The Cosmic Call
Three weeks before his death, Raj stood alone, staring at the crimson tear in reality.
The Bleed pulsed before him like a living thing—a shimmering red curtain between worlds. It was calling him, damn near begging him to jump through and leave Earth-3 behind. Another universe needed saving, it whispered. Another reality on the brink.
Raj planted his feet and refused the call.
In his monitoring room, screens flickered with images from across the planet—his perfect world taking shape. Streets without crime. Minds without fear. Hearts without hate. But something was missing, something vital. The same emptiness he'd seen consume his home reality before everyone just... gave up.
"Not yet," he muttered to the pulsing void. "This world still needs breaking... and healing."
He closed his eyes and saw fractured glimpses of possible futures—Earth-3 tearing itself apart after he left. The Crime Syndicate rising again under new leadership. His perfect system becoming a weapon in the wrong hands.
Raj's fingers trembled as he shrank the Bleed portal to a thread. "One final act," he promised the empty room. "One last gift they'll hate me for giving."
On his screens, a family ate dinner in perfect silence—no arguments, no jokes, no real connection. Just contentment without meaning.
"They've forgotten how to choose," he said. "I've made them forget."
He pulled up an image that should've been impossible—a pale man with green hair and a killer smile. A man who'd died months before Raj arrived.
"The Jester," Raj whispered, using Earth-3's name for him. In every other reality, the Joker was a monster. But here, he'd been something else—a freedom fighter against the Crime Syndicate. A hero with bloody hands but a just cause.
Project Rebirth
Six months had passed since his arrival in the DC multiverse. Six months since he'd crashed through the Source Wall—that boundary at the edge of creation—sending ripples across realities that had alerted every cosmic entity to his presence.
Six months of growth, adaptation, and evolution. In that time, his powers had doubled, reaching what he now recognized as a planetary state—capable of affecting entire worlds rather than just cities or regions.
His mental library—the place he stored his knowledge and organized his powers—had grown enormous. He'd started with just a ten Eidolon slots. Now he managed twenty, each one holding abilities that could shake the world.
But with every new slot came something else: half-remembered secrets slipping past the seals. In quiet moments he caught flashes of strange symbols and equations—the hidden math behind the Orrery of Worlds, the shifting flow of Hypertime, the thread that links Earth-3 to every corner of the DC Multiverse.
These weren't just new powers. They were pieces of a puzzle that could let him rewrite reality itself.
Raj smiled. "Perfect."
The lab hummed beneath what used to be the Hall of Injustice. Strange machines surrounded a table where a body lay under a sheet.
Golden threads of energy flowed from his fingertips, weaving together in complex patterns around the shrouded body.
"They need an act of rebellion that means something," he continued as sweat beaded on his forehead. "Someone who stands for defiance against cosmic authority itself."
The energies swirled around the body, lighting up the sheet from beneath. The air seemed to hold its breath.
Then—nothing happened.
The energy fizzled out. The body didn't move.
Raj stumbled backward, genuine shock on his face. "That's impossible," he muttered, checking readings on a nearby screen. "Something... blocked it. Something I can't see."
"His death is sealed at a level I didn't expect," Raj said, staring at the body. "Protected by forces beyond normal perception." He straightened his shoulders, determination hardening his eyes. "I need to see deeper by using something I've been avoiding," Raj said grimly. "Something that comes with a price."
Supernatural Vision
Alone in the lab, Raj knelt beside the body. He'd sent everyone else away—what came next was too dangerous for witnesses.
He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, to the Eidolon powers he'd gathered across multiple realities. Most were always active, but some—the most powerful, the most dangerous—remained locked away until absolutely necessary.
"Supernatural Vision," he whispered, and something shifted inside his mind.
Pain shot through his skull as his brain rewired itself to process information beyond mortal understanding. The world around him peeled away like layers of an onion. The solid walls became transparent, showing the quantum structure underneath. Time stretched and compressed around him.
And somewhere in that swirl of impossible perception, he sensed... someone watching.
"You're persistent, I'll give you that," said a voice both gentle and absolute. "Most beings know better than to mess with my territory."
Raj turned slowly, his enhanced vision revealing what normal eyes could never see. Standing beside the covered body was a woman—pale as moonlight, dressed in black, with an ankh symbol hanging at her throat. Her eyes held ancient wisdom, but sparkled with playful curiosity.
"Death," Raj said, nodding respectfully. "Of the Endless."
She smiled warmly, which seemed odd for the embodiment of mortality. "You know me! That's refreshing. Most people in your position would be babbling nonsense by now."
"I've seen aspects of you in other realities," Raj admitted. "Though never face-to-face. Sorry about the intrusion."
Death walked around the table, trailing her finger along the edge of the sheet. "This one belongs to me," she said simply. "Taken before you got here. His story's finished, his book closed. Why try to reopen what's been sealed?"
Raj met her eternal gaze without flinching. "Because his story isn't over. Not if Earth-3 is going to heal."
"Hmm." Death hopped onto the edge of the table, swinging her feet like a kid on a high chair. "Lots of people have begged me to bring back someone they loved. Gods have threatened cosmic war for less than what you're trying." She tilted her head, studying him. "But you don't beg or threaten. You just... assume it should happen."
"I've seen a thousand possible futures for this world," Raj explained. "In every timeline where I simply leave, or where someone ordinary overthrows me, chaos returns within days. The system I built is too perfect—the next person who takes control will weaponize it."
"And you think bringing back this particular soul will stop that?" Death asked, genuinely curious.
Raj nodded. "I'm not reviving a villain. On this Earth, he represents rebellion and heroism. I'm installing a paradox, a symbol of rejection that humans need to hold onto. A safeguard against perfect control... even my own."
Death laughed like silver bells. "Oh, I like you! So many powerful beings just want more control. You're trading order for chaos to protect freedom." She smiled warmly. "Very human of you."
"Then you'll allow it?" Raj asked carefully.
Death's expression grew serious. "Everything has a price. You're asking me to bend rules that hold reality together." She studied him closely. "What are you willing to give up?"
Raj didn't hesitate. "Whatever it takes."
"Careful making offers like that," she warned. "The Endless have very long memories." Death stood and circled the table once more before stopping across from Raj. "I'll grant your request—on one condition."
"Name it."
Death leaned forward and whispered something that made Raj's eyes widen. When she finished, she stepped back. "Do we have a deal?"
After a long moment, Raj nodded. "We do."
Death smiled mysteriously. "Then let's begin." She reached through the sheet to touch the cold flesh beneath. "Wake up, Jester. Looks like your final act hasn't happened yet."
The Resurrection
The energy filling the room wasn't like anything Raj had ever channeled—neither light nor darkness but something more basic. Reality itself bent around Death's will as she pulled the Joker's essence back from whatever realm had claimed him.
The sheet over the body rippled like water coming to a boil. Raj focused everything he had on stabilizing the physical form while Death worked her magic.
The sheet settled. A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Suddenly a pale, skeletal hand shot out from under the covering. Fingers that had been still for months flexed experimentally. The sheet flew aside with violent force, and the Joker sat bolt upright with a gasping breath.
He looked terrible—skin deathly pale, hair a sickly green, eyes bloodshot but burning with impossible awareness. Grave dirt still clung to his tattered purple suit.
Death looked satisfied with her handiwork. "Remember our bargain," she told Raj. Then, with a small nod to the resurrected clown, she faded away.
The Joker's head snapped around, taking everything in with quick, birdlike movements. When he saw Raj, his expression cycled through confusion, anger, and finally, unsettling curiosity.
"You're not from the neighborhood," the Joker observed, his voice raspy from disuse. "And I'm pretty sure I was... elsewhere." He looked at his hands, turning them over like he'd never seen them before. "Very elsewhere."
"You were dead," Raj confirmed, keeping his distance. The resurrection had drained him badly; he needed time to recover. "I brought you back."
The Joker's laugh was a dry, terrible sound that echoed off the walls. "Tried that before. Didn't stick. What makes you think this time will be different?" His eyes narrowed. "And more importantly, why bother?"
Instead of answering with words, Raj reached out his hand. A gentle pulse of energy passed from his fingertips to the Joker's forehead. The clown froze as information flooded his mind: Earth-3 transformed under Nexus, peace enforced through emotion control, the emptiness growing beneath perfect order.
When it ended, the Joker sat motionless, processing. His expression gave nothing away.
"You broke them," he finally said, voice soft and almost admiring. "Broke them with kindness. Now that's..." A smile spread across his face. "That's actually funny."
Raj nodded. "And now they need breaking again. The right way."
"By killing their Savior slash Tyrant." The Joker's smile stretched impossibly wide. "Oh, I do love dramatic irony." He swung his legs over the edge of the table, his movements becoming smoother as his body remembered how to exist. "But you're asking me to be a hero again. That was never really my thing."
"I'm asking you to be exactly what you are," Raj countered. "Chaos in a world of enforced order. A symbol of rebellion that will last long after we're both gone."
The Joker studied Raj with unexpected intensity. "You know what happens next, don't you? After I... perform." His voice held no madness now, only strange clarity. "What becomes of you?"
"I've made my peace with it," Raj said simply.
The clown laughed again, but differently now—quieter, almost thoughtful. "Peace. Yes, I suppose you would have." He stuck out his hand in a mock-formal greeting. "Well then, partner. Let's give these nice people something they'll never forget."
They shook hands—order and chaos, salvation and destruction, both working toward the same end.
The Philosophy of Madness
The lab grew quiet as the machines powered down. In the dim light, Raj and the Joker sat across from each other at a small table, like old enemies sharing a last meal before battle.
"You're not what I expected," the Joker admitted, sipping the tea Raj had made. His movements were steadier now, his resurrection taking hold. "For someone playing god, you seem... tired."
"I've seen this before," Raj said simply. "Hero Built perfect systems. Watched them hollow out the very people The Hero wanted to save." He stared into his cup. "This time, I planned for my own defeat from the start."
"Hmm." The Joker set his cup down carefully. "Most power-mad types I've known lacked that particular insight." He leaned back. "So let me make sure I've got this right. You create perfect order, knowing it'll crush the human spirit. Then you arrange for your own murder by the greatest symbol of rebellion this world has ever known."
"That's right," Raj agreed.
"What you don't explain is why." The Joker leaned forward; eyes unnervingly focused. "Why go to all this trouble? Why not just... leave them alone?"
Raj's expression grew distant. "Because I've seen what comes next. Without intervention, the Crime Syndicate would've been replaced by something even worse. This world was stuck in a cycle of escalating brutality."
"So, you broke the cycle." The Joker smiled. "Only to break yourself. There's poetry there."
"The universe seeks balance," Raj said quietly. "Order and chaos in equilibrium. I pushed too far in one direction—"
"—So, I push back." The Joker finished the thought. "And the pendulum swings to a new middle ground." He laughed suddenly; the sound almost genuine. "You're actually quite mad, you know. In all the best ways."
"Maybe," Raj admitted with a hint of a smile. "It takes a certain kind of madness to do what either of us does."
The Joker watched him silently for a moment. "What happens to me? After your big show?"
"That's up to you," Raj answered honestly. "Death gave you a real resurrection, not just a temporary return. Your life is yours again."
"My life," the Joker repeated, testing the words. "That's quite a gift for someone like me."
"Use it well," Raj suggested. "This world needs all kinds of symbols, especially during the chaos that'll follow when I'm gone."
The Joker laughed again, this time with a touch of his old madness. "Oh, don't worry about that. I'm very good at making impressions." He stood suddenly, straightening his tattered suit with exaggerated care. "Three weeks until your public appearance?"
Raj nodded. "Three weeks. The Nimrods will be synchronized for reprogramming. The perfect window."
"Perfect," the Joker echoed, enjoying the irony. "I do love a deadline."
He held out his hand once more, and as Raj took it, something passed between them—not energy this time, but understanding. Two beings from opposite ends of existence, briefly united in purpose.
"One last question," the Joker said, his grip tightening slightly. "When your spooky lady friend made her deal... what did she ask for?"
Raj's face gave nothing away. "That's between Death and me."
The Joker let go with a dramatic sigh. "Secrets, secrets." His smile returned, wider than ever. "Well, I guess we all take something to the grave."
As he turned to leave, the Joker paused at the door. Without looking back, he said, "Thanks for the second chance. I promise to use it... creatively."
Then he was gone, leaving Raj alone with the weight of what was coming.
The Pact Beyond Death
The Bleed pulsed crimson against the darkness between universes. A solitary figure floated there—neither alive nor dead, but something beyond ordinary existence.
Raj, once called Nexus, watched as reality knitted itself together after his sacrifice. Earth-3 was visible as a distant sphere, its patterns of order and chaos finding new balance.
"You kept your word," said a familiar voice beside him. Death appeared from nowhere, her expression unreadable. "They rejected your gift. Chose their own path."
"As I knew they would," Raj replied. "As they needed to."
"And now comes your part of our bargain." Death's eyes held neither cruelty nor kindness, only absolute certainty. "Are you ready?"
Raj looked once more at Earth-3, where his brief reign was already being dismantled. In Unity Square, people were organizing themselves, arguing, feeling, truly living for the first time in weeks.
"I'm ready," he said.
With that cryptic promise, she led him into the Bleed, leaving Earth-3 to forge its own destiny—imperfect, chaotic, and gloriously free.
Epilogue: The Last Laugh
One day after Nexus fell, Harleen stood in her apartment, staring out at the changed city. Without the Crime Syndicate or Nexus's perfect control, people were figuring things out for themselves. Some days were better than others.
A knock at the door startled her. Nobody visited her these days—most people still remembered her as an Enforcer.
She opened the door cautiously, then froze. Standing in the hallway, wearing a poorly-fitted suit and with his green hair freshly dyed, was a face she never thought she'd see again.
"Puddin'?" she whispered, her voice breaking on the word.
The Joker's smile was gentler than she remembered. "Hello, Harl."
She stepped back, letting him in. A thousand questions fought for space in her mind, but all she managed was, "How?"
"Long story," he said, moving into the apartment with the same swagger she remembered. "Cosmic forces, deals with Death herself, the usual impossible nonsense."
Harleen just stared at him; afraid he might vanish if she blinked. "I watched you die. I mourned you."
"And yet here I stand," he spread his arms. "Rumors of my death were... well, actually quite accurate. But temporary!"
His laugh wasn't the maniacal cackle that used to terrify Metropolis. It was more human now, though still edged with something dangerous.
"Why come back to me?" she asked, the question that mattered most.
The Joker's expression softened. "Turns out dying gives you perspective, Harl." He moved closer, stopping just short of touching her. "In all the madness, all the fighting against the Syndicate... you were the one constant that made sense."
"Is this real?" She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Or am I going crazy?"
He leaned into her touch. "Oh, we're both crazy, kid. Always have been. But this?" He covered her hand with his. "This is real."
Harleen felt tears welling up—real tears, unregulated by Nexus's emotional controls, messy and human. "What happens now?"
The Joker's smile returned. "Now? This world needs rebuilding. But not into something perfect." He gestured toward the window, toward the city finding its way. "Into something chosen."
He pulled her closer, and after a moment's hesitation, she melted against him—the embrace she'd thought forever lost to her. Whatever happened next, whatever chaos and uncertainty awaited, they would face it together.
"I missed you," she whispered against his shoulder.
"I know," he replied softly. "That's why I came back."
New Beginnings
One moth has passed since the execution. Luthor stood on the balcony of what used to be LexCorp Tower, gazing out at Metropolis. The company name had been restored—not in domineering capital letters as it once was, but in modest, elegant script.
"Mr. Luthor?" His assistant appeared in the doorway. "The orphanage trustees are here for the donation ceremony."
He nodded. "I'll be right there."
After Nexus fell, Luthor had a choice—return to his old ways or try something new. To everyone's surprise, including his own, he chose the latter. LexCorp's resources were now directed toward rebuilding, with special focus on schools and hospitals.
"Calculating the maximum profit from human potential," he explained when asked about his change of heart. "Just measuring profit differently now."
The truth was simpler. He'd seen perfection through Raj's eyes, and its emptiness terrified him. The messy struggle of humanity, with all its flaws and triumphs, suddenly seemed precious beyond measure.
In the conference room, the trustees waited with architectural plans for the new Metropolis Children's Center. As Luthor signed the donation papers, he caught sight of a small green-haired figure in the playground sketch.
He smiled. Some chaos was necessary, after all.
Sea King—Arthur Curry—dove through the clean waters of Metropolis Harbor. Nexus's environmental restoration had survived his fall, leaving the oceans cleaner than they'd been in centuries.
Arthur had returned to the sea after their conspiracy succeeded, but not as a would-be conqueror. Instead, he'd become something of an ambassador between the surface and underwater realms.
Trading routes had been established. Cultural exchanges had begun. For the first time, the people of Atlantis and the surface dwellers were finding common ground.
Arthur sliced through the water, heading toward a diplomatic meeting with the mayor. These days, he spent as much time in suits as in scales, building bridges instead of armies.
As he neared the surface, he spotted a familiar purple-suited figure walking along the pier. The Joker noticed him too, offering a theatrical bow and a tip of an imaginary hat.
Arthur shook his head but couldn't suppress a smile. Chaos and order, finding balance in their own ways.
In the mountains outside Gotham, Katana knelt before a small shrine. Her legendary blade lay before her, its edge no longer hungry for souls.
After Nexus fell, the sword had gone quiet—as if its purpose had been fulfilled. For the first time in years, Tatsu Yamashiro could hear her own thoughts clearly.
She had established a small dojo here, teaching discipline and focus to those seeking purpose in the new world. Former criminals, ex-Enforcers, lost souls of all types found their way to her door.
"Balance cannot be given," she told her students. "It must be earned through understanding both the light and dark within oneself."
Her first student—a young woman with skills that reminded Tatsu of herself at that age—approached with respectful silence.
"The new students have arrived, sensei."
Tatsu nodded and rose fluidly. "Then we shall begin their journey."
As she passed the shrine, she paused to touch the silent blade. Its purpose complete, it had granted her the greatest gift—a future unbound by vengeance and death.
In the swamps beyond Metropolis, Solomon Grundy had found peace of a different kind. The undead giant had retreated from the cities after their plan succeeded, seeking solitude among the twisted trees and murky waters.
But solitude wasn't what he found.
Children from nearby farming communities had discovered him—and to everyone's surprise, they weren't afraid. To them, he was just a strange, gentle giant who knew all the swamp's secrets.
"Grundy know where frogs hide," he explained to his small followers as they splashed through shallow water. "Grundy show."
The parents had been terrified at first, but soon realized the zombie posed no threat to their children. If anything, he protected them from the swamp's real dangers.
"Born on a Monday," the children would chant as they approached his clearing, a rhyme that had once been a curse but was now a greeting.
Grundy would smile his lopsided smile and respond, "Live every day."
It wasn't the existence anyone would have predicted for him, but in the new world taking shape—a world with room for both chaos and kindness—Solomon Grundy had found his unlikely place.
In the heart of Metropolis, a new park was taking shape where Unity Square had once stood. No perfect gardens or regulated emotions—just open space where people could gather, argue, celebrate, mourn, or simply exist.
A small stage had been set up for community performances. Tonight, a comedian with green hair and a purple suit was warming up, reviewing notes written in crayon.
"Too dark?" he mused, crossing out a punchline.
"Since when do you care about 'too dark'?" Harleen asked, adjusting the simple lights.
The Joker—no longer called the Jester, but not quite the villain of other realities—looked up with a smile. "Since I'm trying to make them laugh with me, not at themselves. Harder trick."
Harleen watched him with wonder that hadn't faded despite the weeks since his return. He was different now—still manic and unpredictable, but with purpose behind the madness. Death had returned him changed, with parts of his old heroism intact but tempered by new understanding.
"They're starting to arrive," she said, nodding toward the gathering crowd.
The Joker pocketed his notes. "Won't need these anyway. Best comedy's always improvised."
Before stepping onto the stage, he caught Harleen's hand and pulled her close for a kiss—gentle but with an edge of something wild. "For luck," he whispered against her lips.
As he bounded onto the stage to roaring applause, Harleen touched her lips and smiled. In a world finding its balance between order and chaos, they too were finding their way—neither heroes nor villains, but something uniquely their own.
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[A/N : WORD COUNT- 3900]
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