[Third Person's PoV]
Robin swept his leg through the ghostly zombie in front of him, but his strike passed harmlessly through—the creature phased right through the attack. Without missing a beat, Robin twisted his staff and jabbed its tip straight into the ghost's semi-corporeal form. With a swift flick of his thumb, he activated a button embedded in the staff's shaft. A burst of neon-green ectoplasmic energy surged through the weapon, flaring out with a sharp hum. The ghost zombie spasmed violently as the charge disrupted its intangibility, and a moment later, the creature detonated into a splatter of glowing ectoplasmic goo.
Robin didn't stop to admire his work. Another blast streaked toward him. He shifted his weight expertly, feet gliding over the ground with dancer-like precision. He spun his staff, creating a blur of motion that left a shimmering green trail as he deflected the projectile. Then he launched himself forward, ducking, weaving, and parkouring through the chaos of the encroaching zombie horde, staff sweeping, jabbing, and parrying in a seamless rhythm.
Overhead, Danny soared with the grace of a seasoned acrobat, his glowing fists cracking down with brutal precision onto unsuspecting zombies. Each strike emitted a pulse of raw ghost energy, their brightness intensifying as his power charged up. As he dropped down amidst a dense cluster of enemies, he drew his fist back, and it ignited in a torrent of emerald fire.
With a thunderous slam, he drove his blazing fist into the ground. A wave of searing ectoplasmic flames erupted outward, consuming the surrounding zombies in a swirling inferno of green fire. Screeches of unearthly agony echoed across the branch road.
Danny then planted one foot forward to stabilize himself, inhaling sharply. He let out a powerful ghostly wail—a concentrated, sonic force that tore from his throat like a hurricane made of sound. The road itself cracked and splintered, wooden shards flying in every direction as the sheer force blasted apart the advancing horde.
Zombies were hurled through the air like ragdolls. Some were disintegrated instantly; others were flung so far they vanished into the imperceptible void beyond the branches. As the last echoes of his wail faded, a soft wisp of green energy floated from Danny's mouth.
"Duck!" Robin called out.
"Where?!" Danny replied, grinning even as he knelt instinctively. A sword whistled past the spot his head had just occupied. Without missing a beat, Danny swung his leg out low, striking the attacker in the ribs and launching him straight toward Robin.
Robin didn't hesitate. He flipped clean over the airborne zombie and flung two birdarangs, embedding them deep into the creature's back mid-spin. As he landed, he pivoted on his heel, using the momentum to slam his staff into the zombie's back, redirecting it straight into a fast-approaching wave of undead.
The group never had a chance. The impact triggered a chain reaction of vibrant green explosions, ectoplasm bursting like fireworks as they were reduced to ash and glowing goo.
Suddenly, a transparent energy shield materialized around Robin, absorbing a fresh blast from a nearby zombie dressed in a decayed British Guard uniform.
"Don't get distracted now," Danny warned, firing a barrage of ectoplasmic blasts with practiced ease.
"I'm not worried. You've always got my six," Robin replied, eyes narrowing as he focused on the zombie still aiming at him. "Though I'm starting to think this guy's got something against me."
"Maybe he likes you~" Danny teased. He grabbed Robin by the back of his suit and spun, hurling him through the air like a missile toward the musket-wielding zombie.
Robin somersaulted through the air with a yell of glee, correcting his form mid-flight before bringing his staff down like a thunderbolt toward his opponent. The musket clashed against the staff, steel grinding against high-tech alloy in a contest of strength.
Suddenly, the British Guard turned intangible. Robin phased right through him, hitting the ground and sliding back upright with a cocky grin, leaning on his staff. He casually pointed past the ghost.
The zombie spun around—just in time to see Danny barrelling toward him, eyes blazing, fist drawn back. With a flash of fang and fury, Danny sucker punched the ghost square in the face, launching him into the air.
Robin met the zombie's trajectory and struck him back toward Danny again, the two heroes initiating a deadly game of supernatural tennis. The guard flew back and forth like a ragdoll, caught between precise strikes, each blow laced with ectoplasmic charge.
Finally, Robin slammed the tip of his staff into the zombie's chest and discharged a concentrated pulse. The ghost screeched as he was blasted over the edge of the branch road and vanished into the void.
"Now that's what you call a wombo combo, baby!" Danny cheered. He grabbed the end of Robin's staff and spun him dramatically, flinging him toward the last stragglers of the horde.
Robin became a blur of motion, spiraling through the air like a neon comet, his staff twirling as he carved a path of destruction. Behind him, Danny charged, his eyes and fists glowing as bright as ever.
Together, the two teen heroes descended on the remnants of the undead with unrelenting force. Robin electrocuted one zombie until it burst, while Danny uppercut another so hard it exploded into a splash of glowing goo.
The fight was over. The battlefield was scorched and sticky with the remains of the supernatural.
They were both bathed in ectoplasma, the viscous green substance clinging to their suits and skin like a second skin. It dripped from their arms and faces, steaming slightly in the cool air. Dick wiped a streak of the glowing goo off his cheek with a casual swipe, while Danny flicked his hand to the side, sending droplets splattering onto the scorched wood beside them. Both were catching their breath, their shoulders rising and falling from the exhaustion of the battle they'd just survived.
They glanced at each other, and for a moment there was only silence—then grins spread across their faces. With a mutual understanding, they bumped fists, the gesture sealing their victory, and began walking down the path they had been headed before the ghost-zombie ambush.
"You know," Danny began, his hands resting behind his head as he walked, "as cool and awesome as fighting a zombie horde was, I'm kinda starting to feel bad about it."
"I get what you mean," Robin replied, using his staff as a walking stick as they moved forward. "We did go pretty hard on them… dealt with them with extreme prejudice."
"I think we lost restraint because, well, they were already dead," Danny said, his voice thoughtful. "Like, no moral hesitation needed."
Robin nodded, lips pressed together. "It's easy to forget they might've had lives before all this. Families, goals, people who cared about them."
"Exactly!" Danny said, turning to glance at the battlefield behind them. "What's their story? How did they become zombies in the first place? It's starting to bug me."
But then he froze, his eyes locking onto something behind them.
Robin followed Danny's gaze—and his breath caught.
The terrain behind them, once scorched and torn apart from their supernatural assault, was… fixing itself. Splintered wood was regrowing. Craters were smoothing over. It was like an invisible hand was repainting the world, brushing over the battle damage stroke by stroke.
The two stood in silence, watching the eerie restoration.
"Well," Danny said slowly, breaking the silence, "that's not ominous in the slightest."
Dick let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Let's just keep moving. I have a feeling we'll need to explore this place a lot more if we want to uncover what's really going on."
"Agreed," Danny nodded.
They continued walking side by side, the green hue of the ectoplasm on their suits dimming slightly as they regained some of their stamina. They let the silence stretch for a while, using the moment to breathe and reset.
Eventually, the path split ahead—branching off in two directions: one ascending and twisting upward into the thick canopy, the other descending into more branches for as long as the eye could see.
"I say we go up," Danny declared with confidence, gesturing toward the higher path.
"What?" Dick raised a brow. "Why would we go up? Obviously, the right choice is down."
Danny crossed his arms. "First of all, 'up' always means progression. Have you ever played a game or read a book where going down was a good idea? And second of all you just seem to love to contradict me, don't you"
"I don't live in a video game, Danny. This place is clearly part of a giant tree. Trees have roots. Roots mean ground. And ground might mean a way out. Going down makes way more sense."
Danny narrowed his glowing green eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. "You didn't deny my second accusation."
"What accusation?"
"That you just contradicted me on purpose."
Dick rolled his eyes. "Okay, genius, how do we decide which way to go?"
Danny grinned. "Rock, paper, scissors."
"Fine," Dick agreed. "If I win, we go down. If you win, we go up."
They squared off, stepping back slightly and circling each other like duelists on an old Western street.
Both held one fist at their side, the other hand hovering over it.
"ROCK!"
"PAPER!"
"SCISSORS!"
"SHOOT!"
Their hands shot forward.
Danny chose rock.
Dick chose paper.
Danny's expression twisted into a mix of disbelief and frustration.
"DAMN IT!"
"HELL YEAH!" Dick pumped a fist into the air victoriously.
"Why do I always lose at this game?!" Danny shouted, stomping the ground as he floated up.
Dick simply clasped his hands behind his head, walking with a confident swagger as he headed down the descending path. "You just gotta git gud, Danny~"
Still grumbling, Danny levitated after him, arms crossed. "Don't tell me Batman taught you the secret to winning every rock-paper-scissors match. I wouldn't put it past him."
Dick laughed. "You seriously think Batman knows everything?"
Danny tilted his head thoughtfully. "...Yes. Yes, I do. It wouldn't be that surprising if he did. He'd probably say something like…"
Danny cleared his throat and deepened his voice, doing his best Batman impression. "It's all about probability and psychology. Manipulate your opponent into making the choice you want, not the one they want. Control the battlefield, control the mind."
He immediately broke character, coughing violently. "Cough Cough—ugh! How does he do that all day? That voice hurts!"
Dick was doubled over laughing by that point, holding his stomach as he tried to breathe. The sight of Danny hovering in frustration while doing a hoarse Batman impression had absolutely broken him.
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