“And what’s this… Pietro, you say?” Joker’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and gleeful. “He sounds fine. Why? Because we share something in common—we love explosions! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

His laughter rolled through the cells, echoing and bouncing off the concrete walls. Inmates whispered nervously in the darkness, some wide-eyed, unable to believe what they’d heard.

“Ooooh, fireworks and body counts… now that’s a story worth telling,” Riddler said, voice dripping with delight. “Too bad I wasn’t there to witness the spectacle myself.”

“That’s one less annoying chatterbox on the list,” Killer Croc grumbled, slumping in the corner of his cell.

From his shadowed corner, Scarecrow let out a dry, humorless laugh. “A tragedy. The clown has lost his harlequin… oh, the fear that must leave behind.”

In her cell, Poison Ivy sat on her bed, cradling a potted plant with a small sapling growing inside. A faint glow from a suppressive collar around her neck kept her powers in check. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Harley had been her friend.

“I guess I’m only left with my babies in this world now,” she murmured, gently caressing the sapling.

“Hey! Quiet down and go to sleep!” Jenkins barked, torchlight swinging across the corridor.

The inmates grumbled, some muttering under their breath, but eventually, one by one, they reluctantly settled down. Joker’s laughter still echoed, faint and far-reaching, like a storm that refused to pass.

Tenpenny, clearly fed up, muttered under his breath and started toward the cell.

“Don’t bother,” Jenkins interrupted, shaking his head. “You know as well as I do that won’t work. That guy doesn’t have screws loose. There just aren’t any.”

“Yeah, I know…” Tenpenny muttered, running a hand over his face. “But I can’t take it anymore. Let’s get out of here before I lose it. Inspection’s done anyway.”

Jenkins gave a slow nod, and together they made their way down the corridor, leaving the laughter and whispers to crawl through the halls of Arkham.

—————–

After the grueling task of embedding the black rods into Deadshot’s body with Zetsu’s help, Max stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow. Every muscle in him ached, but there was still that last flicker of anticipation in his eyes.

“And… it’s done,” he said, voice calm but edged with satisfaction.

“Huh… that’s it?” White Zetsu tilted his head, clearly underwhelmed.

“Yes. Now… let’s see.” Max closed his eyes.

The corpse shuddered violently, joints creaking unnaturally, then slowly sat upright. Max’s control was absolute.

“Wow… this actually works,” Zetsu whispered, eyes wide. “But how?”

Max’s voice carried through Deadshot’s body, deep and commanding. “It all lies in my eyes.”

“You can talk through it too?” Zetsu asked, still in disbelief.

“More than that.” Max opened Deadshot’s eyes. The Rinnegan glowed with a soft, ominous light. Deadshot’s hand shifted, transforming into a cannon before snapping back into its natural form. Max tried activating other Paths, but they remained dormant—he was testing the limits of a single corpse.

Then Deadshot threw a punch at Max. He caught it effortlessly, but a satisfied smirk spread across his face. The strike alone, even from a corpse, was far beyond anything a normal human could produce. This would prove useful.

White Zetsu, watching casually, asked, “Boss… you’re still in control, right?”

“Yes. Just… testing some things,” Max replied smoothly.

A sudden oppressive presence pressed down on the room. The King of Hell appeared behind him, massive and menacing. Zetsu instinctively took a step back, his small figure dwarfed by the entity’s dark aura.

Without hesitation, Deadshot’s body stepped forward into the King of Hell’s gaping mouth. The monstrous jaws closed around it. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the King of Hell vanished back into the ground, leaving only flickering violet flames in its wake.

Max yawned, stretching lazily. “I’m done for the day. Don’t follow me, and don’t touch anything—or you’ll regret it.”

And with that, he disappeared.

White Zetsu remained, frozen in shock, his mind racing to process the sheer scope of what he had just witnessed—the control over Deadshot and the ability to morph limbs into weapons.

Max appeared on the roof of his house, dropped down, and pressed his hand against the front door. A glowing seal flickered to life before the lock clicked open. He stepped inside.

Every door and window was warded with seals. On top of that, a barrier surrounded the property, denying entry to anyone but him—unless he chose to grant permission. After what had happened before, he wasn’t about to risk another breach. Not now. Not with the League watching him.

He moved to his desk, sat down, and began typing at his computer. News feeds and social media posts scrolled across the screen, and his eyes gleamed as a smirk tugged at his lips. The more he read, the more amused he became. Finally, he snapped the laptop shut and let out a low chuckle.

So, Waller had more in store for him than a nuke. Revealing his identity was her other play. Then again, Luthor could have pulled the strings—it wouldn’t be unlike him. But one thing was certain: the leaked footage of him killing Waller hadn’t been her doing. Even if it incriminated him, Waller would never allow the world to see her in a vulnerable, helpless state. Not even in death.

And the footage was muted. That detail alone raised questions. Whoever released it didn’t want people knowing why he had killed her.

Max leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. The public’s outrage meant nothing to him—their opinions were as weak as their will to act. His exposed identity was little more than an inconvenience, making it harder to move around public spaces without the Transformation Jutsu.It must have taken a lot of skill and good resources to bypass Belle Reve’s security, hack the cameras, and extract the footage.

Lois Lane might know. She had been front and center in the reports.

“It seems I’ll be paying Miss Lane a visit,” Max muttered. He had no intention of hurting her; he was simply curious. Someone out there was pressing his buttons—and he wanted to know who.

With a yawn, Max pushed away from the desk. He wandered into his bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and was soon snoring.

In the morning.

The smell of something burning snapped Max awake. His eyes shot open, Sharingan flickering on instinct before settling back to normal. His seals hadn’t triggered — yet the acrid smoke drifting through the hall said otherwise. Someone was in his house.

Max pulled a kunai from his system space and moved soundlessly out of the bedroom, each step precise, controlled. Whoever had bypassed his defenses wasn’t ordinary. He followed the trail of smoke to the kitchen and peeked inside.

What he saw made him blink.

Thena sat at the counter, drowning in one of his shirts, the fabric hanging past her knees like a gown. In one hand she clutched a half-mangled slice of bread, in the other an entire stick of butter. Her cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk, face smeared with crumbs and grease. Beside her, the toaster hissed and smoked, a blackened piece of bread jutting out as evidence of her crime.

Max exhaled and quietly stowed the kunai. Right. He wasn’t alone anymore. He’d forgotten that.

Thena froze mid-chew the instant she spotted him. “I… I was hungry,” she mumbled around her mouthful.

Max grimaced inwardly. She doesn’t even chew properly. Great, manners class too. He forced something resembling a smile onto his face. “It’s fine. I get it. But you should’ve told me.”

He stepped forward slowly. Thena shrank back, shoulders tensing, and shut her eyes as he reached out. Instead of grabbing her, Max just wiped a smear of butter and crumbs from her cheek with his thumb.

“Come on,” he said, voice low but not unkind. “Let’s do this properly.”

He led her toward the living room, switched on the TV, and flipped to the cartoon channel. Bright colors and silly voices filled the space, almost foreign in his otherwise quiet hideout.

“Sit here,” Max instructed, gesturing at the couch. “Don’t move. I’ll make us something real to eat.”

Thena sat stiffly, eyes darting between him and the screen, still hugging the bread like a prize.

Max sighed on his way back to the kitchen. This was… going to take some getting used to.

End of chapter.

Hey guys!

Sorry for the short chapter today — I promise the next one will be longer.

Also, a quick heads-up: I’ll be deleting the notices so the total number of chapters goes back to 36, since the notices have been messing with the chapter count.

Thanks for understanding!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep