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Location: Gotham – Abandoned Subway Tunnels, 2:04 AM
The knife embedded itself into the stone wall above Cory’s head with a sharp thunk .
She ducked instinctively, hissed through her teeth, and rolled behind a half-collapsed crate just in time to dodge a second blade.
"Okay, first of all— rude! " she shouted, landing in a feral crouch behind Jason. “Second—what is this cult’s obsession with robes and bad Latin?!”
Jason didn’t answer—too busy elbowing a zealot in the throat, sidestepping a spiked mace, and slamming the butt of his pistol into the masked face of a third attacker.
"You’re weirdly calm about this," Cory muttered, flipping her staff open with a crackling zap . She swept it low, knocking a cultist off their feet with a satisfying grunt.
Jason reloaded in one smooth motion. “Not my first tunnel full of murder monks.”
A robed figure lunged from the shadows, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like Latin filtered through a high school goth phase and a concussion.
Jason’s helmet turned toward Cory. “Heads up.”
“I got it—”
She didn’t.
The robed figure detonated outward—flesh melting into smoke, bones cracking and expanding into something taller than a truck and twice as pissed off. Horns curled from its molten skull. Its eyes burned like coals. The air dropped twenty degrees, then spiked , thick with ozone and something that smelled like hot iron and grave dirt.
“Oh hell no,” Cory muttered, staff crackling as she struck.
It bounced off the demon’s hide like a twig against concrete.
The thing roared—a deep, world-warping sound that shook the very concrete under their feet.
Cory’s eyes went wide. “Okay, what the hell is that?!”
Jason stepped in front of her without hesitation.
And summoned a pair of glowing, flaming, clearly magical swords from the air like it was just another Tuesday.
Cory blinked.
Jason didn’t hesitate—he lunged, blades flashing with raw energy as they sank into the demon’s chest. It howled, clawing at him, but the blades didn’t slow. He twisted one, pulled it free, and the creature exploded into flame and ash.
Silence.
Smoke curled around them.
Jason stood, chest heaving slightly, both blades still flickering in his hands—burning gold and impossibly bright.
Cory stared.
“…So,” she said slowly, lowering her staff. “We’re just… doing magic swords now?”
Jason rolled his shoulder and wiped ash off his helmet with the back of his glove. “You okay?”
She didn’t answer that.
Instead, she jabbed a finger at the glowing weapons. “You have flaming swords, and you didn’t think that was worth mentioning? ”
He blinked behind the helmet. “Didn’t think it’d come up.”
“It’s coming up right now, Jason!”
He shrugged, blades vanishing into smoke. “They’re not exactly reliable. They only show up when I really need them. And I still don’t know how. ”
“You’re telling me,” she said, voice rising, “that I’ve been punting cultists with a glorified shock stick while you’ve had demon slicers just waiting in your back pocket?!”
Jason held up a hand. “They’re called the All-Blades.”
“Oh, cool. Cool cool cool. They have a name. That makes this so much better. ”
“They’re tied to my soul,” Jason said, like that explained anything. “Maybe my trauma. Probably my unresolved moral conflict.”
Cory threw her hands in the air. “Of course they are. Why is everything with you emotionally bonded to some kind of supernatural death object?!”
“You’re one to talk,” he said dryly. “Your cats have a better surveillance network than the NSA.”
“That’s different. That’s science. ”
He tilted his head. “Is it?”
She ignored that. “Next time you get gifted magical weapons from an angry soul dimension, maybe lead with that. ”
“I’ll write a memo.”
“Damn right you will. With diagrams.”
After a beat, Cory squinted sideways. “…Do they glow different colors depending on your mood?”
Jason didn’t look at her. “Cory—”
“I’m just saying. If they go purple when you’re sad, that’s hilarious. Or like… chartreuse when you’re ashamed.”
“They’re not mood blades.”
“Are we sure?”
“Yes.”
“…You tested that?”
Jason sighed. “Cory.”
“Do they get brighter when you’re being dramatic?”
Jason stopped walking. “Cory.”
She grinned. “Are your swords going to manifest your emotional damage? ”
He gave her a long, flat look. “Would you believe me if I said they were powered by spite and bad coping mechanisms?”
Cory beamed. “That makes so much sense. ”
Jason muttered something about regretting every life choice that led him to this conversation as he began to inspect the scene.
Cory followed, smug. “Hey. I’m just trying to understand my team’s capabilities.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You ever think maybe I’m the one with unresolved emotional trauma that deserves a mystical weapon?”
Jason barked a laugh. “Oh yeah? What would yours be?”
“Something that shocks people every time they say something sexist.”
“…Yeah that tracks.”
Location: Same Tunnels, 2:29 AM
Cory crouched beside the scorch mark where the demon had exploded, poking at the soot with the end of her staff like a science fair student who realized far too late that she'd accidentally joined a supernatural crime lab.
“So... the swords burn through demonic flesh and then just— poof ?” she asked, tone halfway between curious and I am absolutely filing this in my mental chaos vault.
Jason, standing a few feet away, kicked over a makeshift altar cluttered with melted candles, dried blood, and something that looked like a goat skull from Party City’s cursed clearance bin. “Yeah. They don’t stick around.”
Cory frowned. “Okay, but what happens if you try to summon them when there’s not a demon?”
Jason paused mid-kick. Then, with a resigned sigh, extended one hand, fingers splayed like he was expecting something to materialize.
Nothing.
Cory’s eyes lit up with deeply unearned smugness. “Huh. Sword-blocked. That’s tragic.”
“They’re soul-forged,” Jason muttered, turning his hand over like he might shake one loose. “They only appear when I’m facing real evil. Like actual, capital-E evil.”
Cory made a face. “Ugh. That’s such a Batman rule. ‘Only pull out your shiny toys when it’s morally convenient.’”
Jason shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. I just stab the things and hope they don’t rip my spine out.”
She rose to her feet, brushing soot from her pants. “But what if the evil is metaphorical? Like arms dealers. Or payday loan CEOs. Or landlords.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Have you tried stabbing a hedge fund manager?”
Jason blinked. “...No?”
“Missed opportunity.”
She began pacing, spinning her staff absently. “Okay, so the swords are tied to your soul... and they’re emotional weapons. Very healthy.”
“Extremely,” Jason deadpanned. “Look, they’re not some cool weapon I picked up off a rack. They’re part of me. They show up when something inside me says it’s time. Sometimes I get this heat in my chest, or this pull in my ribs like I swallowed a lit match.”
Cory froze mid-step.
Jason narrowed his eyes. “…What?”
“I’m picturing that, and now I want to design a weapon that works off internal temperature spikes.”
Jason stared skyward. “Why did I say anything.”
She grinned. “Because deep down, you want me to reverse-engineer your demon blades.”
“No, I want you to not poke them with a voltmeter.”
“No promises.”
He groaned into his glove.
But she wasn’t done. “So if they’re part of your soul… could someone else use them if, say, they were standing nearby in a totally hypothetical emergency situation?”
Jason folded his arms. “I have no idea. No one’s tried.”
Cory’s expression brightened like she was about to add experimental weapon testing to tonight’s agenda.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?” Jason asked slowly.
“No reason.”
“Cory.”
“I just want to touch one.”
“No.”
“For science! ”
“Still no.”
Cory sighed like he was being so unreasonable. “Fine. Be that way. But if one shows up and I so much as breathe on it, don’t blame me if it latches onto my soul instead. I am very charming.”
Jason smirked. “Pretty sure they have standards.”
“Excuse you—I am peak vigilante material. If I were a magic sword, I’d pick me.”
They walked a few more paces in relative silence—well, aside from their boots crunching over the last of the scattered bone dust and salt circles.
“…Do you think they’d let me build them scabbards?” Cory asked innocently.
Jason gave an audible groan, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“I’m serious!” Cory said, grinning as she twirled her staff again. “You’re running around with priceless, ancient soul-weapons and no storage solution ? Bad craftsmanship. Unprofessional.”
“They vanish, Cory. No scabbard needed. That’s the whole point.”
Cory clicked her tongue. “Still feels wrong. If I had magic blades, I’d give them a home. Somewhere cozy. Felt-lined.”
Jason shot her a flat look. “You are not sewing tiny sword holsters for my mystical trauma blades.”
Cory huffed. “Fine. I’ll 3D print them. Better ventilation anyway.”
“They’re magic,” he said flatly. “They don’t need ergonomic storage solutions.”
“Everything deserves a place to belong, Jason,” she said dramatically.
He paused mid-step, gave her a slow, exhausted look. “Don’t make me stab you. I’m pretty sure the swords would count you as pure evil.”
Cory gasped, hand to her chest. “That’s rude. I am chaotic neutral at worst. ”
“At worst?”
“At my most sleep-deprived.”
Jason shook his head, muttering something about “emotional terrorism in the form of banter.” He opened the rusted maintenance door at the tunnel’s end. The hinges creaked ominously, letting in a wave of cold night air thick with the smell of wet concrete and Gotham’s permanent bad mood.
Cory followed him out, twirling her staff back into its collapsed form and tucking it under her arm.
“Next time you summon them,” she said casually, “I am touching one.”
Jason didn’t look back. “We are never fighting demons again.”
“Liar.”
“…Yeah.”