Chapter 2467

Three of them were stunned, Jason leaning against the wall with wide eyes, saying: "What's going on? Why is there even background music?!"

But there was no time to study this now—the guy in front of them was clearly not human, probably just a manifestation of a monster in the fog; otherwise, it's hard to explain how he shattered dense ice.

Conversely, if he could shatter dense ice from within, chopping the three of them would be no harder than slicing vegetables—shields might help, but if they don't, just standing their ground in desperate resistance would give the enemy enough time to double their strength.

After thinking it over, running was still the only option—this guy didn't seem to have special tracking methods, likely relying only on forward vision like humans, possibly unaffected by the fog but ultimately limited; shaking him off and hiding was the best approach.

"I'll hold him off," Jason said: "He seems affected by inertia—gunfire can slow his advance, so you can use this chance to climb over the back wall..."

Just as Jason said that, he dazed for a moment, because on the ground puddle he saw more swirling eyes, big and small, packed together, constantly splitting and merging, growing larger and more real.

Jason was stunned, saying: "What's going on? We just got here—how did the eyes appear so fast?"

"Probably the timer isn't independent anymore," Tim said solemnly: "It's cumulative—before, we couldn't stay in one place over three minutes; now, no matter where we go, total still time can't exceed three minutes."

"What happens if we exceed it?" Dick asked.

"I don't know, but I hope it's not instant death," Tim said, taking a deep breath: "I don't think it is, but something terrible will definitely happen."

"How much time do we have left?"

"One and a half minutes."

"You guys go!"

Tim and Dick knew they couldn't hesitate—they immediately climbed the wall, since only by going up first could they pull Jason over, and at that moment, Miles had already walked up to them.

Bang bang bang bang bang—Jason fired five shots; this gun wasn't ordinary, looking much thicker than a standard strong barrel, and the bullets fired contained plant toxin Pamela had given them.

It was a potent neurotoxin—even if the calcified bullet didn't hit a vital spot and couldn't kill the target, this toxin could instantly paralyze the opponent's body.

But in Miles's body, the toxin took effect for less than a second.

After emptying the magazine with five shots, which only delayed him for five seconds, Dick, already on the walltop, reached up to pull Jason over—when the blade came down.

Slice!

The blade slashed Jason's calf—Jason had already been pulled halfway up, so the knife slid from three centimeters below his knee down to his ankle, instantly creating a long, deep wound.

"Ugh!!!!"

Jason cried out in pain, but forcibly suppressed his pain reflex, coordinating with the two to climb over the wall together.

The three crashed heavily to the ground, the smell of blood spreading, but they couldn't linger—they didn't know if this white-faced killer named Miles could draw power from them through the wall.

So the two quickly lifted Jason and ran toward the alley exit at top speed; at the alley's end, they found an unlocked coffee shop, carried him inside.

Jason was laid on a chair—only now could he suck in a cold breath; Dick half-knelt to examine the wound, which was cut extremely deep, deep enough to see bone, but fortunately, the opponent's blade was so sharp the cut was clean, as neat as if made by a scalpel on an operating table.

This greatly aided suturing; Tim shoved aside the sleeping coffee shop owner and began rummaging through his drawers.

This was an old-style coffee shop, with a wooden counter, pastries and sandwiches displayed, behind it some liquor and glasses, drawers filled with assorted items, and beside it a passage—up the stairs along it lay the owner's residence.

Entering the bedroom, Tim finally found iodine for disinfection and a sewing kit—though clearly meant for mending clothes, it was better than nothing.

Dick was trying to stop Jason's bleeding; Tim came down with the supplies, anxiously glancing at his watch—now they had only 30 seconds left; even the best doctor couldn't finish stitching such a long wound in thirty seconds.

"Get ready—something terrible might happen," Tim said while preparing the needle and thread: "I think the fog won't kill us instantly, but it will make us fearful—that's its purpose."

"I thought things were bad enough already," Dick said, referring to the earlier fog, helping Tim steady the needle: "I didn't expect so many serial killers in the fog—if Professor Xilei were here, it'd be better."

"Don't call them killers—they just look like killers but are actually just monsters," Jason said, shaking his head: "Their appearance isn't to complete some work or create a serial murder case—they just want to kill us."

"Maybe 'murder maniac' fits better," Dick sighed: "It feels like they were born just to kill."

Tim had already begun stitching—without anesthetic, the process was extremely difficult; even with Jason's strong will, he couldn't fully suppress his pain reflex, especially since the wound was near the knee, and Tim had already been kicked several times by him.

Jason gritted his teeth and smiled: "This is what I've always wanted to do on the field, you damn bastard."

"You can't call everyone who beats you with tactics a bastard," Tim said, redirecting his attention: "We rely on good coordination, not lucky kicks—I'll tell them how precise your footwork is."

Jason let out a low laugh, but the bodily vibration from laughing made him hurt more, so he sucked in another breath of cold air—yet he couldn't stop laughing.

The painful yet joyful moment passed quickly—they saw eyes appearing on the coffee shop's glass display, glass tabletop, and even the faintly reflective floor, growing more numerous.

Jason was busy with pain, Tim with stitching—only Dick, during brief breaks from assisting, noticed these anomalies, but he was soon drawn in by the swirling eyes.

He saw a pair of eyes, unchanging amidst shifting patterns, like deep black holes, like the only two footprints left on a vast white snowscape.

His vision began to shake; Dick shook his head hard, but soon the rest of his vision turned black, leaving only the eyes—he felt as if someone had put a mask on him with holes only over the eyes.

Vision swayed, lights flickered, a half-naked girl appeared in his vision... Dick hadn't even gotten a clear look before he raised the weapon in his hand.

Yes—it was him, himself—he raised the kitchen knife in his hand and savagely hacked at the defenseless girl.

Hearing her screams, feeling blood spray on his body, Dick felt a joy from deep within, despite the girl calling his name and looking like his older sister.

Some long-repressed killing urges were finally released—Dick felt utterly refreshed from the heart, as if he'd taken a thorough wash under a holy spring, from body to soul, immaculately clean.

Dick jerked his head again, but the vision wouldn't fade; that sense of exhilaration seeped into every pore, he kept wanting to let out a triumphant laugh.

"No! No! No! Get away! Get away! Stay away from me!!" Dick screamed wildly, and as the scene began to loop again, he shoved the girl before him hard.

But what he heard wasn't the girl's cry of pain—it was two familiar, agonized screams; opening his eyes, Tim lay on the ground, and Jason's leg wound had burst open.

Dick instantly snapped back, hands flailing in panic, saying: "I... I... I didn't kill anyone, I..."

"What happened? Dick," Jason said, gritting through pain: "We were just chatting, Tim noticed you zoning out and tried to call you—then you shoved him away."

"I saw some hallucinations," Dick replied, now realizing: in his vision, the two lone bright holes looked just like the holes on Miles's mask from earlier.

"I think I know how that murder maniac works," Dick said, taking a deep breath: "Just now, the eyes in the fog appeared—I saw from his first-person perspective how he killed his own sister."

Tim had no complaint—he climbed back up, because when shoved, he still held the needle with thread attached; a sudden imbalance made him stumble, pulling those threads and collapsing.

And those threads were deeply embedded in Jason's flesh—when he jerked, the thread wasn't long enough; as it was yanked away at high speed, it sliced open the already-sutured flesh.

Now it was bad—the wound edges, once as clean as a scalpel cut, were completely frayed—not only needing re-suturing, but the dead tissue had to be cut away.

Fortunately, Tim carried a small knife, and the coffee shop had alcohol for disinfection—only Jason was already in so much pain he could barely catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," Dick said, feeling deep guilt: "I shouldn't have zoned out—if I could focus a bit more..."

"No, I think you took the disaster for us," Tim said, continuing to tidy up efficiently: "Looks like every three minutes, the eyes randomly attack one person, making them see hallucinations and go berserk in reality, endangering the whole team."

"Then maybe our best option is to go alone," Jason said.

"No, that might be exactly what the fog wants—it wants us to split up, though it never guaranteed there aren't stronger single-target monsters deeper in," Tim said, very clear-headed: "Once we fall for its trick, it'll truly be 'pray to heaven, heaven won't answer.'"

I think we shouldn't split up. Dick was busy disinfecting the knife and said: "At least one person is injured now, so the other two can take care of him. If only one person remains, the consequences are unimaginable."

We shouldn't have anyone left alone, right? Jason thought for a moment. The Robins were divided by universe, so at minimum they're in pairs.

The injured Arkham Knight is being cared for by Spider-Man, and Barbara is with them, so the only problem now is Batman. It's known that the two Batmen in this universe might both be alone.

The main universe's Batman finally treated all the wounds on the Arkham Batmen. His self-carried recovery medicine worked well. Although the other hasn't fully recovered mobility, at least he can sit up and speak.

I need to go find you a wheelchair. Batman said: "Next we need to go check the portal. I must find a way to completely destroy it, otherwise this universe will never be safe."

The Arkham Batman nodded, said nothing. In fact, he's now more worried about Jason's condition, but he also knows that if more foreign enemies invade, everyone's situation will only get worse.

I'll wait for you here. The Arkham Batman said, then closed his eyes. He prepared to rest briefly, seizing the time to recover his strength.

Batman went out the door, but he had a moment of daze. The sewer outside the door somehow seemed a bit off?