistake standing still for watching."
Wildcard's lips curved faintly. "And what am I supposed to do? Pretend this was a victory?"
"You did win," Sage countered, gentle but firm. "For now. But you and I both know demons like Asmodeus don't fade quietly. He'll circle back, and when he does…" she paused, her tone sharpening, "you'll need more than borrowed alliances."
Wildcard—Kairon—rested his chin against his hand, his sharp eyes scanning the skyline. "That's the thing, Sage. They fight because it's right. I fight because I refuse to lose. Two very different motives."
"And yet, tonight," Sage said softly, "those reasons met."
He let the silence stretch, traffic humming below, the Tower quiet behind him. Finally, he exhaled.
"I'm not their hero. Just a man making sure the world doesn't burn before I'm done with it."
"And I'll be here," Sage replied, her voice steady, unwavering, the constant thread in his chaotic path. "To guide, to warn, and—occasionally—to remind you when you start sounding like a cliché."
That earned her the faintest laugh. "Fair enough, partner."
He let the weight of that moment settle before Sage's voice broke through the quiet air, clinical and unyielding:
"You're overdue for a stat update, Kairon. Log: post-Asmodeus battle. Here's what you gained," she announced, her tone equal parts analyst and companion.
"Post-battle abilities unlocked. Overview as follows."
A translucent interface appeared, listing his new skills with clinical precision.
Storm Release:
"A rare elemental fusion combining Lightning Release and Water Release, creating powerful, controllable energy beams and storms. This ability allows manipulation of electrically charged water-based attacks—versatile for offense, precision, and area control. Initial access granted; potential to evolve."
Light Magic (Intermediate):
"Refined through repeated purifying and healing spellcasting, your Light Magic affinity has progressed to intermediate level. You now cast with improved speed, wider coverage, and enhanced cleansing properties. Emphasizes defense and restoration."
Dark Magic (Beginner):
"Asmodeus's influence has triggered baseline aptitude in Dark Magic. You can now manipulate shadow energy for simple attacks and barriers. Warning: techniques remain unstable and emotionally taxing. Practice advised."
Potion Brewing (Beginner):
"Fundamental knowledge of alchemy and potion synthesis acquired. Capable of producing basic restorative and enhancing elixirs. Recipes and effects limited at this stage; proficiency expected to grow with experience."
Sage gave a small nod, collapsing the display. "Your growth reflects the battle's complexity. Continue developing these varied systems for adaptive advantage."
Kairon flexed his fingers, sparks weaving in anticipation. "Storm and water… lightning and tide. Guess I'm ready to stir the storm."
Sage's digital expression softened, almost affectionate. "Just don't overextend. These upgrades make you versatile, not invincible
His gaze returned to the city, the neon glow reflecting faintly in his eyes. Beneath his calm, one truth burned bright: Asmodeus wasn't defeated—merely delayed.
For a moment, his reflection stared back at him in the glass—calm, cold, untouchable. Yet Sage's words lingered like a whisper at the back of his mind.
Inside the med bay, the Titans held vigil. In the quiet, each carried their weight—guilt, fear, hope.
Outside, in the city's neon veins, Wildcard kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Asmodeus was not gone he wasn't finished. But not destroyed.
And every soul in Jump City—Titan, ally, or stranger—would soon learn it.
End of chapter