Chapter 478: When Schiller Finds a New Streetlight (Part 2)

By the time Batman clumsily crawled out of the car, his understanding of vehicle emergency safety systems had improved another notch.

He shook his slightly dizzy head, opened his eyes, walked to the side of the car, and tried to pull the Joker out too.

But at that moment, he noticed the rear door had vanished in the explosion, leaving just an opening through which someone could slip out—while he was struggling with the airbag, the Joker had already sneaked away from behind.

Batman took a deep breath and, through the Batmobile, stared at the massive crater carved out by several rocket strikes in front of the steps.

Then he looked up, scanned the surroundings, and confirmed this was indeed Arkham Asylum's waiting hall, not Gotham Elizabeth Street or some living hell's waterworks.

During the time he'd been freeing himself from the car, the entire situation at Arkham Asylum had shifted again.

Since the ghost appeared on the third floor, the patients there moved first; once the fourth and fifth floors were alarmed, they all provided fire support to the third floor—the poor ghost didn't last long, dissolving into a faint green glow and vanishing on the spot.

But Gothamites always had a strong instinct for finishing off defeated foes; to ensure the ghost was truly dead, they used a variety of compliant, safe weapons for thorough extermination.

Most of these patients had little education; they didn't understand load-bearing walls or structural mechanics—they just picked a corner and blasted it to rubble, using not only guns but explosives too, resulting in the third-floor corridor's corner being completely blown apart.

Fortunately, Arkham Asylum wasn't a high-rise, and its overall structure was vast and stable enough that one collapsed corner didn't bring the whole building down.

But the unfortunate part was, the third-floor ceiling was also the fourth-floor floor; when this layer collapsed, the poor souls in the corresponding fourth-floor rooms fell straight down to the third floor and were crushed by the falling slabs.

Among those on the third floor, many were subordinates of the injured; seeing their boss hurt, they rushed up to defend him and angrily accused others of overreacting.

"Fisherman! Are your eyes stuck on your nose?! Can't you see that corner was already cracked?! You dared throw a grenade?!"

"Shut your mouth, Lawrence! You and your old man are both West End cowards—who the hell checks for wall cracks during a gang war?!"

"Your Pelican Gang is just looking for trouble! When we split the water lines, you stole two of ours—I only held off on picking a fight here because of Dr. Schiller!"

"I'll blow your dog's head off, Antonio! Do you even have the right to speak here?! Have you forgotten how your uncle died?!"

"Shut your stinking mouth, Fisherman! Bang!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Taptaptaptaptap…"

Instantly, the entire corridor erupted into chaos; everyone grabbed the nearest weapon and began firing, the hallway lit up like daylight by gunfire—this wasn't peaceful negotiation or friendly exchange; it was vengeance for vengeance, grudge for grudge.

With the third floor in open war, the fourth floor couldn't escape either; soon, the four bosses of Hell's East, West, South, and North began fierce clashes, the Four Giants of Elizabeth Street joined the fray, and the heads of the Twelve Families rushed in to lend support—Arkham Asylum had become a boiling cauldron.

In a small office at the far edge of the second floor, a slender figure held a phone to his ear:

"Yes, I'm looking for Cobblepot… Yes, please tell the boss the situation here is chaotic—he'd better come in person…"

"It started with the Fisherman from the South Zone—you know him? The big-bearded one—he suddenly opened fire and claimed there was a ghost; everyone on the third floor said they saw one…"

"... I don't know for sure, because I didn't see it myself—I was only sent upstairs to call others after they started fighting…"

"That's right, I thought the same—if things get too violent, the doctors and nurses will get angry…"

"If he's coming, he'd better hurry…" The boy with a face full of freckles turned toward the window and said:

"Looking at the weather, it's going to snow again."

Outside the window, in the pitch-black sky, a single crystalline snowflake drifted slowly down, followed by more and more.

When snow fell, all things fell silent; but as a light breeze stirred, the snowflakes turned to blades, slicing through the air with chilling whistles, whipping up the thin sheets of unfrozen ice on Gotham's streets, racing like a storm toward the Gotham Estate district.

Within Schiller's estate, the atmosphere remained calm and serene; the fireplace's flames leapt, casting shifting shadows on the wall behind. Hal watched those flickering shapes, slightly distracted—but soon, Schiller descended the stairs with Dick and Elsa.

Merkel immediately stepped forward and said to Schiller: "Mr. Hal has been waiting a while."

"Oh, no problem—I arrived too early," Hal quickly said.

"No," Schiller patted Dick's back and said: "Today's lesson was particularly important, so I held class a bit longer—I hope you don't mind."

"But why are you here to pick them up?" Schiller asked, puzzled. "Where's Alfred?"

"Oh…" Hal gave a strained expression, rubbed his hands, then said: "It's a Wayne family matter—I didn't think it was my place to…"

Schiller looked at him over the top of his glasses; Hal sighed helplessly. "Fine. Alfred went to confront Constantine."

Schiller gave Merkel a glance; Merkel immediately stepped forward and said to Dick and Elsa: "Miss, Young Master, Mr. Rodriguez just bought two new picture books—let's go see them in the study."

After the children left, Hal sat back on the sofa, leaning against its soft cushions, and sighed. "You know Batman's been investigating Constantine…"

"His method? He uses every spare moment to tail him—he's been following him especially closely lately."

"Alfred disapproves. At first, I didn't understand—I thought Bruce was an adult, free to choose his own path. But then I learned Constantine actually…"

Hal wore a look of utter disbelief, tinged with distaste. "He's gone too far. If I were Alfred, I wouldn't let Bruce anywhere near someone like that."

"So Alfred plans to warn Constantine?"

Hal pressed his lips together, recalling Alfred's expression as he left—and the hunting rifle in his hand. He said:

"'Warn' might not be the right word…"

"But why today?"

"I didn't dare ask, but I heard on the radio that the Joker's planned another explosion—he'll keep Batman occupied. Alfred knows that, so he has plenty of time to 'warn' Constantine."

"And…" Hal hesitated. "I think the old Alfred wouldn't have acted so impulsively—but since returning from Metropolis, his mood's been off. Do you know why?"

Schiller studied the patterns on the table. Hal gave him a skeptical look, but his gaze lacked Batman's lethal intensity; if Schiller wouldn't speak, he couldn't force it.

"Oh, by the way." Schiller suddenly remembered something and said to Hal: "I was going to invite you over sometime—but since you're here to pick up the kids, now's perfect."

"What?"

Schiller reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a glowing green mineral.

Seeing the strange mineral, Hal instinctively flinched back—but then his eyes widened, fixed on the stone. "Is this… Green Lantern energy?"

"Correct." Schiller nodded, confirming it. "My trip to Metropolis yielded significant results—most importantly, I acquired this mineral."

"This mineral was originally designed to suppress certain superpowered individuals—but after my modifications, it became… this."

As he spoke, Schiller pulled another object from a different pocket—a clear, colorless crystal. He turned it slowly and said:

"A certain glutton ate the energy inside but spat out the mineral itself like a peach pit."

"Previously, the radiation here was green, and Green Lantern energy is green too—I wondered: could this mineral carry Green Lantern energy?"

"After experiments, I confirmed my hypothesis—this mineral can indeed serve as a carrier for Green Lantern energy."

Hal opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, thinking. He asked, puzzled: "Forget all that—where did you get Green Lantern energy?"

"Oh, you mean that? I suffer from a rare mental disorder—dissociative identity disorder. One of my personalities can summon a Green Lantern ring, so I called one in and ran a small experiment…"

Hal stared at the mineral saturated with Green Lantern energy—he'd been a Green Lantern himself, knew its properties. He shook his head.

"The amount of Green Lantern energy in that thing isn't something a single ring could provide."

"I never said it came from one ring."

"But…" Hal reached out. "Fine, even if you have some mental disorder with multiple personalities—Green Lanterns bond to individuals by physical body count. Two rings won't choose the same Lantern."

"And Green Lantern rings have security locks—energy can only stay inside the ring or be channeled into the Lantern's body. It can't be extracted. If anyone could siphon energy out of rings, chaos would've erupted long ago."

"Indeed."

To Hal's surprise, Schiller didn't deny it—he nodded seriously. "You're right. But how I achieved this? It starts with you."

"With me?" Hal was utterly lost.

Schiller idly turned the green crystal in his hand, speaking casually: "Remember what happened after you broke into Wayne Manor?"

"I remember—but how do you know? … Oh, I get it. Dick, that little traitor—he told you everything!"

"Yes. Including how you begged for mercy with a shotgun pointed at your head."

Hal slumped, muttering under his breath. Schiller continued: "Remember how the ring fell off your hand?"

"Elsa attacked me, bit my arm—I tried to shake her off, but she flew out with the ring still on my arm… Wait, you're not suggesting…"