Chapter 88: You, I, You
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Meanwhile…
Dean and Raven arrived at the half-collapsed construction site where their last battle had taken place. Standing among the debris and steel, Dean sent a cold message to the Justice League:
[Bring Pandora's Box to my location. One hand gives. One hand takes.]
The transmission echoed across multiple communication channels, but it didn't just land in the hands of the League. At the same time, the message appeared on another hidden screen… one belonging to The Outsider.
He leaned in, eyes glittering, and turned toward his most trusted infiltrator—Atomic Girl—the spy he had embedded inside the Justice League.
"Atomic Girl," he said smoothly, "you've been hiding in micro-form, correct? Shrunk smaller than dust, hidden on Raven's person. They haven't noticed you?"
From the speaker came her confident voice: "Of course not. I'm currently smaller than a speck of dust. Not even magic can trace me now."
The Outsider nodded, pleased.
"Very good," he said. "Based on everything you've observed so far, do you believe this… compatriot… is one of us?"
Atomic Girl paused, then answered thoughtfully, "I don't know. He's tangled up with many people like us, but something tells me… he won't side with us."
"You're right," the Outsider agreed. "He won't join us. But he won't stay with the Justice League either."
"He thinks he's still walking the path of justice. He's convinced himself he hasn't crossed the line yet. But he has. And all it will take… is one more push. A small one."
The Outsider's voice grew more confident with each word, as though he could already see the dominoes falling.
"And I'm convinced that push… will be the Justice League itself."
He leaned back, satisfied. Every move had been laid out over the course of five years. The pieces were falling into place.
"Contact Amanda Waller," he ordered. "Tell her the Justice League plans to use Pandora's Box and Dean in a hostage exchange."
"She'll know what to do."
No matter where in the multiverse Amanda Waller was—no matter the planet or plane—if she caught wind that the Justice League was this close to obtaining Pandora's Box?
She'd send in the JLA without hesitation… to seize it for themselves.
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After Batman successfully snatched Pandora's Box, he brought it back to the Watchtower without hesitation and handed it over to Cyborg for immediate analysis. Dean had mentioned during their last confrontation that the box wasn't forged through magic, but rather constructed through advanced technology—something Batman couldn't ignore.
Cyborg, after running several diagnostics, compiled and shared his findings with the rest of the League.
"Batman was right," Cyborg said, eyes flickering with data feeds as holograms hovered around him. "This metallic casing is highly reminiscent of the Mother Boxes we've encountered before. Like them, it functions as a portal device. But this one doesn't open a path to Apokolips—it opens a gateway to another universe altogether."
He tapped a few controls, and the projection shifted to show fluctuating energy readings. "One important difference, though: this box emits a peculiar wave of energy that interacts with the minds of nearby individuals. It heightens desire. Anyone overwhelmed by those desires becomes… compromised. A slave to the box, in effect."
The Flash's eyes lit up as he leaned forward. "Wait—Batman got this creepy skull box from Dean, right? What if… what if that explains Dean's shift? Maybe he wasn't always this extreme. Maybe the box got to him."
Neptune—Aquaman—frowned slightly, arms crossed. "That's all the more reason to be cautious. This thing could be dangerous even without being opened. We need to treat it like a bomb that feeds on our minds. Maybe even seal it… put it in something airtight or magical?"
He mimed a bubble with his hands, as if to joke away the weight of his words.
Hal Jordan raised a brow, still skeptical but not careless. "I don't know if it could affect me," he said with a hint of arrogance. "But just in case… I'll take it."
He extended his hand, and with the faint hum of his Green Lantern ring, created a glowing emerald sphere around the box. "My willpower can block its influence. It won't be able to affect me—or anyone else—while it's in this shield."
With Hal's reputation in the Corps and his mastery of will-based constructs, no one questioned his ability to contain the box.
Just then, a new message came through.
It was from Dean.
"Dean wants us to bring him the box," Wonder Woman said after reading it aloud. "He says he's ready for an exchange."
She hesitated, eyes narrowing. "But if he opens that box… what's the worst-case scenario? What if we're handing him a key to destroy everything? Do we have a backup plan?"
Worry crept into her voice. Deep down, she feared for Superman. But not even that justified risking the world.
Hal hovered the glowing orb in the air. "You know… I'm actually starting to miss Batman. At least he always had a dozen contingency plans. Sure, his paranoia made him unbearable, but look where we are without him—we're scrambling."
He smirked bitterly. "But plan or no plan, we have to move. The Alliance can't sit around while our own people are held hostage."
When Superman and Batman disappeared, it hadn't been Wonder Woman who stepped forward to lead the League—it had been Hal Jordan, the Green Lantern. And today, he showed exactly why he was once called the best of them.
The core five—Wonder Woman, Flash, Aquaman, Cyborg, and Hal—traveled to Gotham through a teleportation tunnel. Dean and Raven were already there, waiting for them in the dim glow of the ruined city.
Dean's gaze locked onto the floating green sphere instantly. He recognized it immediately.
"So that's how you've been carrying it," Dean said, his voice light but focused. With a flick of his fingers, he attempted to touch the orb using telekinesis—but the shield deflected it with ease.
Hal stood firm in front of the team, ring glowing brighter than ever. "Don't try me, Dean. That weak psychic trick won't work here. My will is unbreakable."
Dean gave a small laugh and raised his hands casually. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
But the truth was, Dean hadn't actually been aiming for Pandora's Box at all.
In that moment, while Hal's attention was focused on protecting the box, Dean had tried to pry the green ring off Hal's finger with his telekinesis—quietly, subtly. He was attempting to recreate one of the most infamous moments in Lantern history. But unlike before, this attempt failed.
Hal didn't flinch. His defenses held. Maybe it was the trauma of past experience, or maybe Hal had simply learned too much from fighting side-by-side with Batman.
Hal narrowed his eyes, now aware of Dean's intent. He felt the minuscule force tugging at the ring—barely noticeable, but there. "That was cute. You know, the League once thought about giving you a ring. Seems like they were wrong."
Dean smirked, lips curled in mischief. "Are you sure about that?"
Before Hal could unpack the meaning behind those words, Dean straightened his posture and clapped his hands once.
"Let's talk about the rules of the exchange."
"You don't trust me, and I don't trust you either. We're on equal ground in that regard," Dean said calmly, his tone firm but not aggressive. "Unnecessary suspicion only wastes time we don't have. So let's keep it simple. We'll follow one rule—I call it: 'you, I, you.'"
He raised one hand slowly, fingers forming the pattern as he explained.
"I go first—I'll release half of the heroes. Then it's your turn—you hand over the box. And then I'll finish—releasing the rest. A clean exchange. That way, no one gets played."
His voice dropped slightly, steel beneath the words. "Also—don't test my patience by trying to negotiate. I'm not here to haggle."
There was a sharp edge in Dean's demeanor that hadn't been there before. Everyone could feel it—something urgent was pressing against him. His tone, his pacing, even the way he stood gave the impression that an invisible countdown was ticking away next to him. Whatever was happening behind the scenes, it was clear: Dean was running out of time.
Hal Jordan had been ready to argue, had even opened his mouth to speak. But at that moment, he hesitated. He saw the tension in Dean's body and the urgency in his eyes. The initiative had shifted—Dean was in control now. And whether they liked it or not, his terms were fair.
Hal exhaled slowly and gave a short nod. "Fine. I'll agree on behalf of the League. According to your rules… you go first."
Without another word, Dean took out the life seeds from within his coat and teleported away in a burst of white light, leaving Raven behind this time. He didn't need an escort.
When he reappeared, he stood within the lush depths of the secret forest—a hidden sanctuary overgrown with ancient green. A wide clearing had been carved out in the center, and towering above it all was a colossal tree that stretched over a hundred meters high. Its bark glowed faintly with life, and from its upper branches hung seven pale, luminescent fruits—each one cradling a slumbering hero.
For a brief second, Dean felt as though he had stepped into the world of Naruto—like he was looking at the divine tree from the myth of the sacred fruit.
But this was real.
Poison Ivy appeared from behind the tree, calm and deliberate in her movements. She had done as Dean instructed. True to her word, she had nurtured the captured heroes using her unique bio-organic technique.
Dean glanced up and pointed at three of the hanging pods. "Release Vixen, Black Lightning, and Blue Devil."
Ivy nodded, brushing a vine out of her face. With expert precision, she extended her fingers, and thorned vines detached the three pods from the tree. The green tips of her fingers pricked their necks gently.
"They'll be out for twelve hours," she said coolly. "The anesthetic toxin will keep them unconscious and stable until then."
Dean gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, but his eyes were already on the remaining four. "Which of those two are Nightwing and Firestorm?"
Two similarly sized fruits lowered from the tree. Ivy approached one of them, peeling away the outer shell to reveal the face of Nightwing, peacefully unconscious. She ran her fingers along his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with unsettling familiarity.
"What a waste," she whispered. "Such good fertilizer… it's almost a shame to hand him over."
Her fingers curled, a thin vine tip poised to inject him with the sedative. But before she could strike, Dean stepped forward and caught her wrist.
"I need Nightwing conscious," he said firmly.
She paused, then withdrew her hand with a little shrug, not bothered by the interruption. As the anesthesia faded, Nightwing stirred, his breaths coming faster as he blinked into the unfamiliar light.
His vision adjusted quickly. He found himself still bound, but not fully restrained. Ivy's vines were slack, more ceremonial than secure. Beside him was Firestorm, unconscious with his head tilted forward, and standing in front of him—Dean. Or rather, the man who now wore the title of someone corrupted by the Three Palaces.
Despite the surreal circumstances, Nightwing's training kicked in. His gaze sharpened. "Everyone's… okay?" he asked warily.
Dean gave a short nod. "They're fine. Including Batman. And Superman."
For a beat, Nightwing just stared at him. Then his expression shifted from confusion to cold realization.
"So this is part of your and Batman's grand plan?" he said, voice low. "You tricked the entire League. Played the villain. Who's the real enemy here?"
Dean held up the seed in his palm, glowing softly. "I don't have time to explain the whole truth right now. I'll be back again soon. But before that, you need to convince Firestorm to cooperate with me."
Nightwing's eyes narrowed. "Why not just have Ivy control us both? It would save you time. It's not like you've been above dirty tactics lately."
Dean remained still, silent for a moment. "I can control villains. That's easy. But when you start controlling heroes… there's no going back. I'm not ready to cross that line."
It wasn't just about efficiency. Dean was drawing a boundary—one last moral thread holding him back. And maybe, deep down, he knew that crossing it would mean losing everyone's trust for good.
With that, he left the forest sanctuary and returned to the real world.
Dean reappeared in front of the League and, true to his word, handed over the unconscious bodies of Vixen, Black Lightning, and Blue Devil. The three heroes were unharmed, breathing evenly.
"I've released half," Dean said. "Now it's your turn."
Wonder Woman and Cyborg quickly examined the three and confirmed their vitals were stable. Once satisfied, they exchanged glances and gave Hal the signal.
Hal raised his ring, and the glowing green sphere floated toward Dean. The magical box shimmered within, untouched by the outside world. Slowly, the shield began to part, the energy receding like the tide.
When Dean saw the golden skull encased within the translucent energy field, his eyes lit up with an almost feverish intensity. There it was—Pandora's Box, finally back within reach. His expression said it all: this wasn't just an object to him. It was everything. Power, purpose, and pressure, all condensed into a single gleaming artifact.
But of course, no critical moment in Dean's life could ever go uninterrupted.
Spoilers always had a knack for showing up at just the right—or wrong—time. And Amanda Waller? She was the definition of a professional spoiler. Cold, calculated, and always two steps ahead when it mattered most.
Under her command, the sky suddenly cracked with movement as members of the Justice League of America came diving down from above like avenging angels.
"Hawkman!" Waller's voice thundered through the comms. "Stop Dean from getting Pandora's Box—whatever it takes!"
With a sharp cry that echoed like an eagle's screech, Hawkman folded his massive wings tightly around himself, slicing downward through the sky like a missile. The wind screamed past him as he angled his descent, wings tucked to minimize drag. Just as he reached rooftop level, he flared them wide to slow his descent, aiming straight for the box that floated gently in front of Hal Jordan.
Hal saw him coming—and in that moment, an idea flickered across his mind.
He hesitated, just slightly, and slowed the closing of the energy shield around Pandora's Box. His movement was subtle, intentional. To everyone else, it might seem like an accident, a simple timing error. But in truth, Hal was handing Hawkman an opportunity—faking an "accidental miss" under the pretense of clumsiness.
Dean saw it all. He knew exactly what Hal was doing. He knew Hal had just betrayed him.
But there was no time to deal with that now.
The wind from Hawkman's wings whipped violently around the rooftop, tossing debris into the air—but it did nothing to distract Dean. Not even with four different sets of optical sensors trained on the scene. Without a moment's delay, Dean's wrist sparked, and he ripped off his watch. A flash of light engulfed him as his body transformed mid-motion into the form of the Armored Stinkfly.
"The main course for birds might be bugs," Dean growled, his voice distorted through the metallic mandibles of his new form. "But some bugs… bite back."
To anyone watching, Armored Stinkfly looked like a grotesque cross between an insect and a war machine—massive, armored, with a durable shell that shimmered like dark bronze. Its two giant, translucent wings vibrated at incredible speed, propelling Dean into the sky with eerie grace and precision.
Hawkman banked around a building corner, soaring through the night sky over Gotham's dimly lit streets. Civilians below gasped and scattered, ducking for cover as the two airborne figures streaked overhead, locked in a deadly game of predator and prey. But Hawkman soon realized something was wrong—he couldn't shake his pursuer. Armored Stinkfly was gaining on him.
Dean was closing the distance faster than Hawkman could compensate for, and that realization hit the winged warrior hard.
Thinking quickly—well, as quickly as a brain the size of a bird's would allow—Hawkman drew his Nth metal blade from its sheath, spun in mid-air, and attempted a dramatic counter-attack: a spinning guillotine strike aimed directly at Dean's neck.
But there's a reason why the word "Armored" was included in Armored Stinkfly's name. The exoskeleton was no ordinary armor—it was a tank. The shell could withstand strikes from steel, and behind it was a set of spiked, sickle-shaped appendages that glinted under the moonlight.
Dean swung his tail.
The dragon-like tail smashed into Hawkman's blade. Metal screamed as the war blade clashed against Armored Stinkfly's spikes, sparks showering into the night air. The force of the blow sent both combatants spinning briefly apart, neither able to land a decisive strike. They recovered fast, wings buzzing, feet skimming over Gotham's rooftops.
Dean clicked his mandibles. "It's a shame I don't have my Sword Dance module. With that, I'd triple my attack power and disarm you in seconds."
But even without it, Armored Stinkfly had tricks of his own.
As they crossed paths again mid-air, Dean calculated Hawkman's momentum. Just as Hawkman turned to reposition his wings for a vertical loop, Armored Stinkfly made his move. From between his fanged mandibles, Dean spat a thick glob of neon-green venom straight into Hawkman's face.
"Take this! A little something I call—Sticky Vision!"
The slime wasn't acidic or lethal. It was worse. It was annoying—a bio-engineered adhesive capable of gumming up even a metahuman's movement. And it hit Hawkman right between the eyes.
Instinctively, Hawkman tried to wipe his face clean, but the moment his hand touched the slime, it stuck. His wings faltered, his balance shifted, and he started spinning in the air uncontrollably.
From his faltering grip, Pandora's Box slipped loose.
Dean immediately dived, wings beating violently against the air. The box tumbled, spinning in slow motion between them.
But just before Dean could snatch it out of the sky, something strange happened.
The box stopped mid-air—suspended in a green glow, frozen like it had hit an invisible wall.
Beneath the artifact, a shimmering green arm began to form out of nowhere. A faint, translucent outline took shape—muscular, alien, purposeful.
Dean halted in mid-air, wings buzzing, and stared ahead with sudden caution. A chill ran through even the reinforced shell of Armored Stinkfly.
"…Jon," he said, recognizing the form. "Martian Manhunter. So… you're stepping in now too?"
The Martian's glowing red eyes lit up in the darkness, and his voice was low, resonant, filled with quiet power.
"That depends," he said, lifting his head slowly. "What exactly are you planning, Dean?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Let me see…"
The glow from his pupils intensified, and a psychic pulse reached out toward Dean's mind.
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