Daily Planet - Social Spotlight
By Cat Grant
A Night of Elegance and Impact: Peverell Industries Gala Shines Bright in New York
If you're in New York and you didn't attend the Peverell Industries Gala last night, you might want to rethink your social calendar, because this was an event that everyone who's anyone in this city was talking about this morning. Glittering chandeliers, black-tie elegance, and a sea of high-society figures all gathered in one place. But let's be honest, the real reason people came wasn't just for the champagne or the designer gowns—though those were fabulous—but for the sense that something big was about to go down.
And did it ever.
As the evening unfolded, it became abundantly clear that the gala wasn't just about wine, music, and handshakes. It was about impact. And there was one announcement in particular that had the entire ballroom on the edge of their seats, and let's just say the reactions weren't just from the press.
Charis Peverell, the son of Wonder Woman (yes, that Wonder Woman) and himself known in the world of capes and tights as the superhero Shadowflame, took to the stage with the kind of gravitas one might expect from someone who's already leading a new generation of Justice League heroes. But this time, it wasn't just about saving the world with superpowers. Oh no, Charis was about to announce something that could change the course of Metahuman history.
With the poise of someone who has never been afraid of a spotlight (though certainly no stranger to it), Charis revealed the creation of the Lily Potter Foundation, a new nonprofit dedicated to providing resources, education, and support for Metahumans.
"This isn't just about giving back," Charis said, his voice firm and filled with conviction. "This is about ensuring that those who are extraordinary—who are different—have the resources they need to thrive, not only as individuals, but as a part of a community that's meant to work together. We're creating a world where Metahumans don't just have to survive but can truly flourish."
Cue the applause. And I'm not talking polite clapping here. This was standing ovation-level stuff. If you didn't hear the buzz around town this morning, let me fill you in: Charis, who's already the face of this new, younger Justice League team (seriously, what is in the water these days?), is making a splash in more ways than one. He's not just leading the charge against villains anymore. Now, he's leading the charge for social change.
Of course, that kind of leadership comes with some pretty big expectations. And Charis—who, by the way, is way too handsome for his own good—was well aware of that when he took the mic. The Lily Potter Foundation is named after his godmother, the legendary Lily Potter, whose legacy of sacrifice and courage lives on in Charis, not just in his heart, but in the very cause he's championing.
"Every Metahuman has a story," Charis continued, his eyes scanning the room. "And those stories deserve to be told, understood, and supported. The Lily Potter Foundation is here to help them write those stories—stories of empowerment, not fear."
So, yeah, that's enough to make any crowd stand at attention. But, if you think that was the only star moment of the evening, think again. Because this gala wasn't just about speeches—it was about connections.
None more important than the unexpected appearance of Bruce Wayne. Gotham's billionaire extraordinaire made his way into the crowd, as casually as you'd expect, with that nonchalant, "I'm rich, but I'm just here for the hors d'oeuvres" vibe. And, in true Wayne fashion, he made a substantial contribution to the foundation—a donation so large, I'm pretty sure it could feed a small country for the next decade. The crowd was abuzz as Wayne spoke briefly with the CEO of Peverell Industries, offering nothing more than a quick, "I trust you to do great things with this." And then, like Batman on a good night, he vanished without a trace. Seriously, I blinked and he was gone. Who is this guy?
But if you think that was the end of the night's intrigue, you clearly missed Talia Tate, the CEO of Peverell Industries. I mean, wow—this woman exudes confidence like it's an Olympic sport. Dressed in an emerald green gown that looked like it was made specifically for her, Talia played the role of the evening's mastermind, effortlessly coordinating the gala's success while making it seem like she was doing absolutely nothing. And let me tell you, she wasn't doing nothing. Tate is the woman behind the curtain, orchestrating everything from corporate acquisitions to, well, world-changing philanthropic initiatives. Watching her work was like watching a chess master in action—each move calculated, each word chosen with precision.
As the night drew to a close, there were whispers, of course. Anytime a Justice League member steps out into the public eye, the speculation is inevitable. Some whispered about Charis's leadership of the younger heroes. Others debated the potential for the Lily Potter Foundation to live up to its lofty goals. But let's be real—the sheer volume of donations and the buzz around the room told me everything I needed to know: Charis Peverell is onto something huge.
So, New York, let's all keep an eye on this one. Charis, Talia, and the rest of the Peverell team are about to shake things up in a way we've never seen before. And if last night was any indication, they're just getting started.
Stay tuned. This is the beginning of something big.
- Cat Grant
—
Lois Lane sat in the corner booth of the diner, her coffee mug in hand, trying her best to look nonchalant while totally failing at it. The thing about Lois Lane is that when she gets a lead—especially one as juicy as this—it's like watching a dog with a bone. She doesn't let go, no matter how much it might make her look like she's going to explode with excitement.
Clark Kent, on the other hand, was already halfway through his toast, pretending not to notice that his wife was practically vibrating in her seat. He was a gentleman, after all, and knew better than to ruin her moment. Plus, it gave him an excuse to eat in peace.
"You're not going to believe this," Lois said, practically bouncing now as she slid the Daily Planet across the table toward him. "I mean, of course, you're going to believe it, because we're talking about Charis Peverell, but still... wow."
Clark glanced down at the paper. His eyes flicked from the headline—"A Night of Elegance and Impact: Peverell Industries Gala Shines Bright in New York"—to the accompanying photo of a very polished, very handsome Charis Peverell standing at a podium, the flash of cameras catching his confident grin. Clark's brow furrowed. "Charis has his hands full. Running the new Justice League, a foundation—"
Lois cut him off with a raised hand. "Not just any foundation, Clark. It's the Lily Potter Foundation. Named after his godmother." She said "godmother" like it was a curse word, her eyebrows raising dramatically. "Yeah, we both know that's a little convenient, right?"
Clark's lips twitched. He had known Charis—or rather, Harry—long enough to know what Lois meant. Harry might've called Lily Potter his godmother, but that was a little creative license, considering the actual bloodline connection. "Right, the Lily Potter Foundation," he said, his voice laced with that classic Clark Kent understatement. "What's his pitch this time?"
Lois didn't even look at him when she said, "You didn't read the article, did you?"
"I was focused on the toast," Clark said, chewing thoughtfully. He looked up just in time to catch Lois's eye roll. "Alright, alright. Let me guess. It's all about Metahumans? Changing the world?"
Lois slapped the paper down with a thwack. "Exactly. He's not just saving the world anymore, Clark. Now, he's fixing it." She paused dramatically. "This kid's making the world his personal project."
Clark leaned in, scanning the article himself. "Charis said, 'This is about ensuring that those who are extraordinary—who are different—have the resources they need to thrive,' huh?"
"Yeah. And apparently, that includes a massive donation from Bruce Wayne." Lois gestured to the paper like she was revealing the ultimate twist in a mystery novel. "Of course, Bruce being Bruce, he didn't even stay for the applause. He just made his donation and vanished. Poof. Like Batman himself."
Clark couldn't suppress a grin. "Sounds like him. Never one for the spotlight." He pushed the toast aside, focusing more intently on the paper now. "But you're right. This is huge. The Lily Potter Foundation—helping Metahumans thrive, not just survive. If anyone can make that work, it's Harry—Charis, I mean."
Lois wasn't done. "But here's the thing, Clark. This isn't just about power and heart—it's about purpose. That's what Harry's got, and that's what'll get him through this. People are going to follow him, not because he's a superhero—though, let's face it, the kid's got all the superpowers—but because he believes in what he's doing. And you know what happens when someone like thatl believes in something."
Clark chuckled softly. "You make it sound like Harry's got some kind of unstoppable force of nature behind him."
Lois raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't he? Let's not forget Wonder Woman's blood runs through his veins. Oh, and did I mention he's basically got an army of magical creatures, wizards, witches, and every superhero under the sun backing him?"
Clark sighed, rubbing his temple as if he were dealing with an overenthusiastic teenager. "I just hope he's ready for all the pressure. This is a lot for someone so young."
Lois's grin widened, flashing a little mischief. "Clark Kent, the Superman, worrying about someone else handling pressure? You? The guy who keeps saving the world before breakfast?"
Clark shrugged with a slight grin. "I'm not the one with a billion-dollar foundation and a new Justice League to manage."
Lois leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a satisfied smile. "True. But he's got something that you can't always measure with super-strength. It's his heart, Clark. And that's what makes him dangerous... in the best way possible."
Clark looked at her, his expression softening. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's the heart that makes the difference." He glanced down at the paper, tapping his fingers against it thoughtfully. "And I think Charis—Harry—he might just be the one to lead the charge. But this is only the beginning, Lois. It's going to get a lot messier before it gets better."
Lois laughed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, I know. But that's the fun part, isn't it?"
Clark took another sip of his coffee, then looked out the window, a quiet smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. I guess it is."
And just like that, the quiet diner around them seemed to fade away. Lois Lane and Clark Kent had seen many world-shaking moments, but this one felt different. This was the start of something big. And with Charis Peverell—Harry Potter—at the center of it, you couldn't help but think it was going to be one wild ride.
—
Gotham Airport, Early Morning
The soft whirr of the jet engines gradually quieted as Bruce Wayne's private plane glided to a stop on the tarmac. The sleek black aircraft gleamed under the soft rays of the morning sun, its dark, polished surface reflecting the emptiness of Gotham's early hours. Bruce's hands tightened around the armrests, his mind still reeling from the events of the night before. The Peverell Industries Gala in New York had been a spectacle—opulence, public grandeur, and, most troubling of all, the quiet rise of Charis. Harry, as the world now knew him, had taken the stage with ease, commanding attention as he spoke of grand philanthropic plans under the banner of the newly formed Lily Potter Foundation. The way he moved in the world of power and influence—effortlessly navigating the undercurrents of high society—left Bruce with an uneasy sense that his protégé was playing a far more dangerous game than he'd initially thought.
As the plane came to a halt, Bruce exhaled deeply and began gathering his belongings, his jaw tight with barely suppressed tension. Before he could even set foot onto the tarmac, a familiar figure stood waiting, his silhouette unmistakable. Alfred Pennyworth, ever the picture of grace and precision, stood with his hands neatly folded behind his back, a crisply folded newspaper held in one hand.
"Good morning, Master Wayne," Alfred said in his ever-unflappable tone, his voice a smooth blend of politeness and concern. "I took the liberty of bringing you the Daily Planet. I trust your time in New York was... productive?"
Bruce didn't answer right away. His hand reached out mechanically, taking the newspaper from Alfred, but his eyes were already scanning the headline. His stomach tightened as he read: "A Night of Elegance and Impact: Peverell Industries Gala Shines Bright in New York"—by Cat Grant.
Bruce flicked the paper open, barely noticing the subtle hint of pride in Alfred's gaze. He didn't need to read the article to know what it would say. He had been there, after all. He had watched Harry—no, Charis—take the stage. And though Harry had been the star, it wasn't Harry he was concerned about. It was the way Charis commanded the room, the way he shaped the narrative for a world that was now watching him.
His eyes narrowed as he reached the part that caught his attention. "Luthor was there," Bruce muttered under his breath, his voice low, edged with something darker than simple surprise.
Alfred's brow furrowed, his sharp eyes catching the shift in Bruce's demeanor. "Luthor? At the Gala? That's... curious, considering he wasn't on the guest list."
"Not on the official list," Bruce confirmed, his voice tight as he continued to scan the paper. He turned the page with a precise motion. "But he was there. Managed to slip in without anyone noticing. Not even Talia or Harry knew how he got in."
Alfred raised a brow, his expression becoming more serious. "A man like Luthor doesn't slip under the radar without leaving a trail. What's his angle, then?"
Bruce's jaw clenched as he scanned further. The presence of Lex Luthor at the gala was a complication he hadn't anticipated. It wasn't just that Luthor was a criminal mastermind—Bruce could handle that. What bothered him was how Luthor managed to infiltrate something as tightly controlled as the Peverell Industries Gala. No one got in without a reason, without someone on the inside allowing it to happen. The fact that Luthor had wormed his way in like a shadow—unseen—meant there was a breach somewhere.
"I need to know how and why," Bruce growled, lowering the paper. His eyes darkened with the hint of suspicion. "Someone in Peverell Industries must've let him in. I'll find out who."
Alfred's expression was unreadable, though there was an unmistakable shift in his gaze. "Peverell Industries has been Mr. Peverell's responsibility for months now. Who among his people would be susceptible to Luthor's... influence?"
Bruce folded the paper with deliberate calm, his mind already racing. The moment he had handed over control of Peverell Industries to Harry, he had done so with the trust that Harry would handle it as both a businessman and a protector. Now, that trust was being tested. Luthor's arrival wasn't just a personal concern—it was a threat to Gotham's interests, to Harry's vision, and to the very foundations of the world they were trying to build. The layers of complexity had deepened beyond what anyone had expected.
Bruce's voice dropped lower, more focused. "This isn't just about Luthor getting involved. It's about someone from inside the organization betraying us. I want answers, but I'm going to keep this quiet—Harry can't know. Not yet."
Alfred's lips pressed into a thin line, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. "Understood, sir. I'll begin investigating immediately, discreetly. We'll find who's compromised."
Bruce's eyes softened for just a fraction of a second. "Thank you, Alfred," he said, the words sounding almost foreign coming from his lips. But then he straightened, pushing the moment of vulnerability aside. "What's the situation back in Gotham?"
Alfred's demeanor shifted seamlessly into one of practicality. "Robin and Batgirl kept things under control last night. No major incidents, but Gotham's undercurrent is... shifting. The longer you're gone, the more chaotic it becomes."
Bruce's lips tightened into a thin, grim line. He had known this would happen. Gotham had always been his responsibility—always needed him to keep its dark heart beating with any semblance of order. Without Batman, things had a way of getting out of hand.
"How are they?" Bruce asked, his voice quieter now. His concern for his vigilante family was something he rarely allowed to show.
"Robin is still growing into his role," Alfred replied, the trace of a fond smile tugging at his lips. "He's trying to live up to your legacy, but he's learning... still learning. Batgirl, on the other hand, is... impressive. Her attention to detail is extraordinary. The two of them make a solid team, but the strain is clear. Gotham's streets aren't easy on anyone."
Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on him. The streets needed him—his brand of justice, his vigilance. He wasn't the only one who could keep Gotham safe, but right now, it was his city to watch over.
"I'll pick up the slack tonight," Bruce said, his voice resolute. "I can't leave Gotham vulnerable any longer."
Alfred's eyes softened with understanding, but there was no hint of hesitation in his response. "The Batmobile is ready, Master Wayne. Shall I have it prepared for you?"
Bruce nodded, his gaze drifting toward the dark skyline of Gotham visible beyond the plane's windows. The city loomed like a jagged silhouette against the rising sun, as if calling him back. "Yes. And Alfred," he said, turning back to the butler, his voice quieter, sharper, "I need every scrap of information on Luthor. No matter how small. We're playing a dangerous game now."
Alfred nodded, his demeanor unshaken by the weight of the task. "I'll make sure we're one step ahead, sir."
The two men walked toward the car, the tension in the air thickening around them. Bruce's mind lingered on Harry, on Charis, on the uncertain path ahead. His protégé was stepping into a world of unimaginable power. But with Luthor in the wings, and the cracks that were starting to show within Peverell Industries, Bruce knew one thing for certain: the game had changed. And he had to be ready to play it.
—
I was sitting on the armchair, staring down at the pile of receipts, trying to do some math in my head. Spoiler alert: math was not my strong suit. Especially when the numbers involved several hundred dollars of sushi, caviar, and a shocking amount of wine. I swear, one of these days, I'm going to get a financial advisor just to deal with room service.
"Why does this feel like I'm the only one who has any sense of fiscal responsibility around here?" I muttered to myself, flicking through the receipts, though I knew the answer: Because I was the only one who cared about money when it came to their indulgence.
Kara was sprawled across the couch like she owned the place, which, technically speaking, she did. But still, the sight of her in that Supergirl uniform, cape hanging off the side like she was auditioning for a role in a movie about ancient gods, made me question all of my life choices. Especially the ones that involved paying for her non-stop sushi obsession. She was reading the Daily Planet article, not even glancing up as she spoke.
"Harry, babe," Kara said, casually flipping a page, "what's the point of having a billionaire boyfriend if we can't have, you know, a good time?"
I couldn't help it. I rolled my eyes. "Because it's my wallet that's being emptied out like a bottomless pit of charity."
Kori, who was sitting next to her with a smile that could melt the sun (I mean, literally), flipped another receipt in my direction with way too much enthusiasm. I swear she thought spending was an Olympic sport, and she was about to take home the gold.
"What's the big deal, Harry?" Kori said, her glowing green skin practically shimmering in the low light. "We got all the best stuff! Sushi, wine, ice cream—you name it. You're welcome to try it all again if you want." She gave me a wink, which was a little too flirtatious for my taste, but I was too tired to complain.
I sighed, but not before glancing at the sushi receipt that read like a Shakespearean tragedy. "Right, five bottles of wine? Was that necessary?"
Megan, sitting in the corner with her legs crossed, her green skin glowing like a cosmic entity—if cosmic entities also liked taking half a dozen selfies a minute—looked up from the article with a small smile.
"Harry, babe, this is what we do. We need to maintain a certain lifestyle. We're super-powered, which, you know, means high-maintenance." She fluttered her fingers dramatically, before flipping back to the article, which I was convinced was probably going to become her bedtime reading at this point.
I huffed. "I know I'm dating a bunch of super-powered women, but can we agree that we're all extra-high maintenance? Like, you've got Supergirl who eats enough sushi to put a Japanese restaurant out of business, and then there's Kori…" I motioned toward her, "who thinks caviar is the essential food group."
Deedee—aka Death, in all her dark, goth glory—chuckled from her spot on the floor, her arms behind her head as she lazily examined one of the receipts for a dessert platter that must've been made by magical dessert gods or something.
"Honestly, Harry, I'm not going to apologize for the molten lava cake," she said, flipping her hair dramatically. "It was divine, and I would gladly pay for it with your credit card again." She tossed the receipt at me, and I caught it just in time, though it made me want to sob a little.
"You know I'm not the only one who enjoys the perks of being with a billionaire," Tia, aka Galatea, quipped from the kitchen, where she was arranging snacks like she was setting up a buffet at a royal wedding. "It's the price of living the dream, Harry."
I glared at her. "You really know how to make a man feel like his wallet is about to burst into flames."
Zatanna, who had been sitting in the corner trying to figure out whether she could make one of the receipts disappear with a flick of her fingers (I wasn't even sure if that would work, but I was kind of hoping it would), spoke up with a wicked grin.
"Next time, let's just invite Luthor and let him pay the tab," she said, her voice dripping with mischief.
There was an awkward pause. If the room had been a little quieter, you could have heard a pin drop. I glanced around, noticing the mixed expressions. Zatanna blinked, realizing she might've gone a little too far with that one.
Mareena, who'd been silent up until this point, glanced up from the article with a nonchalant shrug. "If Luthor shows up, we'd all probably have to pay him a visit... and not the kind where we leave a tip at the end." Her voice had a little too much edge for comfort, which made everyone nod in agreement.
"True," I muttered, flipping through another stack of receipts. "I'll make sure Luthor doesn't crash our next dinner date. And definitely no more champagne."
"Promises, promises," Kara teased, leaning over and nudging me with her elbow. "You know you're going to let us have fun. Just make sure you've got the credit card ready next time."
I sighed, but there was no fighting it. "Fine, fine. But you owe me some quiet time for the next week. I'm gonna need to recover from this."
Kori giggled, standing up and twirling in place. "What's the fun of quiet time when you've got this group of chaos around?"
Mareena caught my eye, giving me a soft smile. "It's not about the chaos, Harry," she said, leaning in close enough for me to feel the warmth of her presence. "It's about what we're building here. The Lily Potter Foundation is just the beginning. No matter what the press says, we know what matters."
I grinned. "You're right. Though it'd be nice if they gave you some credit for being my date, too."
"Maybe next time," she teased, brushing her hair back with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Maybe I'll steal the spotlight."
And you know what? I kind of loved that idea. For all the chaos, all the spending, and all the high-maintenance shenanigans, I wouldn't trade this madness for anything. Not when it came with all of them.
"Alright, alright. Next round of sushi is on me," I said with a grin.
They all cheered, and for a moment, I realized I wouldn't want it any other way.
I leaned back in my chair, looking at the group of women who had somehow become my life, and tried to ignore the fact that my bank account was now officially crying.
—
The room was shrouded in shadows, illuminated only by the sickly green glow of the Lazarus Pit. The air was thick with tension and the faint scent of earth and decay, but Ra's al Ghul stood at the center of it all, unmoved. His form, rejuvenated and imposing, radiated an aura of control so absolute it felt suffocating. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as his piercing green eyes scanned the article in his hands—the Daily Planet's piece on the Lily Potter Foundation. His voice, smooth as silk but cold as winter's edge, broke the silence.
"Fools," he murmured, his words carrying a weight that stilled even the faintest sound in the chamber. "They celebrate philanthropy as if it is a shield, blind to the doors it opens for those who know where to knock—or break through."
From the shadows, Sportsmaster leaned casually against the rough stone wall, his broad shoulders slouched with an air of defiance. His mask concealed most of his expression, but his posture and deep, gravelly voice left no doubt about his smirk.
"You're saying we crash their little tea party, boss?" he asked, cracking his knuckles lazily. "Sounds like a hell of a time. Wreck their day, get what we need, maybe take a souvenir or two. I'm game."
Across the room, Cheshire sat perched on a weathered table, her posture cat-like—both predatory and poised. A small dagger danced between her fingers, glinting faintly in the pit's glow. She tilted her head, her emerald-green eyes narrowing with amused curiosity.
"It's not just a party, though, is it?" she said, her tone light, almost teasing. "The Lily Potter Foundation—it's a statement. A show of power wrapped in charity. Clever, really. Almost admirable." She flashed a sly grin. "Almost."
Lady Shiva, standing off to the side, broke her silence. Her presence alone demanded attention, every inch of her poised like a coiled viper ready to strike. Her voice was calm, her words precise, cutting through Cheshire's playfulness like a blade through silk.
"But cleverness, like charity, is a fleeting shield," Shiva said, her dark eyes locking onto Ra's. "Neither will save Talia from what she deserves."
Ra's set the newspaper down with deliberate care, his fingers lingering on the edge as though deciding whether to crush it or let it be. His jaw tightened ever so slightly at the mention of his daughter, and when he spoke, his tone carried an icy resolve that sent a chill through the room.
"My daughter's betrayal is an open wound," he said. "One I intend to cauterize." His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the green glow of the pit seemed to reflect in his gaze. "She fell for a common thief—a reckless fool with no legacy, no vision. She allowed love to cloud her judgment and dared to stand against me, her father... her teacher."
The venom in his words was palpable. He didn't need to say the thief's name for the room to understand. Sirius Black. The wizard who had stolen not just Talia's heart but also Ra's al Ghul's dignity, leading to his capture and imprisonment.
"Yet here she is," Ra's continued, his voice softening, though the malice remained. "Playing the dutiful CEO of Peverell Industries. As if hiding behind corporate walls and humanitarian efforts will absolve her. But she cannot hide forever." His gaze darkened further. "Nor can her precious heir."
Cheshire chuckled low, her voice dripping with mockery as she leaned forward. "Ah, yes, Charis Peverell. The golden boy. The so-called Shadowflame." She twirled her dagger before driving it into the table with a faint thunk. "Quite the thorn in your side, isn't he?"
Ra's exhaled through his nose, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced deliberately. "Thorns can be plucked," he said simply, though his tone betrayed the fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. "The boy is a nuisance—arrogant, reckless, and insufferably lucky. But his luck will run out."
"Not just luck," Shiva interjected, her voice sharp. "Skill. His mastery of flame is... unique. I have seen few who wield their abilities with such natural ease. He is connected to the League of Justice. That makes him dangerous." She stepped closer to Ra's, her words deliberate. "But he is still young. Reckless. He underestimates his enemies. That will be his undoing."
Ra's paused, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "Indeed," he said. "Power without control is nothing but a wildfire waiting to be extinguished."
"So what's the move, boss?" Sportsmaster cut in, his voice low and measured, though his fingers twitched with anticipation. "You want us to waltz into this foundation, cause a little chaos, and grab what we need?"
"Not yet," Ra's said, his tone commanding and firm. "We act with precision, not haste. First, we gather intelligence. The boy's weaknesses. Talia's habits. The security around Peverell Industries and this foundation. When we strike, it will be swift, devastating, and untraceable."
Cheshire leaned back, her smirk widening. "And when you say 'devastating,' I'm guessing you mean something more creative than a simple kidnapping."
Ra's turned to her, his smile sharpening like a blade. "Oh, my dear Jade, I would never settle for mere simplicity. No, this will be a lesson. For Talia. For her heir. For anyone foolish enough to defy the Demon's Head."
Shiva nodded, her expression unreadable but her approval clear. "When they fall, it will be a message to all who stand in your way."
Ra's turned his back to them, his gaze falling on the Lazarus Pit as its glow reflected off his sharp features. His voice echoed with chilling finality. "Prepare yourselves. The League of Assassins will rise anew. And this time, there will be no mercy for traitors... or fools."
As the group began discussing the finer details of their plan, Ra's allowed himself a rare moment of silence. His mind played out the scene of Talia's humiliation and Charis's defeat.
Revenge was not just a goal. It was an inevitability. And it would be glorious.
---
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