The Ice-shroom's effect lasted exactly four seconds.
Jude knew this because he'd read the plant description obsessively before the mission, memorizing every detail, every stat, every tactical application. Four seconds of total freeze. Complete immobilization for every living thing in the blast radius.
Except the plants themselves. And except Jude, who'd prepared accordingly.
During those four seconds, everyone present became living ice sculptures, unable to move, unable to think, barely able to breathe as their body temperature plummeted toward hypothermic levels.
But Jude's body could still move. Slowly. With difficulty. Like wading through molasses.
Because before leaving the shelter tonight, he'd deliberately drunk a bowl of Nanakusa-gayu.
The description had been clear: Ingredients are warm in nature, warming the body and dispelling cold. Nanakusa-gayu increases the cold resistance of the eater by 50%.
Combined with his Intermediate Physical Fitness Enhancement—which had already boosted his strength, endurance, and environmental resistance dramatically—the Nanakusa-gayu gave him just enough edge to function during the freeze.
The ice mushroom's explosion affected friends and foes equally. But Jude had turned that indiscriminate damage into a tactical advantage.
Two seconds.
Two seconds was enough.
Jude exploded into motion.
His feet found purchase on the frozen ground. His body blurred forward—enhanced speed, enhanced strength, perfect application of Intermediate Swordsmanship against stationary targets.
The sword came out singing.
First strike: Mad Hatter's oversized hat. The blade cleaved through it cleanly, splitting the top hat in half and destroying the mind-control device hidden inside. Circuits sparked. Delicate machinery shattered. The hat fell in two pieces, useless.
Second strike: Scarecrow's right wrist. The sword cut through tendon and muscle with surgical precision, severing his ability to activate the fear gas dispensers built into his sleeves.
Third strike: Scarecrow's left wrist. Mirror image of the second. Both hands now functionally disabled.
All three strikes executed in the span of a single breath.
Intermediate Swordsmanship was very accurate when used against still targets. And right now, Scarecrow and Mad Hatter were the most cooperative targets imaginable—frozen solid, unable to dodge, unable to defend.
They'd basically lost all means of resistance.
The moment Jude's third strike landed, the frost covering the battlefield disappeared.
Everyone thawed simultaneously.
But the Ice-shroom's control effect had a second phase that most people didn't know about.
Post-freeze slowdown.
Scarecrow and Mad Hatter's bodies were still stiff from the cold. Their movements became slow-motion, muscles not quite responding to neural commands, like moving underwater.
Jude, meanwhile, having resisted most of the freeze, moved at nearly normal speed.
The tactical advantage was overwhelming.
Neither villain had any thought of continued resistance. From their perspective, Jude was something beyond human comprehension—an immortal, glowing pumpkin-headed monster. All damage to his body transferred to the pumpkin head. When one head broke, another appeared underneath, like endless nesting dolls.
He was immune to fear gas. Or maybe he could blow it away at will, which meant—
Wait.
Scarecrow's mind raced despite the cold slowing his body.
He blew the gas away. He didn't absorb it or ignore it—he dispersed it with that wind plant. Which means his poison resistance might be limited. Or...
Another thought occurred.
Does this pumpkin monster actually care about the lives of ordinary people on the ground?
"Quickly—" Scarecrow's voice came out in slow-motion, distorted by the cold stiffness affecting his throat. "Capture—the—hostages!"
Jude couldn't help but laugh.
"Are you talking about yourself?" he asked, watching the Scarecrow's mouth move in exaggerated slow-motion like a badly dubbed film.
Mad Hatter's arm was moving. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Raising his large-caliber revolver toward one of the unconscious guards on the ground.
Hostage logic. If they couldn't fight the monster, threaten something the monster cared about.
Jude's foot lashed out in a flying kick that would have made any martial arts instructor weep at the terrible form. But it worked—the gun went flying, clattering across the frozen pavement.
Then two more sword strikes. Quick. Precise. Severing the tendons in Mad Hatter's hands with the same surgical efficiency he'd used on Scarecrow.
"Purely intellectual criminals," Jude said conversationally, sheathing his sword. "You're already in close combat range and you're still trying to figure out tactical solutions. Just go to Arkham and let the guards beat the sense out of you."
He walked around behind both villains, pulled out his blowgun, and fired twice.
Thwip. Thwip.
Knockout darts. Sedative-coated. Fast-acting.
He'd learned his lesson from the Batman imitation incident—trying to knock someone out with a knife handle required precision he didn't have, and failure meant getting chased by an angry criminal. Much better to just use the blowgun. Fast, effective, minimal room for operator error.
Both villains collapsed, unconscious before they hit the ground.
"I need to find time to learn proper hand-to-hand combat techniques," Jude muttered, studying their prone forms. "At least train specifically on how to knock someone out quickly without using weapons."
As the Scarecrow fell, his body expelled a thick cloud of bright green smoke. It billowed outward—concentrated, deadly-looking, far more vibrant than the dispersed gas from earlier.
Jude took an involuntary breath and immediately felt his lungs itch.
Shit.
The concentration of this fear gas was potentially lethal. Some kind of last-resort defense mechanism built into Scarecrow's costume. Release concentrated toxin if unconscious or dying, take your enemies with you.
Even with the control-release candy still dissolving in his mouth, Jude felt the effects trying to take hold.
"BYD is quite sinister," he hissed, immediately popping another candy into his mouth. Two at once now, doubling the purge rate.
His assessment of this universe's combat dynamics shifted slightly.
"The heroes and villains here might not be as physically strong as some other settings," he said to no one, "but they're all incredibly underhanded. If it were anyone else, they'd already be caught."
In fact, Jude had been poisoned. The concentrated gas had entered his system. But he'd gotten lucky—the first candy hadn't fully dissolved yet, so there was still control-release effect active when the poison hit. The second candy kicked in before symptoms manifested.
Close. Too close.
He watched the green smoke rise and disperse in the evening wind. Checked the other people on the ground.
No additional adverse reactions. The concentrated gas had limited killing range in open air. Good. That meant he didn't need to waste another Blover clearing it.
Jude ran a mental cost-benefit analysis.
"To defeat Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, and their entire robbery operation," he calculated aloud, "using significant intelligence advantage and tactical preparation... total cost: one Blover, two Pumpkin Head, one Ice-shroom, and several pieces of candy."
Not bad, actually.
The battle hadn't revealed much plant information to potential observers.
Compared to the Joker fight—which had been desperate, chaotic, barely survived—this had been relatively clean.
The key advantages: Scarecrow's fear gas was useless, Mad Hatter's mind control was neutralized, effectively banning both villains' signature abilities. They'd been reduced to conventional combat with guns and desperation tactics.
If that security guard hadn't grabbed his ankle and blown the stealth approach, Jude could have ended the entire fight with two blowgun darts from concealment.
If it were Batman, he'd probably have just snuck up, appeared dramatically behind them, and knocked both villains unconscious with three punches and two kicks. His ambush style was devastatingly practical.
"Should I hang them up?"
Jude stared at the unconscious super-criminals, internal debate raging.
Logically, a pseudonym should have a consistent style. The identity of "Horrifying Pumpkin Head" shouldn't be tainted with the "Wheelchair Stripper's" signature habit of stringing people up.
But when he thought about hanging two well-known super-criminals high on an Independence Day parade float, parading them through the entire city for everyone to see...
His hands twitched eagerly.
The temptation was strong.
"Why are you here."
Batman's voice.
Jude sighed as the system's three-minute mission timer expired. The Bat-Signal hadn't been lit, but of course Batman had shown up anyway. Probably been watching from a nearby rooftop the whole time.
The gap between Mad Hatter and Scarecrow would be spared tonight. No public humiliation parade. Tragic.
"I came out to see the fireworks," Jude said, turning to face the vigilante. "But how can you be sure it's me? What if this was just a pumpkin that achieved spiritual enlightenment?"
"You were mumbling about hanging people up," Batman said flatly.
"What kind of knight are you?" Jude shot back. "A knight of racial profiling? Does that mean every Asian guy in a pumpkin mask that want to hangs people, is this Handsome, talented, and hardworking man named Jude Sharp, who happen to be Asian? That's a stereotype. A groundless smear campaign against an innocent man's reputation."
He gestured dramatically.
"The Wheelchair Stripper has vanished from this world," Jude declared. "All that remains in Gotham is Jude Sharp—ordinary handsome citizen, innocent talented and hardworking bystander, victim of circumstance."
Batman ignored the denial completely.
"I'm taking them both back to Arkham," he said, already moving toward the unconscious villains. "Don't leave yet. Gordon will need to take your statement."
Jude sighed again. Deeper this time. More suffering.
He'd missed the fireworks tonight. Commissioner Gordon's family evening was ruined—the man would have to work overtime processing this mess. And Scarecrow and Mad Hatter had done so many terrible things over the years.
They really should have been hung up and paraded through the streets.
"What about these people on the ground?" Jude asked, gesturing at the guards and civilians still unconscious from fear gas exposure.
Batman knelt beside one guard, checking vitals with practiced efficiency.
"Pupils dilated and slightly green-tinted. Consciousness suppressed. Fear responses elevated." He checked another. "Scarecrow's fear gas. Strong concentration, but the effects won't last long. They'll recover naturally within the hour."
He paused, frowning slightly.
"Strange," Batman said. "Why are their body temperatures so low? They're showing mild signs of frostbite."
Jude, who'd just taken off his damaged pumpkin head, suddenly remembered an important detail.
The Ice-shroom's explosion didn't just freeze targets. It also dealt minor cold damage. The effect was usually negligible so most players ignored it.
But "negligible" for game purposes apparently meant "mild frostbite" in real-world application.
"That was a complete accident," Jude said quickly. "I'll make up for it. Just give everyone some juice."
He pulled out bottles of orange juice from his dimensional storage—fortified with vitamins, naturally warming properties courtesy of Dave's Dimensional Kitchen Garden.
Batman watched him distribute juice to unconscious people.
"They're unconscious," Batman observed.
"The juice will help when they wake up," Jude said defensively. "Vitamin C. Good for recovery. Very wholesome."
Batman said nothing, but his expression suggested he had Opinions about this methodology.
A moment later, across the city, Commissioner Gordon was at home watching fireworks with his family. Little James sat on his shoulders, pointing excitedly at the colorful explosions overhead. Barbara stood beside them, smiling, enjoying the rare moment of peace.
Gordon's phone rang.
He checked the caller ID. GCPD dispatch.
His heart sank.
"Gordon here," he answered.
The voice on the other end was rapid-fire. Professional panic.
"Commissioner, we have a situation. Explosion at Gotham Bank. Armed robbery attempt. Scarecrow and Mad Hatter both on scene. Batman's already there with—" A pause. "—with an unknown in a pumpkin mask who apparently froze the entire crime scene?"
Gordon closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
"What?" he said carefully. "An explosion? Gotham Bank? Robbery? Scarecrow and Mad Hatter?"
Barbara heard enough to understand. She sighed with the weary acceptance of a woman who'd been married to a cop in Gotham for too many years.
"Justice never takes a vacation," she said quietly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~