Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 38: Fine, I’ll Play
🕑 Added 2025-05-22 05:20:40 +0000 UTCAshborn Black leaned back in his chair, a bemused smile curling his lips as he studied the three figures standing in his office, Superman and Batman. The air in the room was filled with unspoken tension.
His gaze shifted downwards and lingered just a little too long on Batman’s lower half before he let out a theatrical sigh.
“It seems,” Ashborn said with a wry note, “my gift wasn’t to your liking after all.”
Batman’s voice was cold “Stop the jokes and silly plays, Ashborn. You knew about the Joker. And you hid it.”
Ashborn’s smile didn’t falter. “I haven’t done anything against the law,” he replied smoothly. “And, last I checked, I don’t answer to you. If you’re upset about arriving late to the party…” he gave a slow shrug, “do better next time.”
Batman’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Ashborn remained completely unfazed. He stood, walking leisurely over to a sleek bar cabinet against the side of the room. The click of glass against wood echoed as he opened it.
“I had this installed recently,” he said, voice casual. “People keep dropping by, uninvited or otherwise. Might as well make it hospitable. What would you gentlemen like to drink?”
Batman’s voice cut through the room like frost. “You think this is funny?”
“I do,” Ashborn said instantly, reaching for a bottle without so much as a backward glance.
A sharp thunk rang out as a batarang suddenly struck the bottle in his hand, shattering it.
Glass and golden liquid cascaded to the floor.
Ashborn merely raised an eyebrow and looked at the ruined bottle with vague amusement, then tossed the remnants aside with a clink.
“I take it you are not in mode for any drink.” he said calmly, “But that was uncalled for. if it is an intimidation tactic, it doesn’t work on me.”
Batman stepped forward, the tension in his body coiled and ready to strike again, but Superman placed a firm hand on his shoulder, halting him.
Batman stared at Superman for a moment, then relented for now.
Superman turned toward Ashborn. “Aside from the Joker… we have another question. How did you resist Ace’s power?”
Ashborn, unfazed, casually grabbed another bottle, poured a drink, and took a sip before responding.
“A little trick I picked up,” he said. “Doesn’t concern you. You can’t replicate it anyway. But if it helps, think of it as me being extra crazy.”
Batman’s eyes narrowed again. “And the source of your magical items?”
Ashborn didn’t look up. “You’re awfully concerned with me today, Bruce. I could give you a hundred lies if that would make you feel better. But again, none of this concerns you.”
Batman took a slow step forward, his voice lowering.
“Do you think you’re untouchable?” he asked. “We’ll find the answers one way or another. It’s just a matter of how hard you want to make it for yourself.”
Now standing only two feet away from Ashborn, Batman’s presence was like a shadow growing over the room.
Ashborn finally looked up and laughed, not nervously, but with genuine amusement, shaking his head like a teacher bemused by a child’s tantrum.
That laughter only added fuel to Batman’s burning anger.
Without warning, Batman struck. His fist landed squarely on Ashborn’s face, making him stumble a few steps back.
“Batman!” Superman barked, frowning.
But Batman didn’t care. His voice, cold as winter, echoed through the room.
“You’re not untouchable. You are just a fool playing around. When we take your money and your luck… what’s left?”
Ashborn, now facing the floor, stood in still silence.
For the first time in a long while, Ashborn felt something shift inside himself. That punch—it hadn’t truly hurt him, but it annoyed him. This was the first time in this life someone had laid a hand on him.
Then he looked up.
His smile was gone.
His voice was quiet, emotionless.
“When you do that… Ashborn will remain. But what about you, Bruce?”
The air grew colder.
“What remains after that?” Ashborn said. “Nothing. You will have no value left in the world.”
His words received no reaction from Batman, just silent staring as if not even worth acknowledging.
Ashborn’s smile returned—but this time, it was twisted. Crooked. Cold and brimming with malice.
“Fine,” he said in an eerily amused tone. “I will play”
Something about Ashborn screamed malice and the two heroes felt it. Batman stood his ground but his face turned cautious.
Superman spoke trying to diffuse the situation “Ashborn….”
Superman’s lips had barely parted to speak when Ashborn raised his right arm without warning.
A soft hiss. A metallic click. Then a missile rocketed forward, straight at Batman.
Bruce ducked just in time, the projectile missing him by inches. His cape flared behind him as he charged forward to tackle Ashborn. But Ashborn didn’t retreat.
His leg whipped up with sudden speed, catching Batman in the face and sending him staggering to the right.
Simultaneously, the missile reached Superman. He didn’t move to dodge—it was instinct, a lifetime of durability making him think it was unnecessary.
The explosion wasn’t fire or shrapnel. It was worse.
A dense cloud of green mist burst out in a pulse, surrounding him. Superman’s face twisted in agony as the kryptonite took hold. His knees buckled, the once invincible Man of Steel crashing to the ground with a strangled breath.
Batman flipped backward to recover from the kick, his body moving on reflex—but a second missile whistled through the air and struck him in the back mid-movement.
The impact knocked him across the room.
He groaned as pain flared through his torso, armor straining to hold together. But before he could even hit the ground fully, a third missile found him—right in the side.
BOOM.
A second explosion erupted, smoke and fire swallowing Batman as he hit the ground hard and slid to a stop near the office door. His suit sparked. His cape was torn. Blood trickled from under his cowl.
Ashborn hadn’t moved from his spot.
He stood silently, watching.
On one side, Superman writhed, struggling for breath, choking on the kryptonite dust filling the air. On the other, Batman lay bloodied and unmoving, barely meters from the entrance.
The door burst open.
Rex stumbled in, his face pale as a ghost. His eyes snapped to the battered figure of Batman in front of him, then to Superman lying broken and weakened near Ashborn’s desk.
He froze.
“Uncle Rex,” Ashborn’s voice cut through the smoke with unnatural calm, “Please call the police. Say there was a murder attempt. Move. Now.”
Rex’s throat moved, trying to speak, but no words came. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he turned and bolted down the hall.
Ashborn pulled out his phone.
He dialed.
“Lex,” he said calmly. “Bring your press companies to Shadow Corp immediately. You’re about to get the perfect opportunity to ruin the images of Superman and Batman.”
He hung up before Lex could even respond. On the other end, Lex Luthor blinked in confusion, staring at his phone—but after a moment, he rose. Ashborn had never lied to him. Never tricked him. That was reason enough to move.
Ashborn made another call, this one to Amanda Waller.
“I have a situation,” he said curtly. “Superman and Batman are in my office. One’s crawling on the floor, the other is unconscious. This is your chance to put a leash on the Justice League. Prepare to make use of it.”
Amanda Waller didn’t even hesitate. Within a minute, her agents were on their way to find what was going on.
Ashborn lowered his phone and looked out the large glass window of his office, watching the city below.
His smile returned. And this time, there was no humor in it. He didn’t need a single shadow to teach these fools their place in the world.
___________
The world watched with wide eyes and bated breath as every major news channel displayed the same jarring footage—images of Batman and Superman, beaten and bloodied, being escorted by stunned police officers out of the Shadow Corp.
“Breaking News,” one anchor declared. “Billionaire genius and Shadow Corp CEO, Ashborn Black, was the victim of an attempted murder today by none other than Batman and Superman. The heroes, once praised as protectors, are now being dragged by authorities. Ashborn Black has announced he will be pressing charges.”
Across the screens, a video snippet played on loop: Superman coughing violently and can’t even stand, Batman unconscious and bloodied being carried away. The footage ended with police confused faces, still wary, as if expecting the two to suddenly wake and retaliate.
With Lex Luthor pulling strings behind the scenes, subtle narratives wormed their way into the headlines:
“Have the World’s Greatest Heroes Grown Too Arrogant?”
“Gods Among Us – Or Tyrants?”
“Justice League: Protectors… or Potential Overlords?”
Commentators, with practiced concern, debated over the desk: “They answer to no government. No oversight. What happens when they disagree with humanity’s choices? Do they simply take control?”
Across the globe, trust in the Justice League trembled.
___________
In the heart of the Watchtower, alarms buzzed and members gathered. Within seconds, The Flash, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter were gone, streaking toward the Earth below.
The trio wanted to meet with their comrades but they were met with tight security and an unusual atmosphere, civilians recording with their phones, news vans lining the streets, and an air of disbelief.
When they were finally allowed inside, they were brought to the security room where footage was played without edits. Their expressions hardened with each second.
Batman’s punch. Ashborn’s missiles. Superman collapsing in kryptonite mist. The unmistakable chaos.
“Why… would they even do this?” The Flash murmured, unable to look away.
The security official replied, “Mr. Black is pressing charges. Official statement says he acted in self-defense. The footage supports that.”
“Where are they now?” Wonder Woman asked, her tone low but firm.
“Medical wing. Under heavy watch.”
The heroes exchanged grim looks.
___________
Not long after, the calm in Ashborn’s office shattered.
CRASH!
Supergirl burst through the doors with heat in her eyes and rage in her voice. Her fists clenched as she stormed across the room.
“Ashborn!” she barked, fury flaring in every word. “What the hell are you doing now?!”
Ashborn, seated behind his desk with a cup of tea steaming beside him, didn’t flinch. He glanced up, the cool mask of composure draped across his face.
“I assume you’re referring to the incident,” he said calmly.
Supergirl slammed her palms onto the desk, causing it to shake. “You poisoned Kal-El with Kryptonite. You fired missiles at Batman! And now you’re playing the victim?!”
“I am the victim,” Ashborn said, unbothered. “They insulted and attacked me in my own office. I defended myself. And I have the footage to prove it.”
“You’re pressing charges!” she asked through clenched teeth.
Ashborn leaned back, the faintest trace of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Actions have consequences. Even for ‘heroes.’ Maybe it’s time the world saw that.”
