Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [105]

The red beams from Bruce’s eyes struck one of Ravenclaw’s clay figures, shattering it into countless fragments.

“Hm?”

Ravenclaw frowned. Had she seen that correctly?

A second-year wizard casting wandless magic?

She had no time to dwell on the thought because something even more unexpected was happening.

A figure had appeared beside her without warning, swinging a fist directly at her.

It was someone Ravenclaw had never seen before.

A towering man with a determined gaze, clad in a blue suit with a red cape flowing behind him. A bold S emblem adorned his chest.

How did he get here?!

But there was no time to ponder as the man’s fist loomed closer.

For the first time in her life, despite being a seasoned witch who had seen countless horrors of war, Ravenclaw felt an unfamiliar fear—a fear of a Muggle’s fist.

She knew she couldn’t take it head-on.

She began to cast a spell to evade, but something struck her as wrong.

“Wait—something isn’t right!”

This man had no logical reason to be here.

Ravenclaw’s eyes widened, silver light swirling in her pupils.

Under the radiance, the red-caped man’s figure began to waver, gradually fading into nothingness.

An illusion!

“Ha! Hahahahaha!”

Bruce’s laughter rang out as he destroyed another clay figure.

“Ravenclaw, was that a proper embarrassment for you?”

Once again, beams of red shot from his eyes, obliterating another miniature Ravenclaw.

The moment Bruce had picked up the Elder Wand, his illusory spell had activated. And it worked like a charm.

“Frightened by an illusion—some legendary witch you are,” Bruce taunted.

“If word of this gets out, even Moaning Myrtle would have a laugh at your expense!”

Ravenclaw’s eye twitched in frustration.

This brat! Where did he learn to be so insufferable? What kind of parents raised him?!

Bruce, finding his pace too slow, poured more magic into his attacks. The red beams now caused explosions at the point of impact, obliterating multiple figures at once.

If only I had more magic, Bruce mused. I could maintain a continuous beam, sweeping away all these figures in one go.

Sigh, magic deficiency truly is frustrating!

Even so, his efficiency was already impressive.

From Ravenclaw’s perspective, Bruce displayed an extraordinary tactical mind, adapting mid-battle.

And the illusion—its realism was astonishing.

“Bruce, your performance is commendable,” Ravenclaw admitted, raising a hand to recall her clay minions.

There was no need to continue. They wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

“You’ve got a remarkable imagination; without it, you couldn’t have created such a convincing illusion.”

“You’re mistaken, Lady Ravenclaw,” Bruce countered, shaking his head. “My imagination isn’t all that great.”

Bruce had long acknowledged this as his shortcoming.

“Both Professor Gale and Professor Dumbledore have pointed it out.”

His mind, fixated on bats and practical tactics, often struggled to envision creative solutions.

“So, instead of relying on imagination, I borrow from reality,” Bruce explained.

“That man you saw—he’s real. He exists in another world.”

“They call him Superman. A champion of justice, immensely powerful, and said to rival my future reputation.”

It was a solution born of pragmatism: not to force creativity, but to adapt and emulate what was already extraordinary.

How does Bruce know about such figures?

You’d have to ask Kathoom.

“An interesting approach, but ultimately futile,” Ravenclaw dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Illusions are illusions. Once exposed, they lose all effectiveness.”

She was growing weary of this game.

“You’re right,” Bruce admitted. “While I can embarrass you, I can’t beat you—not as I am now.”

“To win, I’d need to do as Professor Dumbledore said: turn illusions into reality.”

“I’m not there yet.”

“But I’ve never been one to fight alone.”

“I may not have guessed your true identity, but the moment I stepped into this chamber, the equation for victory was already written.”

“All I need now is to buy time.”

Ravenclaw chuckled, amused. “And what good will time do you? Who could possibly come to your aid?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

Bruce extended his hand, and the Elder Wand flew back into his grasp.

He waved it in a precise arc.

“Conjured Illusions!”

Six figures materialized behind him.

Joining the familiar Superman were five new presences:

A warrior wielding a sword and shield.
A speedster in red.
A hulking man with a trident.
A cyborg with gleaming mechanical parts.
And a figure floating serenely, encircled by a glowing green ring.

These were the members of the alliance Bruce envisioned, inspired by Kathoom’s tales.

For now, they were illusions.

But one day, Bruce vowed, they would become real.

The projections faded one by one, leaving only Superman standing.

“Pointless. I almost expected something worthwhile,” Ravenclaw scoffed. “More illusions won’t save you.”

“What about this?”

Bruce raised his wand again.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A brilliant silver light shot from the wand, merging with the Superman illusion.

A spell Bruce had never been able to cast until now.

He had summoned his Patronus.

“I am shaped by everything I’ve endured,” Bruce murmured. “Those I love, and those who love me, are my greatest shield.”

The silver glow coursed through the illusion, making Superman seem more real with every passing moment.

Bruce’s happiest memory wasn’t some idyllic fantasy.

It was the day he and Kathoom set out to explore the multiverse.

Though they had been pursued endlessly, and though it seemed the entire universe was against him, it wasn’t all hostility.

Along his journey, Bruce had met allies—friends who stood by him.

Some had sacrificed themselves to protect him. Others had passed on the torch of heroism.

None of it was in vain.

Those who had protected Bruce now lived on as part of him, their spirits manifesting as his Patronus.

They were his strength.

Scrape—

The sound of metal rang out. Behind Bruce, Superman’s illusion extended its fist, and silver claws slowly emerged from it.

It was Wolverine’s strength, channeled into Superman’s form.

Buy time.

That was all Bruce needed.

This time, he didn’t demand strength from Kathoom.

The owl had already given him enough.

And Bruce wouldn’t fight alone.

“Come on, Ravenclaw!”