Becoming Nightshade

The time for the ritual arrived. The dimly lit study of Wayne Manor had been transformed into something otherworldly. Candles flickered in a careful circle around an intricate sigil drawn on the floor in chalk and bloodroot. The air was heavy, almost electric, as if the space itself was holding its breath.

Constantine stood in the center, his trench coat thrown aside, leaving him in a simple shirt and vest. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing tattoos that seemed to hum faintly in the candlelight. He carefully inspected the sigil, muttering to himself as he made last-minute adjustments.

Jason paced just outside the circle, his nerves fraying with each step. Bruce, ever stoic, stood near the edge of the room, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. Dick leaned against a bookshelf, his usual ease replaced with a tense readiness. Even Alfred stood nearby, silent but steady, a quiet pillar in the storm about to unfold.

Constantine finally straightened, dusting his hands off as he turned to face the group. His sharp gaze swept over them, ensuring he had their full attention. "Right. Here's how this is going to go. Maggie and Lillyanna are already tied to the dreamscape—that's where this whole thing is going to play out. Once I open the connection, the rest of us will tether to her. You won't be fully there, but you'll be able to reach her, to anchor her. But there's a catch."

Jason's arms crossed as he stepped closer. "What catch?"

Constantine's expression darkened, his tone grave. "The dreamscape is fluid. It's built on emotions, memories, and fragments of the soul. The setting—the world Maggie and Lillyanna are in—can shift or change at any moment. It'll react to their fears, doubts, even their strongest desires. And if you let your focus waver, it can pull you in, twist what you see, and use it against you."

Dick leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. "So, we're walking into a place where reality doesn't play by the rules."

Exactly," Constantine replied, his voice clipped, his sharp gaze locking onto each of them. "The dreamscape is as much a battlefield as it is a reflection of their minds—and yours. It's not just Maggie and Lillyanna's fears and memories you'll face. The dreamscape will pull from you, too. Every regret, every doubt, every dark corner of your mind—fair game. It'll twist those things, use them to throw you off balance."

Jason frowned, his fists clenching at his sides. "So, we're not just helping Maggie fight her battle. We're walking into one of our own?"

Constantine gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "That's one way to put it. The dreamscape doesn't care about boundaries. It'll bleed into you just as much as it bleeds out of Maggie. And the more unstable you get, the harder it'll be for her to stay grounded."

Dick stepped forward, his arms crossed. "So what's the strategy? How do we keep it from getting to us?"

"Focus," Constantine said, his tone firm. "Remember why you're there. You're not there to fight Lillyanna directly, and you're not there to solve your own issues. You're there for Maggie. To anchor her. To remind her who she is and why she's stronger than Lillyanna."

Bruce's voice broke through, low and steady. "And if the dreamscape becomes too unstable?"

Constantine glanced at him, his expression hard, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "If it starts to spiral, that's Lillyanna trying to take control. She'll manipulate the space, warp it, twist it into something that cuts deep. Her goal will be to push Maggie to her breaking point, to make her give in or lose hope. That's when you need to step up."

Jason's jaw tightened, his voice low and steady. "How? How do we stop it?"

Constantine's gaze sharpened. "You keep her grounded. Maggie's strength comes from knowing she's not alone, from remembering who she is and why she's fighting. That's what you're there for. Talk to her. Reach her. Remind her that Lillyanna doesn't get to win. You're her anchor, her lifeline. Without you, she's adrift in the storm."

Bruce crossed his arms, his tone measured but firm. "And if Lillyanna turns her focus on us?"

"She will," Constantine said bluntly. "That's part of the game. She'll dig into you, too—your fears, your guilt, your regrets. She'll use anything she can to destabilize you, because if she can throw you off balance, it'll hit Maggie twice as hard. That's why I'm telling you now—whatever you see, whatever you hear, it's not real. It's her trying to break you. Don't let her."

Jason opened his mouth, his voice unsteady. "But what if—"

"Don't," Constantine interrupted sharply, his tone like a crack of thunder. "Don't think like that. The second you start entertaining 'what if,' she's already got her claws in you."

Jason flinched slightly at the intensity of Constantine's words but nodded, his jaw tightening. "So just… shut it out?"

Constantine's gaze softened, but only slightly. "Not shut it out—see it for what it is. Recognize the tricks for what they are. The dreamscape doesn't just show you your fears—it makes you feel them, like they're real, like they're suffocating you. The trick is remembering that they're not. No matter what she shows you, no matter how real it seems, it's all smoke and mirrors."

Jason's fists clenched at his sides. "And if I can't? If one of us slips up?"

"You don't," Constantine snapped, his voice low and forceful. He stepped closer, his gaze boring into Jason's. "You don't slip up, kid. You've got a lot riding on you. Maggie's counting on all of you to hold it together, and she's got enough weight on her shoulders without you crumbling. So pull yourself together now, because there's no room for doubt where we're headed."

Jason stared at him, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his voice firming as he finally replied. "I won't slip. I won't let her down."

Constantine nodded, satisfied. "Good. That's the only way this works." He glanced at the others, his voice shifting to include them. "The same goes for all of you. This isn't about being fearless—it's about being stronger than the fear. Stay focused, stay sharp, and don't let Lillyanna twist you into her game."

Bruce gave a short nod, his face unreadable but his presence steady. "We'll hold."

Dick exchanged a look with Jason, then stepped forward, his voice quiet but resolute. "We're ready."

Constantine smirked faintly, though the tension in his face didn't ease. "Hope so. Because once this starts, there's no turning back. Everyone take your places. It's time."

The group shifted into position around the sigil, the air thick with anticipation. Jason inhaled deeply, centering himself, as Constantine crouched by the circle, his voice dropping into a low chant. As the candles flickered wildly and the room seemed to ripple around them, silently vowing not to falter.

The dreamscape was a swirling, chaotic void at first, a kaleidoscope of shifting colors and shadows that seemed to ripple with the rhythm of Maggie's panicked thoughts. As Jason, Bruce, Dick, and Constantine tethered themselves to her through the ritual, the dreamscape began to solidify. The colors bled together, forming jagged, disjointed shapes that twisted into a dark and oppressive landscape.

The world around them was fragmented, like shards of broken glass pieced together incorrectly. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, shifting between soft, ash-like dirt and sharp, jagged rocks. The sky was an unnatural swirl of red and black, illuminated by an eerie, pulsating light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Jason's took in the surroundings. The air was heavy, suffocating, filled with the faint echoes of whispers—taunting, accusing, pleading. He glanced at the others; they were there but slightly distorted, like reflections in a warped mirror. Constantine's voice echoed faintly in Jason's head, grounding him.

"Remember, it's her mind. Everything you see is tied to her fears—and yours. Don't let it overwhelm you."

Ahead of them, Maggie stood frozen, her figure pale and small against the vast, shifting nightmare. Her body trembled as she stared at something in the distance.

Bruce moved forward, his presence steady as ever despite the chaos around them. "Maggie," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the oppressive air. "We're here. You're not alone."

She turned her head slightly, her tear-filled eyes meeting his. "I… I can't go in there," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I know what's in there."

Constantine's voice cut through, steady and grounding. "You have to, love. The only way out is through."

Maggie hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides, before nodding shakily. She took a step forward, and the world around them shifted violently. In the distance, a structure began to form, twisting and warping as if it were being dragged from her mind. It was a house—Maggie's childhood home, Wayne Manor—but it was wrong.

The familiar gothic architecture was distorted, the once-proud spires leaning at impossible angles. The windows were dark, cracked, and flickering with unnatural light, as if something inside was moving but refused to be seen. The grand doors hung slightly ajar, creaking in the stale, chilling breeze that seemed to rise from nowhere. Vines, black and writhing like serpents, crawled up the walls, their thorns glinting in the eerie, pulsating red and black sky above.

Jason stopped in his tracks, his fists tightening as the oppressive air around them grew heavier. "Wayne Manor," he muttered. "But twisted."

Dick, standing just behind him, swallowed hard, his sharp eyes scanning the warped version of the place they all knew. "Everything feels wrong."

Bruce stepped forward, his jaw tightening as his gaze swept over the distorted building. "It's her home," he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with tension. "And her prison."

Maggie's breathing quickened, her wide eyes fixed on the manor. "I can't go in there," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Constantine's voice was steady, grounding. "That's the point. Lillyanna's made this place out of your fears, your doubts, but it's your home, your soul. You step in there, and you start taking it back. She's twisted it to feel like a prison, but it's yours—always has been."

Maggie's hands trembled at her sides, her wide eyes fixed on the distorted version of Wayne Manor ahead. The towering structure loomed over them, pulsing with an unnatural darkness. She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "It doesn't feel like mine. It feels like hers."

Jason stepped closer, his voice firm but laced with emotion. "That's what she wants you to believe.So she keep being you."

Bruce, his towering figure steady as ever, nodded. "Your fears don't define you. This house, your mind—it's all part of you. And you're stronger than whatever she's turned it into."

Maggie hesitated, her fists clenching as tears welled in her eyes. "What if I can't?"

"You can," Dick said quietly, stepping up on her other side.

Constantine exhaled, his tone sharpening just enough to cut through the tension. "They're right, love. You've got the power to take this back. Lillyanna's just squatting in a space that doesn't belong to her. You take one step in there, and you remind her of that. Piece by bloody piece."

Maggie looked at each of them, their steady presence grounding her in the midst of the chaos. She exhaled shakily and nodded, her voice trembling but resolute. "Okay. Let's do this."

She took a step forward, and the ground beneath them shifted violently, the dreamscape reacting to her resolve. The house twisted and groaned, its spires elongating unnaturally as if trying to repel her. Shadows flickered in the cracked windows, taking on grotesque shapes that seemed to watch them.

The whispers began again, louder now, echoing all around them.

"You're not good enough."

"Everyone you love leaves."

"This is your fault."

Maggie froze for a moment, the words hitting her like physical blows. Jason stepped forward quickly, his voice sharp and unwavering. "Maggie, don't listen to them. They're lies."

Bruce's voice followed, calm and steady. "Your fears aren't the truth. Recognize them for what they are—and take them away from her."

With a shaky breath, Maggie moved forward again, her steps growing steadier. As she reached the porch, the warped wood creaking under her weight, the whispers stopped abruptly, replaced by a suffocating silence.

Constantine's voice reached her one last time before she opened the door. "Remember, love—it's your soul. No matter how bad it looks in there, it's still yours."

Maggie nodded and pushed the door open, stepping into the twisted heart of her fears. The others followed, as the corrupted version of her home enveloped them. The battle for control had begun.