Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [131]

“Homelander has gone mad!”

Bruce stared at the screen, his hands trembling.

The fall of Queens, broadcast moments ago, had played out before his very eyes.

The laser beams raining from the sky were unmistakably Homelander’s doing.

He’s not even pretending anymore, is he?

“We can’t hesitate any longer!”

Bruce made the call immediately. “Homelander has become a global threat. We have to act now!”

He had no choice but to act.

“Kathoom, I need you to do something for me.”

Bruce’s gaze was resolute as he looked at the owl. “If I lose consciousness when I enter the dream, can you safeguard my body?”

Kathoom immediately grasped Bruce’s intention.

“You’re planning to get blood directly from the battlefield?”

The battle between Butcher and Homelander was almost a foregone conclusion.

Homelander didn’t even need to meet Butcher in person; a single laser strike from above could obliterate him.

It was a dimensional attack—air-to-ground devastation.

Bruce’s only hope for Butcher was that he’d muster enough fight to make Homelander bleed.

If that happened, Bruce could engage Homelander on the mental plane.

His domain.

But after hearing Bruce’s plan, Kathoom sighed.

“Bruce, I have concerns…”

“Concerns about what?” Bruce asked.

Kathoom pulled out a journal and held it in front of Bruce.

“This magic of Ravenclaw’s Dreamscape—it always felt a bit unreliable to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know as well as I do, Bruce, that Ravenclaw’s Dreamscape magic was deconstructed from the Enchantress’ work. It’s fundamentally DC magic.”

Kathoom continued, “And since it’s from DC, shouldn’t we tread carefully?”

Bruce understood. “You think Barbatos might have tampered with it?”

“Something like that.”

Kathoom nodded. “After all, he calls himself the Bat God. It’s not beyond him to leave a few traps.”

It was a fair point, and Bruce hesitated.

“So, the magic isn’t trustworthy?”

If that were the case, the original plan wouldn’t work. They’d have to go with a backup.

But Kathoom shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

He extended a wing, rummaging through his feathers, and pulled out a small black gift box tied with a yellow ribbon in a neat bow.

“If you’re determined to enter the dream, take this with you,” the owl said.

Bruce examined the gift box, small enough to fit in his palm. Its contents were a mystery.

“What is it?” he asked.

“My contingency plan. Take it.”

Kathoom held the box aloft with both wings, presenting it with exaggerated solemnity.

For a moment, Bruce suspected it might be another of Kathoom’s pranks.

But he quickly dismissed the thought.

Kathoom might be a sarcastic joker, but he’d never sabotage Bruce in a critical moment.

Bruce picked up the box. Something inside rattled softly as it moved.

“When should I open it?”

“When you’re in the dream and feel it’s the right time,” Kathoom replied, locking eyes with Bruce. “I trust your judgment.”

Bruce would enter the dream alone this time, while Kathoom remained outside to guard his… corpse—no, his body.

“Be careful,” Kathoom said finally.

—

Night fell quickly, and eight o’clock arrived in a flash.

Every light around Times Square was ablaze, illuminating the area as if it were daytime.

Above, the steady drone of helicopter rotors drowned out other sounds, their cameras monitoring every corner.

Drones hovered in the air, their lenses capturing everything.

Homelander floated in the sky, arms akimbo, the American flag cape fluttering behind him.

He waited.

The millions watching the live broadcast waited.

Finally, Homelander’s super vision and X-ray vision detected a figure approaching in the distance.

Disheveled hair, a black jacket, a reckless, worn-out demeanor.

This is the man who dares challenge me?

Butcher stepped into the light, his face visible to all.

Homelander spoke first. “You’re here.”

Butcher replied, “I’m here.”

Homelander smirked. “I knew you’d come.”

Butcher’s tone was firm. “There was never a doubt I’d come!”

Homelander sighed, “Pity.”

Without further warning, twin red beams erupted from his eyes.

The fight began instantly. Homelander had decided from the start to finish it quickly.

Superhumans versus ordinary humans was never a fair fight.

The laser struck Butcher square in the chest, the heat warping the surrounding air.

Viewers watching the broadcast couldn’t believe their eyes.

A decisive kill right from the outset? What suspense could there possibly be?

Butcher would be reduced to ash in mere moments—or so they thought.

What happened next defied all logic.

Under Homelander’s laser, Butcher stood unscathed, his chest puffed out in defiance.

Impossible!

No one could believe what they were seeing.

A human body withstanding Homelander’s heat vision?

Homelander himself faltered, withdrawing his lasers and hovering in midair, his expression dark.

“What’s the matter? Afraid to keep going?” Butcher sneered, his face oozing mockery.

His jacket, now thoroughly burned, revealed a metallic sheen underneath.

Butcher reached into his coat and pulled out a dagger.

Homelander’s face darkened further. That tiny blade had withstood his attack?

Damn it!

His anger boiled over. A single failure had dented his aura of invincibility.

In an instant, Homelander vanished from view, reappearing before Butcher in the blink of an eye.

He threw a punch so fast that even the cameras couldn’t capture it.

But Butcher reacted in time.

Empowered by the dagger, he was no longer just human—he was more than human.

He dodged, the blade slicing through Homelander’s uniform and skin.

A drop of blood fell.

“Hiss—”

Homelander inhaled sharply, feeling pain for the first time in his life.

Emotional pain didn’t count.

He concealed the wound immediately, shielding it from the cameras.

Gods do not bleed.

Butcher smirked, about to deliver a taunt, but Homelander was done talking.

His super speed activated again.

No more games.

Homelander unleashed everything, abandoning any pretense of restraint.

That dagger could hurt him—maybe even kill him.

Butcher was pressed to his limits, dodging and countering where he could.

The longer the fight dragged on, the more volatile Homelander became.

This is bad.

If I can’t finish this quickly, people will question my strength.

Butcher, you have to die!

Homelander rocketed skyward before diving back down, his fists clenched and eyes glowing red.

If Butcher blocked the lasers with the dagger, he’d be pulverized by the punch.

But Butcher didn’t flinch.

This is what he wanted all along.

He didn’t care about surviving—only about ensuring Homelander didn’t.

The betrayal of eight long years demanded vengeance.

Determined, Butcher hurled the dagger straight at Homelander.

It’s over.

Or so he thought.

Suddenly, Homelander froze mid-air, clutching his head and screaming.

“AAAHHHHH!!!”

He hovered, writhing in agony as his lasers fired uncontrollably, slicing through buildings.

At the same time, the dagger transformed mid-flight.

Its blade liquefied, morphing into a silver sphere that enveloped Homelander completely.

The metallic shell plummeted to the ground with a thud.

All fell silent. Inside, Homelander’s fate was unknown.

Butcher stood dumbfounded.

“What the hell just happened?”

Did I get my revenge or not?

—

Rewind to One Minute Earlier

At the precise moment Butcher clashed with Homelander and managed to cut his skin, a single drop of blood fell.

No one noticed that drop of blood—except for Bruce, hidden nearby.

“The blood is mine!”

Bruce cast a spell on the droplet, silently drawing it toward him.

The crimson bead hovered in the air and landed in his open palm.

“Got it!”

He didn’t dare make a sound and instead communicated telepathically with Kathoom.

“I’m entering Homelander’s consciousness now!”

He opened his journal and guided the blood droplet to a blank page.

The blood soaked into the paper, spreading briefly before vanishing, as though it had merged with the ink that once wrote on the page.

“Take care of my body!”

Bruce’s resolve was firm. “I’ll put an end to Homelander!”

Kathoom, perched beside him, observed the determined expression on Bruce’s face. The owl refrained from making any discouraging remarks.

“Go for it!” Kathoom encouraged. “I believe in you!”

Bruce nodded, then raised the Elder Wand, pressing it to the journal.

In that instant, the journal transformed into a black hole, pulling at everything around it.

Bruce’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed on the spot.

Kathoom nudged Bruce’s body with his head before carefully lowering him to the ground.

“Eek!”

A peculiar laugh echoed from the shadows.

A figure emerged, stepping into the dim light.

Kathoom’s eyes widened in shock.

“Holy—!”

The exclamation escaped involuntarily.

Green hair, pale face, a painted-on grin—there was no mistaking the figure before him.

The Joker.

Except this Joker was female, which made her identity even more chilling.

Flashpoint Joker—Bruce’s own mother, Martha Wayne.

Kathoom hadn’t accounted for this. How had Barbatos come up with this nightmare?

At that moment, Kathoom felt a strong urge to shrink into a ball.

He suddenly felt like a kidnapper caught by a parent coming to reclaim their child.

“Little owl, are you here?”

Martha’s voice was sing-song as she spoke. “I can’t see you. Come on out!”

Kathoom’s bandit hood granted him concealment, making him nearly impossible to spot—even by someone actively searching.

“No response?”

Martha called again, receiving only silence.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out?”

She laughed, stepping closer to Bruce’s unconscious body. She gazed at him intently before wrenching her head to the side, as though the act caused her great pain.

Bending down, she picked up the open journal and turned to leave.

Kathoom tore off his hood in frustration, shouting, “Leave the journal, you old bat!”

“Ah, there you are, little owl!”

Martha turned back, her eyes narrowing into slits as she smiled.

“Martha Wayne…”

Kathoom couldn’t stop himself from saying her name.

“Just Martha will do,” she replied, her tone cheerful yet unsettling. “I should thank you for taking care of Bruce all this time.”

Kathoom remained silent, glancing at the sleeping Bruce.

“Don’t bother looking at him,” Martha said. “I’m not here for the body. I’m here for Bruce’s soul.”

Her voice wavered, revealing the difficulty of saying those words.

“That body of his is so fragile—a single bullet could end him. What’s the point in keeping it?”

Martha smiled, but it was a tragic, broken expression.

“Bruce’s life shouldn’t be so delicate. I’ll give him a full, unbroken existence!”

She’d already chosen a more suitable vessel.

“I see now.”

Kathoom suddenly understood Martha’s plan.

He relaxed, tilting his head. “Fine, take the journal. I’ll allow it.”

“That easy?”

Martha’s laugh was suspicious, masking her disbelief.

“Of course. Because no matter where you take him, he’ll always find his way back.”

Kathoom’s tone brimmed with certainty. “I believe in Bruce. I’ve watched him grow to this point and seen the resolve in his heart.

“You can’t change him, Martha. Not anymore.

“That’s the confidence of an owl.”

—

This is a fan translation of 蝙蝠侠的猫头鹰教父 by 巴巴罗萨光年. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!