The Hall of Justice had never felt so brittle.
Magic buzzed faintly against the walls like the wings of trapped insects. Strange glyphs, spells of protection and containment, had been etched by Zatanna, Fate, and Constantine in unison—each layer more desperate than the last.
Superman stood at the table, arms crossed, his face unreadable. Beside him, Wonder Woman stared at the holographic feed flickering in and out. It showed what remained of the Watchtower—floating in jagged silence. Every transmission sent into the sector came back as noise.
"She left it there," said John Constantine, cigarette trembling slightly in his hand. "Like a dog dropping a bone at your doorstep."
"She wants us to respond," Batman muttered.
"No," Zatanna said, voice low. "She wants us to doubt."
The Batwoman Who Laughs had not returned to Earth physically. But her message had.
It arrived in the form of a box, black as starless void, left in the ruined Watchtower's command bridge. Carved into it were twisted sigils shaped like laughing bats, burned into reality by an unknown force. Opening the box required no key—only the will to witness.
Inside was a single playing card.
The Joker's face was drawn on one side. On the back, it bore the mark of the Bat.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
Also inside was a list—written in blood that glowed faintly in the dark. Names.
Clark Kent. Diana Prince. Arthur Curry. J'onn J'onzz. Billy Batson. Wally West. Zatanna Zatara. John Constantine. Dick Grayson.
And last, scrawled in a different hand:
> "Bruce Wayne – Already home."
---
In the Tower of Fate, Zatanna watched as the mystic flames around the box danced in unnatural rhythm.
"She knows us. She knows me," she whispered. "And this isn't a challenge—it's a seduction."
Doctor Fate's helm glowed faintly. "She is not merely mad. She is deliberate. There is method to her chaos. And she is no longer alone."
"Explain," Constantine said, tightening his coat.
"The box was a seal. A tether." Fate raised a hand. "Its presence allowed… something else… to see us. To taste this reality."
"The Void," Zatanna said.
"Vorax," murmured the helm. "It has begun to stir."
---
On the edge of the solar system, Neptune dimmed.
Not by shadow. Not by eclipse.
It was as if color and meaning were being bled from the planet, drop by drop.
A starship, one of LexCorp's deep-space observation vessels, watched it happen before its instruments began to fail. First sound. Then heat. Then time.
By the time Vorax arrived, there was no longer a ship—only an echo where its memory used to be.
The being's form was unknowable, but to mortals it might appear as a shape draped in black fluid, hundreds of eyes blinking across a skin of collapsed galaxies. Wings—if they could be called that—shuddered with dying suns threaded through bone.
And at its core… was silence. Not the absence of sound, but the absence of self.
Vorax hovered above Neptune, and with a pulse of thought, he devoured its narrative.
The planet remained—but it no longer mattered. It had been unwritten. Its past, its meaning, its gravity in the fabric of the cosmos… gone.
Somewhere in the multiversal weave, the map adjusted. The stories that mentioned Neptune now read simply: "Irrelevant."
---
Back on Earth, the Justice League debated a response, though the truth loomed unspoken.
"She gave us a chance," Diana said.
"She gave us a list," Superman replied coldly. "That's not a chance. That's a countdown."
"She called it a gift," murmured Constantine. "That's what haunts me. Like she was being generous."
"She's not trying to conquer," Batman added. "She wants us to accept something."
"And if we don't?" Flash asked.
"She'll laugh," Zatanna said. "And then the universe ends."
---
That night, a new moon rose over Gotham. One that hadn't been there before.
It wasn't physical—it had no shadow or orbit—but anyone who looked into the sky that night felt it watching. A wide grin carved across its pale, false face.
It whispered dreams to children. It sang lullabies in reverse. It made lovers dream of blood and made killers weep for things they'd never done.
The Batwoman Who Laughs was here.
Not in flesh—but in permission. She had opened a door.
She appeared in every screen across the globe at once, laughing. Her voice was static. Her eyes were infinite.
> "Darlings," she cooed, wearing a crown of broken bat-symbols and Joker teeth, "you're cordially invited to join me. After all… if we're all going to die, wouldn't you rather laugh through it?"
She smiled wide, and for a moment, Earth itself seemed to chuckle.
> "Join me… or be erased screaming. Either way, the punchline is the same."
And then she was gone.
---
In the void beyond time, Vorax noticed.
The Earth pulsed now with uncertainty, with fear and anticipation. It had been marked.
The Laughing Queen had done her part. She had softened the meat.
Vorax extended a hand of shadows, and in it, the remnants of Neptune's story were crushed into a single phrase:
> Soon.
And far across the stars, the moon continued to smile.