Jason had never believed in Hell. Not really. But when he opened his eyes to choking smoke, a searing red sky, and screams that seemed stitched into the very air, he knew exactly where he was.

Hell.

The chains around his wrists bit deep, each step he took sinking into a ground made of ash and blood. The weight of death hung over him like a second skin, heavier than the grave he had clawed out of. He had died. He knew that. And now he was here.

Jason clenched his fists, feeling the familiar burn of anger swell in his chest — a feeling stronger than any fear.

He was getting out.

No matter what he had to face. No matter who he had to see — the faces of the fallen, the monsters of his past, or even the demons that whispered in his ear. He would crawl, fight, tear through anything to get back.

Back to them. To Bruce. To Dick. To Alfred. To life.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t done yet. And Hell wasn’t ready for him.