Jason moved swiftly through the poacher base, his twin pistols gleaming as he took down each poacher with precise, deadly accuracy. His blood boiled with anger, deep and relentless, as it always did when poachers were involved. Poachers. The word alone made his skin crawl. Once upon a time, he had been a fae— tiny and magical, with fluffy moth wings and blue eyes that shone like stars. Until the poachers had taken him. Stolen him from his world, torn him apart, and kept him like a possession, a commodity. If it hadn’t been for Bruce, he wouldn’t have survived. But even Bruce couldn’t find his baby sister, Jazz, who had disappeared in the same attack.

Jason's hatred for poachers was comparable his hatred for the Joker. The Joker— the reason he was no longer fae. He was the reason his wings were ripped from his back, leaving only the ghost of phantom pain and jagged scars. He was the reason he was reborn as a battle witch— human, broken, and forced to rely on what little magic remained from his fae bloodline.

But now he had the power to destroy them all, poachers and other cruel humans alike, and he would. Without mercy.

He swung around a corner, spotting a lone poacher scrambling for his gun. Before Jason could pull the trigger, a massive vine shot from the floor, wrapping around the poacher's legs and hoisting him into the air. The man dropped his weapon with a yelp as the vine tightened around him, suspending him helplessly from the ceiling.

“Oops!” a voice giggled from above, high-pitched and teasing.

Jason growled, his patience thinning. “Dammit, again?” he snarled at the intruder, glancing up toward the exposed vents in the ceiling. The fae vigilante was in there again, shadowed and unseen, but definitely there.

He hadn’t gotten a clear look at them—just a glimpse of a flitting shadow, moving between broken vent grates. But their handiwork was unmistakable.

That damn fae.