Chapter 114

Batman didn’t linger in the stairwell, for he knew that if the locals discovered him and launched a massive pursuit, the terrifyingly complex architecture here might just trap him beyond escape.

So he followed his guess, found another small door, slipped into that gut-like passage, climbed two more floors, and exited through another door—confirming his suspicion: this was another rooftop, and beside it lay yet another small door, leading via such passages to another building. The entire Living Hell sprawled layer upon layer through this structure, spreading until it blanketed the entire district, allowing its inhabitants to reach every corner without ever leaving the building complex, like a vast hive.

This utterly awed Batman.

He had formally studied architectural engineering and structural theory, yet this bizarre, unnatural architecture exceeded his understanding. In all his prior knowledge, any building required deliberate design to achieve harmony between function and beauty—that was the very purpose of architecture.

But Gotham’s Living Hell trampled human architecture underfoot: it was an architectural marvel built spontaneously by civilians utterly ignorant of architecture, riddled with chaotic, unauthorized additions, nearly all structural integrity destroyed, gut-like passages tangled haphazardly through every building, water and electrical systems in ruins, waste treatment barely existent.

Yet it truly achieved the fusion of function and beauty—yes, Batman believed there was beauty here.

Before he could delve deeper into this hell within a hell, he heard a faint sound from above—like metal scraping stone.

Batman looked up and saw a figure standing on the roof of the adjacent building, which belonged to the Living Hell complex but stood taller. Batman, standing below in the shadow of the wall, remained unseen by the figure above.

He took two more steps forward and saw the rooftop situation: two figures were facing off.

From their attire, neither was a local of the Living Hell—this puzzled Batman intensely. Who else would venture into this dark slum in the dead of night, like himself?

So he found an angle and hurled something from his hand—a batarang, fitted with a listening device. It shot out with a *whoosh*, embedding itself in a narrow crack near the rooftop’s edge. Batman slipped on his earpiece and clearly heard the voices across the way.

But the two seemed unwilling to speak. The taller figure, standing near the rooftop’s edge, wore a sharp arm-blade on his forearm and lunged straight at the other—who vanished in an instant, reappearing behind him.

Batman blinked. He confirmed it wasn’t an illusion: the man had truly vanished and reappeared out of thin air.

Then he heard an unmistakably familiar voice through his earpiece: “I knew you’d show up eventually.”

It was his psychology professor, Shiler.

The other’s voice, modulated by a vocoder, sounded thin and sharp: “Ever since you crossed us, you should’ve foreseen this day. Think of your last words.”

Batman shifted his stance—he was certain it was his university professor, Shiler. His first impulse was to rush in and help, but Shiler’s next words froze him: there was something deeper at play. He heard Shiler say: “You don’t need to keep pretending. I know you’re not my enemy from Metropolis.”

The man said nothing, lunging again at Shiler. In Batman’s unwavering gaze, his self-proclaimed ordinary professor vanished—and reappeared—instantly.

As the assassin hesitated, Shiler spoke: “Perhaps I should call you… Claw?”

The man froze, clenching his fingers. The arm-blade on his forearm rotated, then he asked: “How do you know?”

He added: “No matter how you found out, Gotham’s King of the Night can only be one—The Court.”

“You don’t need to repeat your ideology to me,” Shiler said. “I only want to tell you—you’ve chosen the wrong target.”

The Claw seemed to receive a command. He instantly accelerated, his arm glowing faintly. Then Batman saw Shiler’s figure vanish—replaced by a cloud of gray mist. Instantly, gray mist spread across the entire rooftop, laced with black particles.

Batman suddenly struggled to breathe. An extreme exhilaration surged through him, uncontrollable. He felt his body slipping from his grasp. He knelt halfway, gripping his throat with both hands, veins bulging.

“Who are you? Who are you!!!”

“Who am I?”

“Who am I?”

“Who am I…?”

“I am Batman!”

“I am Batman…”

The hallucinated voices grew clearer, gradually overtaking his mind. Batman screamed hoarsely, feeling an alien consciousness seizing control of his body.

As the mist thickened, Batman collapsed backward onto his knees. Black sludge erupted, engulfing his entire body. Then, a massive black monster leapt onto the rooftop.

Neither of the two on the rooftop had anticipated this. Shiler instantly retreated, staring at the black monster. He whispered: “Venom? How did you get out?”

But the monster seemed to have lost its sanity, charging wildly at Shiler.

Shiler had no time to hesitate—he turned into gray mist and retreated swiftly. As the monster reached him, it seemed to regain a sliver of awareness—or perhaps Venom’s consciousness had seized dominance.

“I’ll eat your brain!” Venom said.

Shiler opened his mouth. He suddenly noticed something wrong with Venom’s form—what were those pointed ears on its head?

Could it be…?

Then Shiler said to Venom: “I think, before you consider eating, you’ve got a bigger problem to deal with…”

“What?” Venom paused.

Then Venom felt an overwhelming surge of dark emotion erupt from his host’s body—a terrifying black tide that instantly stripped him of control.

In its brief existence, Venom had never felt such terrifying, intense darkness. As a symbiote that fed on emotion, all feelings were its food—it could never fear its own sustenance.

But now, Venom was swallowed whole by a monstrous flood. Without a sound, it lost all control over its host and every cell.

Soon, Shiler watched as Venom’s form changed. Previously, it resembled the liquid armor he wore on Stark.

Now, the armored sections remained, but Venom let out a pained roar, the black monster kneeling half-bowed as its sludge began to re-form.

Pointed ears, fangs, and wings emerged—gradually, a bat emblem rose from its chest. Two enormous bat wings unfurled behind it. Venom-Bat surged skyward, diving straight at Shiler.

Shiler dodged by turning to gray mist—but the bad news was: this Venom-Bat was out of control.

Even guessing, Shiler could piece it together. He didn’t know how Venom ended up on Batman, but who was Batman? The ultimate embodiment of darkness in the entire DC Universe. A symbiote could never control such a man—it could only awaken the buried darkness within him.

The symbiote’s consciousness was likely trapped. Now, the body was ruled by a rogue Dark Batman.

This was a disaster. Batman was merely human, relying mostly on intellect. But the symbiote itself was an irrational force in the Marvel Universe—the stronger the host, the stronger it became; the stronger it became, the stronger the host became.

It could fully unlock the host’s latent potential and convert it directly into power. And how vast was Batman’s potential? No need to elaborate.

In midair, the Venom-Bat continued its astonishing transformation. Its body grew larger, the black sludge expanding endlessly. Countless tendrils of black sludge, like cocoons, wrapped the monster.

Spikes erupted across its body. Under the moonlight, a monstrous figure over ten meters tall, with massive spiked wings, appeared above the Living Hell.

It was a terrifying black bat—its entire body pitch black, save for a silver bat emblem on its chest. Its eyes glowed like fire, as if lit by the creator N’al, fierce and horrifying.

Shiler looked up at the colossal monster and asked the gray mist inside him: “You’re sure you can fight?”

“I don’t like fighting, not because I can’t! I’m going to beat him up!!!”

No sooner had the gray mist spoken than Shiler’s form began to change.

The gray mist thickened from its initial thinness. As it churned, a circular sun, composed of countless strange mist patterns, slowly coalesced and rose from within.

Countless gray particles scattered like solar debris, radiating from the densest core—like clawing shadows and unspeakable tentacles.

This strange sun of gray mist grew deeper, the mist denser, the color darker. Under the moonlight, another vast, terrifying monster was born.

This parasitic race, born of chaos, nurtured by chaos, destined to return to chaos—always possessed a strange, horrifying beauty. When these two titanic monsters appeared above the Living Hell, the moonlight grew brighter.

Soon, they entangled, darting swiftly through the eerie, living city.

The bright moonlight, the layered, twisted cityscape behind them, the countless tangled wires like a vast net—all formed a backdrop as strange, chilling, and monumental as the battle itself.

A giant full moon rose. Mist and sludge flew ahead. Buildings against the moonlight became black silhouettes. Layer upon layer of wires, towering trash bags, countless broken bricks and rubble—cold moonlight pulled black and gray through the city at speed.

fantuan.

Floating plastic bags froze midair, like jellyfish gilded with cold light. Countless soda cans mid-flight solidified, becoming glittering fish in a frozen tide. In an instant, a wave of particles surged past—silent storms tore everything apart. Wooden planks fell as dust, metal shimmered with floating light.

The scene rushed backward. The camera passed through the chaotic, interwoven structural supports of layered buildings. Climbing along the wires to their peak, the vast city below looked like the gaping maw of a chasm.

Then, the speed of descent made the wind ripple at the edges of vision. Mist and sludge spiraled faster and faster, the moonlight brighter and brighter.

In an instant, time froze. Moonlight halted. Wind stilled. All light points crystallized midair, swirling around countless beams, drawing closer to the center—until finally, two forces collided silently. Millions of particles erupted into a colossal mushroom cloud.

In the silent explosion, no fire, no sound—only eerie stillness. Then, a wave of brainwaves surged, unleashing countless piercing shrieks on the mental plane.

Almost at first glance, the battle on the microscopic level—unseeable by humans—had already reached its tens of millions of rounds.

In the blink of an eye, the first clash ended. The battle resumed, visible only by moonlight. The moon cast countless dark shadows across the city, like the curtain of an opera, parting the boundary between gray and black.

Tonight, Gotham: silence and sound played in harmony, stillness and conflict danced together. The Living Hell surged with black tide. The city screamed.

Beneath the moonlight, atop the black silhouettes of buildings, a figure impossibly small beside the monsters finally collapsed, overcome by terror and chaos. With his last shred of consciousness, he whispered into his earpiece: “Don’t return… not now…”

“The Owl Court must not return now!!!”

————Extra Notes————

Ten thousand characters today!

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