Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [211]

“Kathoom…”

Bruce’s voice suddenly carried a sorrowful tone.

“When did you die? Tell me, and I’ll avenge you if I get the chance.”

“Morbid little brat,” Kathoom scoffed, his owl form dripping with disdain. “Spare me the fake sympathy and sad act.”

“Well, I had to at least pretend!”

Bruce dropped the mock sadness, though Kathoom’s translucent, soul-like state still piqued his curiosity.

“So, is this some kind of out-of-body magic?” Bruce asked. “Are you like the ghosts haunting Hogwarts Castle?”

“Something like that,” Kathoom replied with a smirk. “You’ll get to experience it yourself soon enough.”

Before Bruce could react, Kathoom suddenly darted forward, his wing aimed squarely at Bruce’s chest.

“Ha!”

The owl let out an exaggerated cry as he struck Bruce.

What followed was a bizarre and unsettling sensation.

Bruce felt a sharp jolt, like being forcibly pulled away from his body. For a fleeting moment, he found himself staring at his own physical form from across the room.

He raised his hands and saw a strange aura radiating from them, a faint glow pulsating like threads of light.

Kathoom remained motionless, his wings poised, then gave a slight inward flick.

Bruce felt a tug, and in the next instant, the surreal vision ended.

He jolted back into his body, limbs twitching as sensation returned.

“What did you just do to me?”

“I knocked your soul out of your body,” Kathoom said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather.

“That wasn’t a pleasant feeling.”

Bruce replayed the experience in his mind. That disconnection from his body, that weightless detachment from the world—it was profoundly unsettling.

“For a moment, you entered the astral plane,” Kathoom explained. “Using Kamar-Taj’s secret arts, a soul can exist outside its physical vessel.”

“Kamar-Taj?”

“Yes, think of it as Marvel’s Hogwarts—except most of the students are adults,” Kathoom quipped. “Now sit down, Bruce. It’s time for your lesson.”

Bruce obliged, pulling up a chair by his desk. He watched as the ethereal Kathoom floated mid-air, wings eerily still yet holding him aloft like some kind of spectral balloon.

“In this world, magic isn’t channeled through wands,” Kathoom began. “Instead, it’s performed through rituals, which are often simplified into specific gestures.”

He waved a translucent wing, tracing a glowing orange energy line in the air.

The line curved into a circle, radiant and intricate.

With another flick of his wing, a square appeared around the circle, its four corners marked by small orbs.

“Sorcerers draw energy from other-dimensional realms within the multiverse. They speak incantations and conjure shields, weapons, or other magical constructs.”

The circle in the air began to rotate, its components shifting and locking together like the gears of a mystical machine.

Kathoom gave it a gentle push, splitting the design into three interconnected layers that extended toward Bruce like an elaborate hologram.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

But just as quickly, Kathoom dismissed the projection with a wave of his wing.

Bruce, recalling Kathoom’s earlier explanation, asked, “What exactly are dimensional realms?”

“Think of them as self-contained universes,” Kathoom said. “The most powerful entities within these realms are the dimensional gods—or Dimensional Demons, depending on your perspective.”

He continued, “All magic in this world originates from these beings. Every spell you cast draws on their power.”

“So they’re like creditors?” Bruce mused, the concept clicking in his head. “Sorcerers borrow power from them.”

“Exactly. The Ancient One is so strong because she borrows more than anyone else.”

In fact, Kathoom explained, the Ancient One’s “credit” with the dimensional gods had grown so large that she eventually abandoned repayment altogether, faking her death and retreating to the Astral Plane to evade her debts.

And this, Kathoom pointed out, was why Marvel magic was worth Bruce’s consideration.

Since they were not native to this dimension, Bruce and Kathoom could borrow magic freely and leave when repayment came due.

“Dimensional gods may be powerful, but they can’t pursue their debtors across universes,” Kathoom said confidently.

He had already tested this theory himself. The power was surprisingly easy to borrow.

“So it’s kind of like the Speed Force,” Bruce compared, referring to another source of power he was familiar with. “It only works in certain universes?”

“Sort of,” Kathoom said, “but here’s the difference: once you’ve borrowed the power, you can still use it even after leaving Marvel—until it runs out.”

Bruce nodded, understanding the implications.

“So, when we’re about to leave this universe, we… milk it dry?”

“Exactly,” Kathoom said with a sly grin. “Borrow as much as you can. Even if it makes us Marvel’s top debtors, it won’t matter once we’re gone.”

Bruce couldn’t help but admire Kathoom’s cunning.

With the owl’s reassurance, he felt emboldened to embrace the idea of borrowing magic without fear. And if those dimensional gods ever came knocking, he could always pin the blame squarely on Kathoom.

It wasn’t his fault he got carried away with borrowing—it was all the evil owl’s fault.

At least, that’s what he’d tell himself to sleep at night.

“Alright, I’m ready!” Bruce declared. “When do we start learning?”

“Hold on,” Kathoom said, motioning for Bruce to calm down. “Tonight, I just want to broaden your horizons. To truly start drawing power from the dimensional gods, you’ll need to establish a strong theoretical foundation first.”

With a wave of his wing, four thick tomes appeared, stacked neatly in front of Bruce.

Each book was adorned with glowing sigils, radiating faint energy.

Bruce flipped through them briefly. Titles like The Invisible Sun, New Astronomy, Codex of Authority, and The Key of Solomon greeted him—cryptic and esoteric compared to Hogwarts’ straightforward Standard Book of Spells, Grades 1-7.

“These are original copies I borrowed from Kamar-Taj,” Kathoom explained. “Every day, I’ll bring you four books. You need to finish reading and memorizing them all within a day. We’re behind schedule, and we need to catch up fast.”

At that pace, Bruce estimated he’d gain a rudimentary understanding of Marvel’s magical system within two weeks.

“No problem.”

Bruce picked up one of the hefty tomes without hesitation. His photographic memory allowed him to recall anything he read, and deciphering ancient texts wasn’t a challenge. He could always summon a projection of Diana—Wonder Woman herself, fluent in every language and script on Earth—to help with translations if needed.

“Good. Put them away for now,” Kathoom instructed. “Next, I’m going to show you something extraordinary!”

Bruce obediently tucked the magical books under his bed before turning back to Kathoom.

“Now,” Kathoom began, “I’m going to take your soul into a special realm.”

With a sweep of his wing, the air in the center of the room fractured like shattered glass. Hundreds of shards hovered in midair, reflecting fragments of the room from different angles.

Before Bruce could process what was happening, Kathoom smacked his soul out of his body once again, pulling him through the fractured space.

“This is the Mirror Dimension,” Kathoom said. “It’s a real space, yet it remains undetectable to the outside world.”

The two of them floated high above the city, their translucent forms drifting effortlessly.

Below, New York City bustled with its usual chaos. Even at 2 a.m., the lights of the “city that never sleeps” shone brightly.

Bruce looked down, observing the streets. Cars zipped along, gangs loitered in alleyways, and office workers burned the midnight oil in brightly lit buildings.

“They can’t see us,” Kathoom said, leading Bruce into one of the buildings where a team of programmers was feverishly working.

Coffee cups littered their desks as the team leader barked orders, ensuring no one slacked off.

Kathoom approached the leader and swung his wing. It passed harmlessly through the man’s head.

“Events in the Mirror Dimension don’t affect the real world,” Kathoom explained. “At Kamar-Taj, sorcerers use this space to train, observe, or contain threats without risking collateral damage in reality. We can enter and exit freely using a Sling Ring.”

Kathoom pushed downward with his wing, and the sky above them folded into itself. The resulting pattern resembled a translucent, concentric diagram with a black void at its center.

Bruce felt an odd sensation—as if reality had been compressed, creating space for something else.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Kathoom said. “This is where you can interact with the dimensional gods without disturbing the real world. I’ll introduce you to them later. Once they recognize you, it’ll be easier for you to borrow their power.”

With that, Kathoom unfolded the compressed space, restoring the Mirror Dimension to its prior state.

They returned to the real world, still in their astral forms.

“Wait,” Bruce said, his sharp eyes catching movement in the air.

Wisps of white, shapeless entities floated above them, drifting aimlessly. These forms quickly retreated whenever they noticed Bruce’s presence.

“What are those?”

“Ghosts,” Kathoom replied. “Newly deceased souls. They’re formless and will soon move on to the realm of the dead.”

“The realm of the dead?” Bruce asked. “Like Hell?”

“Possibly, but I’d wager it’s Helheim,” Kathoom mused, referencing the Norse underworld once ruled by Hela, Odin’s eldest daughter.

Given the existence of Asgard and Earth’s place within the Nine Realms, it made sense for souls to pass into Helheim.

“Is that what most people’s souls look like?” Bruce asked, studying the indistinct shapes drifting away.

“For ordinary people, yes,” Kathoom explained. “Unless they possess strong wills or immense power, their souls won’t retain human forms. What we’re doing right now—astral projection—doesn’t follow those rules.”

“We’re still alive,” Bruce muttered, piecing it all together.

Bruce’s gaze followed the floating souls as they gradually vanished into the night sky, destined for their final resting place.

“I wonder if my parents have souls,” Bruce thought aloud.

A pang of longing struck him. Perhaps Martha and Thomas Wayne’s spirits still wandered Gotham, unable to find peace because of him.

They might be searching for him, unable to move on, eternally restless.

“I’ll have to keep an eye out when I return home,” Bruce resolved. “If my parents’ souls are lingering, I’ll help them find peace.”

With that, Kathoom’s demonstration came to an end.

He guided Bruce’s soul back into his body. When Bruce opened his eyes, he was back in his room, solidly grounded.

“That’s it for tonight,” Kathoom said. “Finish reading the books I gave you. I’ll bring new ones tomorrow.”

With a final nod, Kathoom’s astral form disappeared.

Bruce lay back on his bed, his mind buzzing with everything he had just experienced. Before he knew it, exhaustion overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

—

When Bruce woke up, he felt groggy and unrested.

Yawning, he made his way to the kitchen, where Mrs. Hall had already prepared breakfast.

Wanda appeared shortly afterward, her expression distant as always. She floated through the room, seemingly oblivious to Bruce’s presence.

Bruce barely glanced at her as she passed by. “Good morning,” he muttered, heading toward the sink to wash up.

Then it happened.

As Bruce and Wanda crossed paths, two faint figures trailed after her, slipping through Bruce’s periphery.

A cold chill washed over him, instantly clearing his drowsiness.

Whipping around, Bruce stared at the space behind Wanda, unable to believe his eyes.

A translucent couple walked closely behind her. Their faces were filled with love and sorrow as they gazed at the red-haired girl, never taking their eyes off her.

Bruce’s mind flashed to a line from 2001: A Space Odyssey:

“Behind every living person stand thirty ghosts—for every person alive, thirty have died. Since the dawn of time, about a hundred billion humans have walked the planet.”

Perhaps the ratio was exaggerated, but at this moment, Bruce saw them.

Two spirits standing behind Wanda.

Without a doubt, they were her parents.

—

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!