To be honest, Shawn had no emotional investment in what happened to Valon and his gang.
The reason he threw those diamonds their way wasn't out of generosity. It was pity.
He had seen what happened to Valon in other timelines—how the Holy Lord used him, discarded him, and ruined him. In one world, Valon ended up penniless, disgraced, and driving a tour bus through Chinatown, completely broken by the betrayal.
Shawn could afford to toss a few diamonds their way. After all, hell was practically made of them.
Down there, diamonds were as common as gravel.
So while Valon and his men left, practically kissing the ground in gratitude, Shawn stayed behind with his arms crossed, eyeing the Holy Lord with growing impatience.
"Let's not waste time," he said coldly. "My patience has limits. What do you really want?"
The Holy Lord straightened up slightly, shifting into a more formal posture. His scarlet eyes flickered with anticipation.
"I want us to rule this world together, my dear brother!" he declared with passionate conviction. "With your power beside mine, no force in this realm could stop us! We could become gods—kings above all!"
Shawn rolled his eyes and sighed.
Of course.
He had predicted this would be the Holy Lord's plan from the moment he regained his body. The same ambition. The same arrogance. The same tired speech about conquest and dominion.
The Holy Lord always wanted to rule the world, no matter what timeline, what universe, or what version of Earth he found himself on. His goals were as consistent as they were short-sighted.
Had this been the world of Jackie Chan's adventures, maybe—maybe—Shawn would've entertained the idea. Even with the balance laws of good and evil in place, he had tricks up his sleeve to bend or even shatter such rules. He could've joined the Holy Lord, seized control, and reigned supreme.
But this wasn't that world.
This was a merged universe—one where Marvel and DC coexisted, where gods, aliens, superheroes, demons, and sorcerers all walked the same Earth.
To try to dominate a world like this?
Suicidal.
Even if they ignored the higher-level cosmic entities—like the Celestials, the Living Tribunal, or the Anti-Monitor—there were still earthly threats too powerful to overlook.
The Sorcerer Supreme in Marvel.
Doctor Fate in DC.
Both were supreme mages in their respective realms, guardians of balance and ancient forces, trained in sealing demons like the Holy Lord before breakfast. Facing either of them would likely end in another thousand-year prison sentence.
Shawn wasn't afraid of being sealed again—he had backup plans. But he was smart enough to know he couldn't go head-to-head with those two yet.
So when the Holy Lord started dreaming of world conquest, Shawn simply shook his head.
"Holy Lord," he said flatly, "this world isn't what you think it is. Things have changed. If you try to rule this planet the way you did before, you'll be crushed within a week."
The Holy Lord flinched, clearly caught off guard by the blunt rejection.
Shawn continued. "If you want my advice, spend some time understanding the changes in this universe before you charge in with your horns high."
He then narrowed his eyes. "That said… if you do choose to march toward world domination, I won't stop you. But I won't help you either."
The Holy Lord's gaze flickered with disappointment—but he stayed quiet.
"However…" Shawn added after a moment, "if your goal is to release the other seven demon siblings, I might be willing to lend a hand."
That got the Holy Lord's attention.
Shawn saw his eyes light up again.
Though he had no personal love for his demonic brothers and sisters, he was, at the end of the day, Curse Blue—one of the Eight Great Demons. And it would be dishonorable, even by his relaxed standards, to leave the others imprisoned while he wandered free.
What happened to them afterward was none of his concern.
If they were released only to be defeated again, so be it.
The Holy Lord bowed his head slightly, a glimmer of hope returning to his voice.
"My dear brother," he said with a sharp-toothed grin, "I swear it—once I recover the remaining talismans and regain full power, I shall unlock the Golden Rooster King treasure, and with it, the Panku Box."
He raised his clawed hand for emphasis.
"And with the Panku Box, we'll open the gates of hell and free our siblings!"
Shawn raised a brow.
He knew the Holy Lord was adapting—fast.
His original plan had clearly been to rule alone, to use Shawn as an ally if possible, or discard him if not. The idea of freeing the other demons was likely a contingency plan. But with Shawn rejecting his offer, the Holy Lord shifted gears.
Now, instead of "us ruling together," it was "us and our siblings."
A backup pitch.
And a clever one.
Because even if Shawn wouldn't help him conquer the world, he might still support him in unleashing the other demonic lords.
Still, Shawn didn't care for the manipulation. He saw through it immediately.
But he had already made peace with it. He had no interest in world domination—not in this chaotic reality. But freeing the others?
That was worth watching.
"Then good luck to you," Shawn said coolly. "You'll need it."
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
By the time Shawn returned to Gotham, it was well past midnight.
He had wasted nearly the entire day on the Holy Lord's dramatics and empty speeches, but he didn't regret it. At least for now, the Holy Lord would stay occupied chasing down the other eleven talismans.
Shawn had no intention of interfering.
If anything, he looked forward to watching the Holy Lord run face-first into Earth's magical defenders. Doctor Fate. Sorcerer Supreme. Zatanna. Wong. Constantine.
Let him try.
He might survive… or he might end up back in the Panlong statue, sealed and silenced for another thousand years.
The next morning dawned cloudy over Gotham City.
The infamous smog blanketed the skyline like a curtain, casting a gray pallor across every rooftop and alley. In the heart of the city, one of its most well-known psychiatrists arrived at Arkham Asylum.
It was Shawn.
Dressed in a sharp charcoal coat, his expression was calm and unreadable.
Today, he wasn't there to heal any demons.
Today was psychotherapy day—when he volunteered his services to assist in the mental rehabilitation of Arkham's inmates.
Upon entering the facility, he was greeted by one of the guards with a grim face.
"Doctor Shawn," the guard said, "bad news. Joker's escaped again."
Shawn barely blinked.
"Of course he has," he muttered.
He didn't even look surprised.
After all, in this world, Joker breaking out of Arkham was as routine as the morning news. Whether it was in comics, films, or any version of this multiverse, Arkham Asylum never held him for long.
That wasn't a prison.
It was a revolving door.
And the clown prince of crime never missed his cue.
Shawn sighed and walked forward into the facility.
This world was about to get a lot noisier.t