Jason didn’t react with surprise. He’d expected the answer—even if he didn’t like it. Still, he knew there had to be more to it than that.

His reflection paused, as if deliberately giving him time to sit with the revelation. Then it spoke again.

“I am more like your shadow-self. You could say I’m the part of your soul that was pushed down,” it said calmly, “so the personality you woke up as could exist after the Lazarus Pit brought you back.”

It tilted its head slightly.

“You were resurrected as a hollow body, with no memories, no sense of self—driven by a raw, instinctive need to fill the void the Pit left behind.”

Jason stayed silent with his jaw clenched tight.

Taking that as permission to continue, the reflection pressed on.

“Your mind, wiped clean, was caught in a tug-of-war. On one side, the overwhelming hunger left by the Lazarus Pit. On the other, the moral framework Bruce drilled into us—Bruce, the only person we’d truly opened our heart to since our mother died.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, turning the words over in his head.

It sounded insane. Absurd. And yet… it fit too cleanly to dismiss outright. He didn’t fully believe it—but for the first time, he felt like he was being handed an explanation that wanted to make sense.

‘Well. Everything about my life has been absurd.’ Jason thought dryly as the man in the mirror went on.

“As a result of that internal conflict,” the reflection said, “I was bound deep within your subconscious—chained there, waiting for the moment I could break free and surface again.”

The words stirred memories Jason hadn’t consciously reached for.

The League’s first mission. The secluded island. The crime lord’s compound. The metahuman guard who should have killed him outright. Jason remembered his vision blurring, blood spilling down his face, the world turning red as consciousness slipped—

—and the sound of chains.

He’d seen his shadow-self then. Had felt it.

Another memory followed. The bear attack. The gash across his mid torso. Darkness closing in, until he’d opened his eyes in the depths of the Lazarus Pit, the last thing he’d seen before blacking out being that same shadow-self watching him fade.

Both times, he’d been standing on the threshold of death. Either heading to, or right at the door.

‘Damn,’ he thought, a humorless edge creeping in as he realized how toobmany times he has almost lost his life. ‘I really do have a habit of courting death.’

Even so, he could tell the reflection was holding something back. Not with malice, not like the bandaged figure, but with intent. 

“So,” Jason said at last, eyebrow arching, his tone edged with disbelief, “you’re saying you’re the real me?”

“Not exactly,” the reflection replied.

Its expression twisted—subtly at first, then unmistakably.

“Let’s just say…”

The grin that followed was sharp, malevolent.

The air thickened around Jason, pressing against his chest, and for the first time since waking, he found himself struggling to draw a full breath as he found himself at the receiving side of his bloodlusful aura.

“I am the man you become when you put on the hood.”

Jason’s eyes widened.

He’d suspected the figure in the mirror was the one taking control whenever he blacked out, but this was something else entirely. If that was true, then maybe the decisions he made, the emotions he felt, even the way his thoughts aligned whenever he wore the hood… all of it flowed from this version of himself.

Which raised a far more unsettling question.

‘Then who am I?’

Who was Jason Todd?

And who, exactly, was the Red Hood?

He forced himself to steady his breathing, reining in the spiral of thoughts. The reflection felt fleeting—like it could vanish at any moment—and Jason still had too many unanswered questions.

One in particular clawed its way back to the surface. The words spoken by the bandage-wrapped demon.

“Why do I have a white streak in my hair,” Jason asked, “but you don’t?”

The reflection folded its arms, chin lifting as though looking down at him. Its expression settled into something neutral as it raised a hand to stroke its chin, considering.

“You already understand the basics,” it said at last. “But I’ll give you my interpretation.”

It paused.

“It could be the result of extreme psychological trauma—what your mind and soul endured in purgatory, compounded by the strain of resurrection.” 

Then, more quietly, it added, “Or it could be because your soul was touched by Lady Death herself… after you won the fight for it.”

Jason’s expression tightened.

“It might be one,” the reflection concluded. “Or the other. Or both.”

Jason sank into thought, memories rising unbidden.

The abyssal void. Purgatory. The version of himself he’d met there—the one who claimed to be his conscience. The part of him that had kept him alive, that ‘would’ have kept him alive even longer if Jason hadn’t rushed headlong toward Joker that night.

That version had mocked him. Dragged him through his own memories while dealing a series of blows of brutal honesty. Then they’d fought—not with fists alone, but with will—for the right to exist as Jason Todd.

The son of Batman, beaten to death by the Joker…

Or the part of him that had been buried beneath Bruce’s teachings—rules about lines that should never be crossed, restraint demanded even when criminals gave him every reason to abandon it.

Two selves.

One name.

One body, and an internal war that never truly ended.

He had wanted—so badly—to tread that line, to flirt with it just a little. That part of him, the side twisted by wrath and vengeance, could have won the fight. If it had, there was no telling what he might have become—back at the League, or worse… as the Red Hood.

“That should be enough for now. Until next ti—”

“One more question.”

Jason cut him off before the reflection could vanish, earning an exasperated sigh in return.

“What is it?”

“Who… is the demon wrapped in bandages?”

The mirror’s expression shifted instantly, darkening in a way Jason had never seen before. The casual, mocking demeanor vanished, replaced by something cold, serious.

“Do not… ever ask me about him,” it replied.

Jason swallowed hard. Everything he’d learned so far had hinted at the creature being an unknown—but instinct told him it was something darker. Something that wanted his soul.

He theorized: perhaps the demon had been drawn to his soul by the Lazarus Pit, clinging to his essence during resurrection. Or maybe it was the physical manifestation of the bloodlust left within him by the Pit.

“You already know who—or rather, what—he is,” the reflection added.

Jason’s jaw tightened in frustration, but he stayed silent, letting it continue.

“What happened to your mind and soul is far more complicated than I’ve explained. Only he can give you the clues you need. Only he can reveal his true identity—and perhaps help fill in the three-year gap in your memories… and show you who the real enemy is.”

Jason blinked, drowning in confusion. Just as he had begun to grasp even a fragment of understanding, the reflection suggested something that terrified him: he would have to confront his inner demon, literally, if he hoped to uncover the full truth.

“Wait… the true enemy?” The words stumbled out, weighed heavy with disbelief and curiousity.

With a sarcastic wave, the reflection dismissed him. “Let it go. Don’t dwell on it. Remember… Joker wasn’t the only hunt.”

Jason straightened, shaking off the swirl of wandering thoughts. He forced himself to refocus, letting the reflection’s words settle into the corner of his mind as he focused his attention.

“Don’t you think the Red Hood has teased his little prey enough?” Mirror Jason said, smirking, the hint in his tone barely hidden.

“Roman,” Jason muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing as thoughts of Black Mask surfaced. He had provoked, manipulated, and pushed the crime lord until Joker had been delivered on a silver platter. 

Now it was time to dismantle the rest of him, another piece of Gotham’s filth to be scrapped off the streets.

“Good to know Joker’s death hasn’t made you complacent,” Mirror Jason said, voice smooth and honeyed, hypnotic almost, landing exactly where Jason’s desires, and his ambitions were. “It isn’t over yet.”

He gestured vaguely, halfway raising his arms. “A revamp of Black Mask’s empire under your sovereignty… would cement your influence over more of Gotham’s streets. Just saying.” And then he was gone, leaving nothing behind but the seed he knew Jason would nurture. 

Jason lingered in front of the mirror, his eyes fixed on his reflection, the white streak cutting through his hair like a mark of everything he had endured.

“Sh*t,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Forgot to ask how I even got this boost in… everything.” His mind buzzed with unanswered questions.

Not just about himself, or the mysterious “true enemy,” but about what came next—how things would unfold with Batman, with the others, now that Joker was finally gone.

He left the bathroom and slipped into bed wearing nothing but his underwear.

Hours passed, and sleep refused him. He twisted, turned, rolled—changing position endlessly as his thoughts chased themselves in circles.

The encounter in the tub lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. He couldn’t shake the fear that something similar might happen once he finally drifted off.

Eventually, he returned to the night’s work: replaying what he had done to Joker, the finality of the clown’s madness, and his long awaited revenge.

Less than half an hour later, exhaustion finally claimed him. His body relaxed, a faint, almost serene expression settling across his face as he drifted into sleep.

– – –

Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, washing his room in a golden glow. Jason stirred, stretching as if he had slept a full night without a single worry. For once, it felt like the weight of the city had lifted, even if just for a moment.

Even after everything his shadow self had told him the night before—the truths about who he was, the demons he carried—he felt lighter. There was a spring in his step, a sense of accomplishment that only came from finally waking up to a Joker-free world. Breakfast somehow tasted better, sweeter, more flavourful, more alive.

He wasn’t planning to spend the day hunting Black Mask, not today. And sitting at home wasn’t appealing either. Grabbing the remote, he lazily flipped through channels, half-looking, half-thinking about how best to spend his time.

“Li should be out of custody by now,” he muttered, reaching for his phone. A few taps later, he dialed Mayor Stuart.

The call wasn’t about pleasantries, or to thank him for his ignorant and unwilling contribution to the death of Joker. Jason’s instructions was clear: make sure Li wasn’t being dragged into Black Mask’s web. On paper, she was just a secretary at his cosmetic company—a legal business, a legitimate front for his illegal activities.

A few pointed reminders, a subtle hint of what could happen if the Mayor failed to pull the right strings… and Li’s protection was secured. She had her own network, sure, but Jason didn’t want her tied to any illegal activity—at least, not on record.

He had plans for her to take over the empire upon the death of Black Mask, so he played that move to ensure the law wouldn’t have anything on her.

Satisfied, he tossed the phone onto the couch and wandered to the window. Taking a deep breath as the city sprawled beneath him, with Gotham’s skyline ever so jagged against the morning sky. 

Streets teemed with life, cars crawling along avenues, people getting on with their daily lives. He might as well get on with he’s.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep