The chamber reeked of smoke, damp stone, and blood.
Jonathan stood hidden in the shadows, watching as Crane knelt bound in chains, his head bowed but defiant even beneath the swelling bruises. The Court Below thundered in unison, staffs slamming the stone in cadence with Elijah Blackthorn's booming voice.
"Tonight," Elijah cried, his crimson cloak trailing like fire, "the city above burns. Tonight, the false lights of law and order fall. Tonight, we reclaim the debt that binds Gotham!"
The masked circle cheered. Some raised torches, others knives glinting in the torchlight. The sight turned Jonathan's stomach. This was no trial. It was a ritual of blood, and Crane was the sacrifice.
Isadora's whisper grazed his ear. "If you move now, you die with him."
Jonathan's jaw clenched. "If I don't move, Crane dies alone."
Scrap tugged his coat, eyes wild with panic. "Johnny, look"
From the opposite side of the chamber, another prisoner was dragged in.
A woman this time. Hair tangled, dress torn, wrists shackled raw. Jonathan's chest tightened when she lifted her head.
Delilah.
Isadora stifled a cry. Her sister's eyes locked onto hers in the dark, desperate and pleading. That silent connection burned hotter than any fire.
Jonathan didn't wait for more. He surged forward, cloak flaring, knife glinting in the torchlight. His shout cut through the roar of the Court.
"Enough!"
Dozens of masked heads turned. The staffs faltered. The circle rippled with shock, then with fury.
Elijah's mask tilted, his cruel smile frozen in carved mockery. "So the prodigal Wayne dares the gallows." His voice slithered like oil. "Brothers, sisters behold your heretic."
Jonathan stood tall in the circle's firelight, though his heart pounded like a war drum. "You call this justice? Shackling the innocent while you bleed the city above? This is no trial. This is cowardice in masks."
The circle erupted in snarls and jeers. Elijah raised a hand, and silence cracked down like a whip. "You wear bold words, Jonathan Wayne. But words cannot cleanse a debt written in blood."
He pointed toward the captives. "Kneel beside them, and perhaps your city may live. Resist and Gotham drowns."
Jonathan's answer was steel. He hurled his knife. It sang through the air and struck true, burying into the chest of a masked sentinel. The man fell without a sound.
Chaos broke.
Jonathan lunged into the circle, fists and fury striking like a storm. Scrap darted from the shadows, loosing a slingshot stone that shattered another mask. Isadora rushed to her sister, breaking the chains with a stolen dagger.
The Court Below howled. Staffs rose and fell. Torches scattered, casting wild shadows. Jonathan ducked a blow, drove his elbow into a man's throat, then ripped his knife free to parry another. The ring had become a pit of war.
Elijah did not move. He watched, arms folded, like a priest awaiting his sacrifice. His confidence was unshaken.
And then Jonathan saw why.
Across the chamber, from a dark archway, strode a figure clad in the full regalia of the Owe. Mask gleaming pale, robes trimmed in black and silver. The crowd parted, bowing their heads.
Jonathan's breath froze. The figure lifted his mask slightly, just enough for Jonathan to see.
Abe.
His brother's eyes burned cold above the mask. No hesitation, no shame. Only resolve.
Elijah's voice boomed again. "Behold the true Wayne. The heir who does not flee, who does not betray. Tonight, blood calls blood. One brother must die so the city may balance."
Jonathan staggered back, disbelief clawing at his ribs. "Abe… no."
But Abe raised a staff carved with the circle sigil. His voice, when it rang out, was steady and merciless. "Jonathan Wayne chose war. I choose survival."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
The crowd roared approval. The circle began to close.
Crane, still on his knees, rasped out a hoarse shout. "Johnny! Don't you dare fall here!"
Jonathan shook off the weight of betrayal. His knife flashed, severing Crane's bonds. "Get up."
Crane stumbled to his feet, bloodied but unbroken. Together, they carved a path through the swarm. Scrap darted and stabbed ankles, a rat among giants. Isadora and Delilah pressed close, clutching each other as they fled toward the eastern tunnel.
But the circle tightened. For every mask Jonathan struck down, three more closed in. The chamber pulsed with the drum of staffs, the chant rising again: Debt is blood. Blood is debt.
Jonathan's vision blurred with smoke and fury. He carved, ducked, struck, but the tide threatened to swallow him whole.
And then a break.
Above, muffled at first, but growing louder: the riot's roar. The ceiling trembled as chaos from the streets seeped into the earth. A tremor shook the torches. Stone dust rained.
Jonathan seized the moment. He hurled his shoulder against two masked men, breaking through the line. "Run!"
Crane grabbed Scrap, Isadora clutched Delilah, and together they bolted into the eastern passage. Jonathan stayed back, covering their retreat, knife flashing in the half-dark.
Elijah's voice thundered behind him. "Let him run! Let him see! The Court Below does not chase it waits. His blood will find us. His name is already written."
Jonathan's lungs burned as he sprinted the tunnel, the echoes of Elijah's voice chasing him like a curse.
They burst from the grate into the tanner's yard. Above, the riot was a storm. Flames licked the rooftops. Gunfire cracked the night. The city itself howled with rage.
Jonathan, gasping, looked back at the grate as if expecting Abe to emerge. But the iron stayed shut, smoke curling from its edges.
Isadora clung to Delilah, whispering frantic prayers. Scrap was pale, shaking but alive. Crane leaned on Jonathan, his face a ruin but his spirit iron.
Jonathan raised his head to the burning skyline. Gotham was no longer a city. It was a battlefield.
And the Court Below had declared war.