The air still crackled from the witch's death—smoke curling in lazy spirals around your shoulders, glittering embers falling like ash in the low light. The ruined space was quiet now, eerily so, as the last remnants of the labyrinth faded into dust.

You stood in the center of it all, sweat mixing with blood on your cheek, Soul Gem pulsing weakly at your chest. Dim. Duller than usual. Fading faster each time.

Perched on the crumbling windowsill above you was him. That smug little parasite. Kyubey.

"You're more efficient than the others," he said, tone flat as ever, voice barely above a bored whisper. "I assumed you could handle the workload."

You glared up at him, resisting the urge to hurl your remaining magic straight at his stupid white face.

Yeah right. You'd taken out three witches this week. Alone. No sleep. Soul Gem cracking like worn glass. And he had the audacity to act like you were slacking.

Sometimes, you really wondered if this was worth it.

You'd grown up in Gotham's underbelly—the place with more corpses than clean water, more despair than daylight. You watched your loved ones break under the weight of a city that didn't care. You were angry, scared, and desperate when Kyubey came.

"I can give you power. You can stop this. You only need to make a wish."

And you had.

You wished to protect people.

And Kyubey granted it, the bastard.

In return, he pulled your soul from your body, sealed it inside a gem, and cursed you to fight for eternity. No rest. No peace. Just war. Hunt after hunt. Witch after witch.

You did it alone for years.

Then… Bruce Wayne adopted you.

He never knew what you were. You didn't tell him. Even now, while training with the Batfamily, while wearing a different mask at night, you kept the magical girl buried deep. When you slipped away during patrols, it was always "solo recon." He never asked too many questions.

But Jason did.

Jason followed.

You'd tried to shake him, but he'd trailed you through a labyrinth without hesitation, guns blazing and eyes sharp. He didn't understand the magic, the curses, the twisted reality you fought in. But he stood beside you anyway, blasting a witch's weak point with perfect timing. No hesitation. No questions. Just a growled, "I got you."

Since then, he's known.

And tonight? After everything? After the third witch, after the drain and the silence and the unbearable weight—Kyubey still had the nerve to scoff at you.

"Oh, don't give me that look," he said, nonchalant, eyes cold and unblinking. "You signed the con—"

BANG.

The sound echoed like thunder.

Kyubey jerked, a clean hole punched through his side.

He tumbled off the windowsill, landing in a graceless heap on the floor, twitching slightly.

You froze.

A shadow stepped out of the dark, slow and purposeful. Red helmet tucked under one arm. Gun still warm in the other.

Jason, smug as hell, lowered the weapon with zero remorse.

"You're welcome."

You stared at him, somewhere between horrified and grateful.

"Little freak's been asking for that since the second I met him," he muttered, stepping over the twitching form without flinching. "Contract this, a*shole."