Warning: This world contains a custom political system that may not follow real-world logic. Please bear with it—it's an alternate universe.
Solomon looked at the people before him—people who had stood against an impossible force, just to protect a mother and her child.
"Do you want your child to have a future," he asked, "or do you want him to grow up picking scraps like you?"
The woman's eyes, once full of determination, began to waver. She had never considered the future beyond tomorrow. That question—so simple yet devastating—cracked something inside her.
"I… I don't know what to do," she whispered, before collapsing to her knees. Tears streamed down her face as her shattered resolve spilled out with them.
The people who had stood beside her now looked away, their own hope flickering. The future, for them, was either bleak or nonexistent.
Solomon watched them quietly. He had already read their thoughts, already knew who they were—the kind of people they could become.
Reaching into his coat, he produced a card and sent it floating toward them, telekinetically passing it from person to person. Hesitation and fear crossed every face.
"Go to this location," he said. "If you want to build a future."
He didn't wait for thanks or questions. He simply turned and walked toward the mansion, the heavy door closing behind him as those outside watched with a mix of fear… and hope.
Inside the Mansion
"WHY CAN'T WE GET OUT?!"
The screams echoed through the luxurious interior. The men ran from room to room, searching for exits, escape tunnels, secret doors—but every path led them back into the same place.
The building had become a cage.
They had seen him—The Ghost of Gotham—outside. And they knew, with a sick certainty, that they were the targets.
Each of them was a corrupt politician, under the direct payroll of Carmine Falcone, a mob boss who wielded nearly as much influence as The Penguin. With a figure like that backing them, they had risen to power and embedded themselves in the highest levels of Gotham's government.
They had embezzled millions from the people, knowing the poor had no voice to fight back. Those same poor now stood outside their windows—barely surviving, scavenging for scraps.
Earlier, they had been discussing plans to construct a new factory in one of Gotham's poorest districts. Their solution to resistance? Force relocation… or kill everyone.
Now, the hunters had become prey.
Panic-stricken, they gathered in the main meeting room—the same one where they had planned to rob another neighborhood of its future. Their only hope was to buy their way out. That was the world they knew: power and money.
Bang!
The main door slammed open. Heads turned sharply. Hearts thundered in their chests—caged animals feeling death approach.
Solomon stood in the doorway.
The men froze.
With a simple gesture, Solomon lifted them all into the air using telekinesis, lining them up like dolls on invisible strings.
They hung there—silent, terrified.
"W-Wait!" one of them stammered. "I—I have over 50 million in cash! Take it! It's yours, just let me go!"
Solomon walked up to the man. A desperate smile formed on the politician's lips.
"No one can resist money," he muttered.
Before he could chuckle, Solomon placed a hand on his forehead.
Something changed instantly.
The man gasped as he was dropped to the ground. He struggled to stand.
"W-What's happening…?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.
Solomon said nothing.
Crack.
His arms snapped like twigs. Then his legs.
The horrifying sound of breaking bones echoed through the room. The man screamed in agony as an unseen force crushed him.
The floor cracked beneath him.
With a wet squelch, the man collapsed into a flattened mess—his body nothing more than pulp. Veins in the marble floor spiderwebbed outward.
The others were frozen in horror.
That was one of Solomon's newly invented spells. It doubled the gravitational pull on a person every second for ten seconds—reaching twenty times normal gravity at its peak. It had its limits: it required physical contact, and couldn't exceed its maximum—but against ordinary people, it was devastating.
"Please… please spare us! We'll do anything!" another pleaded.
Solomon responded by crushing the man's skull into a dense, bloody orb.
One by one, he executed them—testing new spells and curses. One was cursed to only exhale until he suffocated. Another simply stopped breathing altogether. One died screaming, another went silent as his blood turned to ice.
Until only one remained.
He was laughing—unhinged, broken. His pants had been soiled long ago, but he didn't seem to care anymore.
"You think you're all-powerful, huh?" he screamed, eyes wild. "Wait till Falcone hears about this! There's no place on earth he won't find you! You dog! You monster!"
Spittle flew from his mouth as he ranted, eyes bloodshot, his mind cracked.
Solomon didn't say a word.
He walked up, and with one clean, surgical swipe—severed the man's head.
The head rolled across the marble, the expression frozen in madness.
Solomon ignited the corpses with scarlet fire. Their souls burned as their flesh did—sent to whatever hell awaited them.
With a wave of his hand, he gathered the charred remains with telekinesis. Dropping his barrier, he picked up his shovel from behind the door and stepped outside.
The people were gone.
A faint smile touched his lips. They had taken the card… and they were moving toward hope.
Solomon turned his attention back to the corpses. He found a clear patch of land and began to dig. Each motion with his shovel pulled out massive chunks of earth—perfect, clean-cut pieces. The ground shaped itself to his will.
Before long, he had dug enough graves—one for each man.
He laid their corpses into the holes, then used magic to conjure headstones. Each bore a name, birth and death date, and beneath that… their greatest sin.
Solomon dusted off his hands, admiring his work in grim silence.
With a final breath, he opened a portal back home.
Just in time.
The sound of running water faded.
Raven had just finished her shower.