Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
The reason Tim’s shaking is because he’s worried about how much all those dates are gonna cost 🤭🤭🤭 he’s gonna be bankrupt by the end of it
Wip Wednesday?
Phantom floated lazily in a half-circle above them, legs crossed midair, arms tucked behind his head, that too-wide grin stretched across his face like a mask stitched on with mirth and menace.
“Let’s make a deal, Birdy.”
He spun slowly in place, green eyes glowing like dying stars.
“One date for every pitt I take out. I’ll start with the first one as a sign of grace.”
Somewhere in the mountains of Nanda Parbat, a pool began to bubble. Tim didn’t see it, but he felt it. The room chilled. Something ancient cracked apart. The scanners in Barbara computer rang in alarm.
The pit evaporated.
Not drained. Not destroyed. Undone.
Tim’s throat clicked as he swallowed.
Phantom pointed a glowing finger. “That one’s on me. Next ones are on you. Just say when.”
The second pit started to boil.
Jason surged forward, a hand out. “Stop—”
Phantom’s eyes didn’t leave Tim's.
Tim's eyes never left Phantom's
A third pit broke into steam and green fire.
The fourth trembled before erupting, sending up a column of ghostlight and screams. Somewhere distant, Ra’s al Ghul howled.
Phantom’s grin only widened.
Tim exhaled slowly, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His fingers curled into the chair arms.
Phantom floated closer. “Those were the ones you knew about.” His voice dropped into something deeper, more ancient. “Want me to handle the ones you didn’t?”
Tim’s mouth was dry. “How many?”
Phantom hovered until they were nose to nose. His voice was velvet, soft as snowfall:
“A lot.”
And then he leaned back again with a chuckle, twirling mid-air. “But don’t worry—I’ll only show you the ones I’m destroying. You just tell me when to stop.”
Tim stared at him, jaw tense. He could feel Barbara's eyes flick between them like a tennis match of insanity. Jason's fists clenched at his sides.
Tim breathed in deep, exhaled once. “...Keep going.”
Screens flickered to life on their own. Oracle’s setup surged with static and data feeds—grainy, spectral images of Lazarus Pits failing, collapsing, boiling away into nothing. Groups of twenty. Then forty. Then eighty.
The room filled with the low thrumming of eldritch static and the faraway screams of something ancient dying.
By the time number (xxx) imploded in a burst of unnatural light, Tim raised a shaking hand.
“Stop.”
Phantom halted mid-spin, upside down, and beamed. “Pleasure doing business with you, Birdy.”