Everyone stood in silence, staring at the lifeless corpse of Robin. The battlefield, once filled with chaos, was now eerily still. The only sounds were distant sirens and the ragged breathing of those still standing. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on them like a suffocating force.
Liam stood there, unmoving. His fingers tightened around the Sparda sword before he let out a slow, shaky breath.
Sparda's voice echoed in his head, laced with something resembling amusement.
"Alright, kid. Time to buy the milk before they start blaming you for this."
Liam exhaled sharply, jaw clenched. He didn't run. He couldn't. Instead, he took a cautious step toward Starfire.
The Tamaranean was still kneeling, her hands trembling as she clutched Robin's lifeless body. Her golden skin was smeared with his blood, and her eyes—usually burning with fire—were now hollow with grief.
"Star... I—" Liam started, his voice hoarse.
"No!" she sobbed, shaking her head. "No, no, no... he cannot be... this cannot be!"
Cyborg stepped forward, his mechanical body creaking under the weight of his own emotions. He looked at Liam, his expression unreadable before he finally spoke.
"It ain't your fault, man. You saved her."
His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—a barely contained storm threatening to break.
Liam didn't respond. He just stared down at Robin—the kid he had just cut down. He'd done it to save Starfire, to stop whatever had twisted Robin's mind… but that didn't change the outcome. Didn't change the fact that he had killed Batman's son.
Then Raven moved.
Her body trembled. Her fists clenched at her sides, and her crystal pulsed erratically. When she looked up, her eyes were filled with fury.
"You..."
Her whisper sliced through the silence like a dagger.
Liam barely had time to react before shadows flared violently around her.
"It's all because of you!" she screamed, her voice cracking with emotion. "You made my crystal go crazy! You made me lose control! It's all because of you!"
Dark energy crackled around her hands as she lunged. But before she could reach him, a massive metal arm slammed into her path.
Cyborg gritted his teeth, holding her back.
"Raven! Enough!" he shouted. "Just stop!"
She struggled against his grip, still shaking with rage and grief, her breath coming in sharp, shuddering gasps. Tears streamed down her face.
Liam took a step back.
Cyborg looked at him—expression dark, voice low.
"Just leave, man. Please. Before I change my mind."
Liam hesitated. His eyes flicked toward Raven, then to Starfire, who still cradled Robin's body, still crying softly.
His grip on the Sparda sword tightened before he willed it away, the chain wrapping around his neck once more. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
His footsteps echoed in the stillness.
He didn't look back.
Liam didn't stop walking until the city lights faded behind him. The weight of what had happened crushed against his chest. Robin was dead. Killed by his own hands. There was no coming back from that.
As he entered Lucifer's domain, the atmosphere shifted. The luxurious lobby of the penthouse felt colder. The usual buzz of infernal energy was muted.
Lucifer sat behind his grand desk, swirling a glass of wine, eyes locking onto Liam the moment he stepped in.
"Well, well. You look like a man who just killed someone important."
"I need a place to lay low," Liam said, voice hoarse.
Lucifer chuckled and took a slow sip.
"Oh, this must be good. Who'd you piss off this time?"
"Batman's kid."
The room went dead silent. Even the air stilled.
Lucifer carefully set his glass down, studying him.
"Richard Grayson?"
"No. The other one. Tim Drake."
Lucifer let out a long whistle.
"Oh, you poor bastard."
He leaned back, fingers steepled.
"You killed the son of the Bat. The Titans must be out for blood. Hell, the whole League might be mobilizing. Do you realize how big of a mess you've made?"
"It wasn't supposed to happen," Liam muttered.
"He was corrupted. Raven's crystal went berserk. He attacked Starfire. I had no choice."
Lucifer's smirk faded.
"No choice? That's exactly the kind of excuse that gets you hunted down."
Liam clenched his fists.
"I didn't come here for a lecture. I need a place to disappear."
Lucifer sighed, rubbing his temples.
"You're lucky I like you. Otherwise, I'd let this play out just to see how badly you get torn apart."
He stood up, walking around the desk.
"Fine. You're going to Hell."
Liam frowned.
"That's supposed to be an upgrade?"
"It is when I say so." Lucifer smirked.
"There are places even the League won't follow. You're going to one of them."
"And how long am I supposed to hide?"
"Until I say otherwise. Or until this blows over—which, let's be honest, might take a while."
He placed a hand on Liam's shoulder.
"I hope you weren't planning on revenge or clearing your name. Because if you step back into their world now, you're dead."
Liam sighed and nodded.
"Fine. Just send me down already."
Lucifer grinned.
"Good choice. Now, try not to die down there. Be a shame to waste all the trouble I'm going through for you."
With a snap of his fingers, the world around Liam twisted and burned.
Then—he was gone.
The Batcave was silent, save for the hum of the Batcomputer. The glow from its screens cast a dim light over Bruce Wayne's face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion and grief.
He hadn't moved in minutes, eyes locked on the paused footage.
The feed came from a hidden drone—one of many patrolling the city. On screen: the Titans amid debris, and in the center… his son.
Lifeless. Motionless. Gone.
Bruce's hands trembled as he replayed the final moments.
Robin, possessed by something unnatural, lunging at Starfire. The Sparda sword flashing. The moment of impact. The collapse. The life vanishing from his son's body.
His breathing hitched. His fists clenched against the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. Grief. Rage. Guilt. It clawed at him like a living thing.
"Bruce…"
A voice broke through the silence.
Nightwing stood a few feet behind, arms crossed, face solemn. He'd seen the footage too. From the moment he stepped into the cave and saw Bruce frozen at the screen, he knew.
He'd seen Bruce angry before—but never like this. This was raw. Unfiltered devastation.
"Bruce, talk to me," Nightwing urged.
"Don't do this to yourself."
Bruce inhaled sharply but said nothing. When he finally turned, his eyes were red-rimmed.
"He's gone."
His voice was barely a whisper—but it carried the weight of a man breaking.
Nightwing stepped closer, heart aching.
"I know," he said softly.
"I know, Bruce."
Bruce slammed his fist into the console. The monitors flickered.
"I should have been there!" he roared.
"I should have stopped this!"
"You didn't know," Nightwing said firmly.
"None of us did."
"That's not good enough."
Bruce's voice shook with anguish as he turned back to the screen.
"He was just a kid, Dick. My kid. And I let this happen."
Nightwing placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"No. You didn't let this happen. The one who did this—he's still out there."
Bruce didn't respond. His eyes remained glued to the frozen image of Tim's body.
But Nightwing saw it. The flicker of something dark. Something dangerous.
Bruce Wayne wasn't just grieving.
He was preparing for war.