Injustice: The Path To Hell (DC Comics)

Thursday, October 23rd, 17:20

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

Esau set his bags down on the neatly made bed, exhaling softly as he straightened up. The room was far nicer than he had expected—spacious, well-furnished, and reminiscent of an upscale hotel suite. The furniture had a classic, almost Victorian charm to it, with a grand four-poster bed, polished mahogany dressers, and a thick, plush carpet that softened his footsteps. The walls were adorned with deep green wallpaper with gold accents, the lighting was dim but warm, and an antique clock ticked methodically from its place on the wall.

Lifting his arms above his head, he stretched out the tension in his muscles, letting out a low sigh of relief. "Well, guess this is home for now." The words felt strange leaving his mouth, as if saying them out loud would make them more real.

He lowered his arms and turned in place, surveying the room with a quiet sort of contemplation. It was darker than his room back at the Cave, and that was saying something, considering that Mount Justice was literally inside a mountain. The thought made him chuckle under his breath. Only in Gotham could a room in a mansion feel darker than a room carved into the side of solid rock.

It was almost poetic in a way—this city drained the life and light from everything it touched. But then again, that was Gotham for you. It had a way of wrapping itself around you, weighing on your shoulders like an ever-present shadow. Esau wasn't particularly surprised by it. If anything, he had expected it.

Shaking off his thoughts, he rolled his shoulders, making his way to the door. As he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the scent of aged wood, old books, and faint traces of incense lingered in the air. It was an oddly calming atmosphere, fitting for a man like Jason Blood, whose entire existence seemed wrapped in an aura of mystique and old-world wisdom.

Descending the grand staircase, Esau found himself in the main sitting room. The space was large yet intimate, with bookshelves lining the walls, filled with ancient tomes and artifacts that carried an air of mystery. In the center of the room, before a roaring open fire, Jason Blood sat in a comfortable leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other as he read a newspaper. A delicate porcelain teacup rested on a nearby table, steam rising from its contents, filling the air with the subtle scent of Earl Grey.

Jason, looking ever the picture of refined elegance, flicked his gaze toward Esau as he turned a page in the newspaper. "I hope the room is to your liking."

Esau smirked slightly, nodding. "Yeah. More than enough. Thanks again, Jason. For letting me stay here."

Jason lowered the paper slightly, offering him a small but knowing smile. "It's more than okay. Besides, there's nothing wrong with having a little company every now and then."

Esau chuckled, leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You almost make that sound like you don't spend all your time around a literal demon."

Jason let out a soft, amused huff, shaking his head before taking a slow sip of his tea. "Etrigan and I have been cohabitating for centuries. The occasional mortal guest is a welcomed change of pace."

Esau nodded in understanding, his smirk softening into something more appreciative. As much as Jason had his mystique and reserved nature, Esau could tell that the older man wasn't as much of a recluse as people thought. Maybe after so many years of isolation, having someone around to talk to—even someone like Esau—was a welcome break from the solitude.

Jason gestured toward the other armchair across from him. "Take a seat. We can talk for a bit."

Esau shook his head. "Thanks, but I was actually about to head out. Haven't eaten anything all day, so I figured I'd grab something."

Jason raised a brow, setting his paper aside. "Try to avoid getting into trouble."

Esau scoffed, pushing off the doorway. "I'm not that bad."

Jason muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "I've heard differently."

Esau rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. He couldn't, really—his track record spoke for itself. He was a magnet for trouble, no matter where he went. With a final glance at the warm, crackling fire, he turned to head toward the door. "Thanks again, Jason."

Jason gave him a simple nod, bringing his teacup to his lips once more. "Don't mention it."

With that, Esau stepped out into the cold Gotham evening, ready to reacquaint himself with the city he once called home.

-X-

Thursday, October 23rd, 18:10

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

East End.

The low rumble of an engine echoed through the cold Gotham night, the sound bouncing off the dimly lit streets as Esau pulled his bike to a slow halt. He killed the ignition, the sudden silence feeling almost unnatural after the hum of the ride. With practiced ease, he reached up, unclipping his helmet and pulling it off, shaking his head slightly to let his hair settle.

Lifting his gaze, he took in the massive warehouse standing before him. It had changed—drastically. Once upon a time, this place had been a run-down, abandoned building, used occasionally for the Underground Fighting Rings. Illegal, brutal, and raw, it had been a proving ground for the desperate, the ambitious, and the downright insane. Back then, the fights were held in the dark, between cracked concrete walls and rusting metal beams, the only light coming from cheap overhead fixtures that flickered like dying stars.

Now?

It had been completely overhauled.

The once crumbling structure had been reinforced and renovated, fresh brickwork and reinforced steel giving it a menacing new life. The surrounding area, which had once been just as abandoned and lifeless, was now flattened and converted into a massive parking lot, filled with high-end cars and sleek motorcycles. The kind of vehicles that only meant one thing—big money.

Esau smirked to himself as he dismounted his bike, locking it away before making his way towards the back entrance. As he approached, his eyes flickered over the two men standing guard outside—bouncers, the type Gotham always had in places like this.

Both were tall, broad, and built like bulldozers, their arms thick with muscle, their expressions cold and impassive. One of them, a dark-skinned man with a shaved head, crossed his arms over his massive chest as Esau neared. The other, a pale, scarred brute with a nose that had clearly been broken multiple times, shifted his stance slightly, subtly preparing himself.

They knew trouble when they saw it.

"Hold it," the bald one grunted, stepping forward just enough to block Esau's path. "This is a private event. No outsiders."

Esau came to a stop, tilting his head slightly as his gaze flickered between the two men. "This where the fights are?"

The scarred bouncer gave a slow nod. "Yeah. But you ain't on the list. So turn around."

Esau exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced past them toward the door. "I used to fight here. Back when it was a real underground ring." He shrugged, flashing a small, disarming smile. "Just here to reminisce, nothing more."

The bald bouncer scoffed. "Yeah? That so?" He looked Esau up and down, taking in the lean but powerful frame, the relaxed stance that spoke of someone comfortable in dangerous situations. Yet, there was doubt in his expression—he didn't believe Esau had ever been in the ring.

Perhaps it was arrogance, either way, he clearly didn't believe it.

The other one smirked. "You? A fighter here? Sorry, kid, but I don't see it."

Esau sighed. "Right. Should've figured." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a fold of cash. Without hesitation, he slapped it against the bald man's chest. "How about now?" He asked casually, arching a brow. "Not looking to cause problems, just want to watch for once instead of being part of the entertainment."

The two bouncers exchanged a look before the bald one snatched up the money, rolling the bills between his thick fingers before tucking them away. Esau nodded in thanks, stepping forward only to have a heavy hand land on his chest, stopping him once more.

His gaze flickered up, amusement creeping into his expression. "Really?"

The scarred bouncer grinned, cracking his knuckles slowly, deliberately. "Nice try, kid. But rules are rules. Money gets you consideration. Not entry."

Esau stepped back, exhaling deeply as he ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head slightly before a chuckle rumbled in his chest. That chuckle grew into an amused laugh, one rich with understanding. "No place like home," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head before letting his gaze settle back on the two men. His grin widened into a wild visage of excitement. "Thanks for reminding me what Gotham's like."

Both bouncers frowned slightly at his tone, but before they could say anything else, Esau rolled his shoulders, loosening up.

"You know what happens now, right?"

The bald one narrowed his eyes. "And what's that?"

Esau smirked, stepping forward just enough to stand toe-to-toe with them, his stance relaxed but predatory. "I have to kick your asses now."

The scarred bouncer chuckled darkly, rolling his neck, the joints popping audibly. "That right?"

Esau's grin sharpened. "Oh yeah."

The bald bouncer cracked his fingers, stepping forward, his heavy boots thudding against the pavement. His presence alone was intimidating—built like a linebacker, the kind of guy who looked like he could crush skulls with a single hand.

Esau let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Man… I've missed Gotham."

His stance shifted slightly, muscles coiling in anticipation. He'd spent too much time in Happy Harbour. Too much time around normal people. He'd almost forgotten what Gotham was really like.

That ended now.

As the first bouncer took a swing, Esau stepped into the fight, a smirk still playing on his lips.

-X-

Thursday, October 23rd, 18:15

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

East End.

Esau breathed out slowly, rolling his shoulders as he looked down at the unconscious bodies sprawled across the pavement. The two bouncers lay crumpled, out cold, their bulky frames looking far less imposing now. The fight had been short, brutal, and more than a little satisfying—a reminder of just how much Gotham had shaped him.

He crouched beside the bald one, reaching into the man's jacket and retrieving the fold of cash he had so generously offered moments ago. "Wouldn't want you holding on to something that doesn't belong to you." He muttered, stuffing the money back into his pocket before giving the man a quick pat down.

His fingers brushed against a wallet.

Curious, Esau pulled it free and flipped it open, his sharp gaze scanning the ID inside before his attention shifted to the crisp bills tucked away inside. He let out an amused breath, taking the cash without hesitation. "Compensation for severe mental trauma," he said mockingly, a smirk curling on his lips as he tossed the now-empty wallet onto the unconscious figure.

Standing, he turned his gaze to the other bouncer, the scarred brute who had been just as cocky before eating pavement. Esau sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Wouldn't be fair for your friend to foot the entire bill now would it?"

Kneeling again, he retrieved the second wallet, repeating the process, stuffing another handful of bills into his pocket. He let the empty wallet drop carelessly onto the man's chest before standing and stretching his arms above his head.

"Well, this has been fun. Let's not do it again." With that, he turned toward the door, gripping the handle and pushing it open without hesitation.

The moment he stepped inside, the tension in the air became almost suffocating.

Several guards were stationed just beyond the entrance, their eyes flickering immediately to him—then to the unconscious bodies sprawled outside before the door swung shut behind him. The air was thick with unspoken violence, hands slowly moving toward weapons, chairs scraping against the floor as a few men stood.

Esau chuckled, his grin sharp as he raised his arms in mock surrender. "Relax, boys. No need for things to get ugly." His voice was light, almost playful, but his gaze remained steady, watching every twitch, every shift in stance.

The tension crackled, a single spark away from igniting.

Then, just before things could spiral out of control, a voice cut through the moment like a knife.

"Wait a damn second—" the voice was loud, unmistakably smug, carrying an air of someone who enjoyed the sound of their own words. "Is that who I think it is? Esau Jacobson?"

The guards hesitated, still on edge but no longer making any aggressive moves.

From the far side of the room, a man emerged—a figure as out of place in this grimy underground den as a viper in a rat's nest.

John (refer to chapter 3).

Even after all these years, Esau recognized him immediately.

The slicked-back black hair, dyed to hide the inevitable graying, the unnatural sheen of hair gel making it look as if oil had been poured over his scalp. The man's smile was wide, far too wide, a permanent expression of sleazy charm that dripped with manipulation and false warmth. His tailored suit was sharp, expensive, the kind of wealth that screamed excess rather than class.

John moved with exaggerated enthusiasm, arms spread wide as if greeting an old friend he hadn't seen in years. His clapping hands echoed in the dimly lit room as he strode toward Esau, the grin on his face stretching even wider.

"Well, I'll be damned—it really is you!"

Esau didn't move, his own smile forming, though it lacked warmth or genuine joy. "John."

The older man clapped his hands on Esau's arms, gripping them firmly as he took a step back to get a better look. His gaze roved over Esau's form, taking in the lean but powerful frame, the solid muscle beneath the leather jacket.

"Look at you!" John exclaimed, his tone dripping with exaggerated admiration. "You've finally filled out! Last time I saw you, you were nothing but a scrawny little street rat, all skin and bones! And now?" He whistled. "A proper man. About damn time!"

Esau forced his smirk to remain in place. He knew John well enough to recognize that everything about his demeanor was calculated—the overly familiar greeting, the theatrics, the 'praise.' It was all part of the act.

John turned to the guards, waving a hand dismissively. "Put those damn things away! Show some respect, boys! This right here? This kid's a legend!"

The men hesitated, clearly still wary, but at John's insistence, they slowly lowered their weapons.

John turned back to Esau, still grinning like a man who had just stumbled upon a winning lottery ticket. "You know, I remember when you first stepped into my ring, Jacobson. You were, what? Eleven? Couldn't last a round before some other figher damn near beat you to death. But what happened after that? Ah—you became a fighter. Not just any fighter, though. A champion. My champion."

Esau nodded, though his expression remained unreadable. "Good times."

John chuckled, shaking his head. "Damn right, good times. And now, you're back! So tell me, kid—are you here to fight again?"

Esau exhaled slowly, crossing his arms as he shook his head. "Not tonight. Just here to watch. Maybe place a bet or two."

John's grin remained in place, but something shifted in his eyes.

Esau knew that look.

John never gave anything away for free.

The older man was the type who always wanted more—who always had a price, an angle, a hidden card up his sleeve. Still, John clapped his hands together, the picture of hospitality. "Then consider yourself my personal guest tonight. VIP treatment, my boy!"

Esau nodded, though he knew—without a doubt—that this would come with a catch.