Liam tore through the hordes of demons like a force of nature, his movements a brutal dance of carnage. The Sparda sword rested against his back in its chain form, while his twin pistols, Satanus and Blaze, roared with hellfire. His boots crushed the skull of a fallen imp as he spun, unloading bullets into the snarling mass of fiends lunging at him from all sides. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and burning flesh.
The landscape of Hell stretched endlessly before him—jagged cliffs and molten rivers painted a nightmarish horizon. He had been fighting for what felt like hours, but exhaustion was a luxury he couldn't afford. Every demon that fell seemed to summon more from the depths.
Liam's mind was a battlefield of its own. He couldn't shake thoughts of Zatanna—her smile, her voice, the way she looked at him before she left. Was she safe? Did she regret leaving? Did she even plan on coming back?
"Focus, lover boy," Sparda's voice echoed in his mind, dripping with amusement. "Unless you'd rather have these bastards rip you apart while you daydream."
Liam gritted his teeth, deflecting an incoming blade with Orabos, the gauntlets humming with power. A guttural snarl caught his attention. He barely had time to react before a massive shadow descended upon him. A three-headed hellhound leaped from the darkness, its molten eyes locked onto him, drool sizzling against the scorched ground.
"Great. A Cerberus knockoff," Liam muttered, rolling out of the way as the beast's enormous paws cratered the earth where he had just stood.
The hellhound snapped at him, its three heads moving in eerie synchronization. Liam ducked under a set of fangs, sliding along the ground before vaulting onto the creature's back. It roared in fury, thrashing wildly to throw him off. With a swift motion, he summoned Chantinelle, his shotgun materializing in his grasp. He jammed the barrel under one of its heads and pulled the trigger. The explosive blast tore through flesh and bone, sending chunks of demonic gore flying.
The remaining heads howled in agony, flames erupting from their maws. Liam leapt off just as a torrent of hellfire scorched the air behind him. Landing in a crouch, he dashed forward, Orabos crackling with energy. His fists slammed into the beast's legs, shattering bones with each impact. The hellhound staggered, and that was all he needed.
He unslung Sparda from his back, the chain shifting into its full blade form. With a single powerful swing, he cleaved through the remaining two heads in one fluid motion. The creature let out a final, ear-splitting wail before collapsing into a heap of smoldering remains.
Liam exhaled, wiping blood from his cheek. "Not bad," he said, glancing at the steaming corpse. But before he could turn away, the ground beneath the beast cracked open, revealing a pulsating mass of chains intertwined with demonic energy.
"Oh? What's this?" Sparda mused. "Looks like you've got yourself a new toy."
Liam stepped closer as the chains slithered toward him like living tendrils. He reached out, and the moment his fingers made contact, a surge of power coursed through him. The chains wrapped around his arms, binding together before shifting into a weapon—three spiked flails, each head dripping with hellfire, connected by infernal links.
Liam twirled the new Devil Arm experimentally, feeling its weight. The chains moved as if responding to his will, extending and retracting at his command. A wicked grin spread across his face.
"Three hell-rodes, huh?" He cracked the weapon, sending the spiked heads slamming into the ground, leaving molten craters in their wake. "Yeah, this'll do nicely."
Sparda chuckled. "Now you really look like some demon-slaying maniac."
Liam scoffed, resting the new weapon against his shoulder. "Good. Because I've got a whole damn Hell to rip through before I figure out my next move."
Sparda's voice took on a more serious tone. "You do realize the heroes won't just let this go, right? Killing Batman's son? That's a death sentence, even for someone like you."
Liam's grip on the chains tightened. "I didn't have a choice. He was gone before I even struck. Raven's crystal—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. They won't care. They'll come for me."
Sparda sighed. "Exactly. And when they do, you better be ready. Because the next time you meet them, they won't be holding back."
Liam gazed into the infernal horizon, his thoughts drifting to what lay ahead. There was no turning back now. But before he could deal with the world above, he had to conquer the one below.
He flexed his fingers, summoning Orabos back to his gauntlets, then holstered Satanus and Blaze. His eyes narrowed as the ground trembled beneath him. More demons were coming. With a smirk, he cracked his neck and brandished his new weapon. "Alright, then. Let's see what you bastards got."
The rain fell in steady sheets over Gotham Cemetery, a silent acknowledgment of the sorrow that gripped those gathered. A sea of black-clad figures stood before the open grave, the carved headstone a cruel reminder of the life lost too soon.
Timothy Jackson Drake. A hero. A son. A brother-in-arms.
Batman stood at the front, motionless, his cowl unable to hide the grief in his eyes. Nightwing was beside him, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. Red Hood stood a few feet away, his helmet tucked under his arm, his face unreadable. Barbara Gordon wiped away silent tears, her gaze fixed on the casket that was slowly being lowered into the ground.
"He didn't deserve this," Superman said softly, stepping beside Batman.
"None of them do," Batman replied, his voice hollow. Clark placed a firm hand on Bruce's shoulder. "We will find him. And he will pay for what he's done."
Green Lantern, John Stewart, stood nearby, his expression grim. "We've already started the search. No matter where he hides, we'll drag him into the light."
The Flash, usually a beacon of optimism, had no jokes today. "Tim was one of us. He was family. This isn't just Gotham's fight, Bruce. It's all of ours."
Batman said nothing, his eyes locked onto the grave. Wonder Woman stepped forward, her Amazonian armor gleaming even in the dim light. "I swear on Themyscira's honor, justice will be served."
The ceremony continued with words of remembrance, grief, and justice. One by one, the heroes paid their respects. Some left flowers. Others left silent promises.
When the crowd began to thin, Batman remained, staring at the grave long after the last shovelful of dirt had fallen. Nightwing lingered beside him.
"You don't have to do this alone, Bruce."
Bruce didn't look at him. "I already am."
The grave was silent, but the promise in Batman's heart was deafening. Vengeance was coming