SHADOWS OF CURSES: A DC FANFIC

Mirk sat in his dimly lit apartment, the sound of Gotham's rain pelting against the cracked window. He leaned against the battered couch, exhausted from the constant battles he faced in this city. The world of crime in Gotham was relentless, but the moment he sent a message to Penguin, he knew the stakes had risen. The Penguin wasn't a man to let such actions go unanswered, and Mirk expected some form of retaliation. Still, there was no predicting what was coming next.

As he ran his fingers over the faint tattoos lining his arms, a strange sense of peace washed over him. The powers coursing through him, powers once foreign, were now a part of who he was. He didn't question them anymore; they were his now, his to control, his to master. The ability to cleave through anything in his way made him feel more certain of himself, but the weight of his past—the memories of his sister Lily's death—was a different battle altogether.

It was quiet in his apartment, too quiet. His senses, honed by his growing mastery of cursed energy, felt the disturbance before his mind registered it. A flicker of motion from the shadows, subtle and swift. Mirk shot up, his eyes darting around the room, scanning for any sign of danger.

Then they came—Talons of the Court of Owls. Silent and deadly, they moved like wraiths, emerging from the darkness with surgical precision. Mirk barely had time to react as the first Talon lunged at him, blades flashing. Instinctively, he activated Cleave, slashing through the air. The attack cut through the Talon's armor like paper, but before Mirk could catch his breath, another figure struck from behind.

Mirk grunted in pain as a sharp blade nicked his side, blood dripping onto the floor. He stumbled, trying to create space between him and the assassins. The Court of Owls wasn't just another gang. These were highly trained, deadly individuals who had been hunting Gotham's elite for generations. They were swift, and their numbers were overwhelming.

Mirk lashed out with Cleave, but for every Talon he cut down, another seemed to appear from the shadows. Their movements were precise, calculated. One by one, they closed in, forcing him back, pushing him to the limit. His apartment was being torn apart in the chaos—furniture was shredded, walls crumbled under the force of battle. The confined space left Mirk cornered.

He could feel himself weakening. His stamina was burning rapidly, and the Talons, relentless as ever, showed no signs of stopping. For the first time since gaining these powers, Mirk felt vulnerable, outmatched.

His mind raced. I can't keep this up. He could feel the edges of panic seeping into his thoughts. These assassins weren't just skilled—they were ruthless. His vision blurred for a moment, and the weight of every strike he had endured felt heavier. He needed to do something, something drastic, or he wouldn't make it out of this alive.

In a desperate attempt, he clapped his hands together, releasing a surge of cursed energy. He didn't know why he did it—just that it felt right, like something deep within him was waiting for this moment.

And then it happened.

In an instant, Mirk found himself standing across the room, where one of the Talons had been only seconds earlier. His perspective had shifted, and as he turned to look at the spot he had just vacated, he saw one of the Talons standing there, looking disoriented. The assassin blinked, clearly confused, before being skewered by one of his own comrades, who had aimed for Mirk's original position.

Mirk's eyes widened as the realization hit him: he had switched places with the Talon. Somehow, with nothing more than a clap, he had teleported across the room, using the position of his enemy to his advantage.

Boogie Woogie.

The name of the technique echoed in his mind. He didn't know how he knew it, but the power felt natural, like another facet of the cursed energy he had only just begun to explore. He grinned, the thrill of discovery surging through his veins. This was a game-changer.

Before the Talons could regroup, Mirk clapped his hands again. Another disorienting shift in perspective, and he had swapped places with a nearby table just as two more Talons lunged at him. Their blades sliced into the wood, missing him entirely.

Using Boogie Woogie, Mirk began to systematically dismantle the Court of Owls' assassins. He would clap, swap places, and strike with Cleave, his movements unpredictable and deadly. The Talons, skilled as they were, couldn't keep up with his erratic teleportation. Every time they thought they had him cornered, he would disappear, reappearing behind them or beside a piece of broken furniture. The room became a blur of motion, with Talons falling one after another.

The sound of blades clashing, bodies hitting the floor, and the clap of Mirk's hands filled the air. With each use of Boogie Woogie, Mirk grew more confident, his mastery of the technique becoming more refined. It was exhilarating—this new power was unlike anything he had experienced before. And for the first time since the fight began, he felt in control.

Finally, the last Talon fell, his body crumpling to the ground. The apartment was in ruins, debris scattered everywhere, the walls barely holding up. Mirk stood in the center of the destruction, panting, blood dripping from several wounds, but he was alive. He had won.

But just as he allowed himself a moment of relief, the gravity of the situation hit him. Penguin had sent the Court of Owls after him. This wasn't just a petty grudge anymore—he had made enemies with some of the most dangerous figures in Gotham's underworld. And if Penguin had access to the Court, Mirk knew this was only the beginning.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles still tense from the adrenaline of battle. As he looked around his destroyed apartment, he let out a weary breath. There would be no rest, not anymore. The fight for survival in Gotham had only just begun.

Mirk stared at his bloodstained hands, clenching them into fists. Boogie Woogie, he thought. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. His cursed energy was growing stronger, and with each new technique he unlocked, the lines between the man he had been and the force he was becoming blurred.

But for now, all that mattered was that he had survived. He had defeated the Court of Owls. And he was still standing.

But for how long?

Looking around his wrecked apartment, he realised that he would have to move soon.

"I now have a use for you penguin" Mirk said with a smirk