Chapter 972: The Battle for the Tower (Part 4)

Before Batman’s eyes, countless images flashed by—overlapping scenes of many deaths—leaving him mentally disoriented.

Batman was not someone who could accept death calmly, especially the death of others; the memory of witnessing his closest loved one’s death had inflicted deep psychological trauma.

This trauma would gradually heal over time, yet never fully vanish; thus, when he saw the image of Shiler’s death, his mind had no capacity to consider anything else—the re-experiencing symptoms of PTSD relentlessly forced his brain to replay those horrific scenes.

Fortunately, at that moment, Zatanna proposed another possibility: traveling to Hell to search for Shiler’s soul, which diverted Batman’s attention and prevented his PTSD symptoms from erupting immediately.

Later, they entered the edge of Hell; when Batman saw Shiler’s soul, he believed everything had taken a turn for the better—but then Shiler jumped down.

Batman did not know what drove him to jump after him; perhaps it was those terrifying images lingering in his mind, compelling him to do something.

For once he fell silent and had nothing to do, he would be engulfed by loneliness and fear, just as he had been after his parents’ deaths, slowly eroding his inner self.

After truly arriving in Hell, Batman saw the tower had crashed onto the ground; when he witnessed countless Shiler souls surging out from the tower, his first thought was that he still had a chance to reverse this tragedy—and he must try.

When his parents died, what he hated most was his powerlessness to change anything; now, his professor and teacher had first died, then fallen into Hell—he had witnessed it all, and he was no longer the helpless child he once was.

So he desperately wanted to act and felt neurologically exhilarated—this was, in fact, another manifestation of PTSD, though he himself had not realized it.

As he stared blankly at the Shiler before him, Shiler rose from the ground, shook his head vigorously, then muttered:

“Damn, that was high—I miscalculated…”

He drew in a sharp breath, extended his right hand to touch his back, then frowned deeply.

After straightening his wrinkled suit and retieing his tie, Shiler finally noticed Batman standing before him.

“Are you alright?” Batman asked.

“Me? I’m fantastic,” Shiler replied, adjusting his tie, coughing twice, then saying: “I successfully got back at Constantine—robbed him of his magic, and dumped that whole bunch of petty, spiteful bastards into Hell. What did they expect? Didn’t let me on the boat, didn’t take me to war?”

Shiler seemed to find standing tiring; he walked to a large rock at the edge of the slope and sat down, then began recounting his full plan in a rambling tone.

Shiler had many targets for revenge; the mastermind was undoubtedly Constantine, who had unleashed the broccoli storm. As he had said before, he possessed a blade to strike at good people: guilt.

Undoubtedly, Constantine was a rotten man—but he was also a good one. Though he frequently betrayed friends and teammates, nearly all his actions were ultimately aimed at saving the world, and the debts he incurred, he bore alone.

His friends had paid dearly for him, yet he had paid even more; in daily interactions, Shiler could see that Constantine relied on this very fact to evade moral condemnation.

His friends lost their lives, yet Constantine himself endured immense physical pain as the price—this pain lessened his inner guilt; so Shiler simply removed that pain for him.

Originally, Constantine could distract himself through physical suffering; but once all debts were cleared and all wounds healed, he had no escape from reality—he was forced to confront his own guilt.

Of course, beyond these old debts, Shiler added two new ones.

He deliberately had an FBI agent stab him in front of Batman, and ensured Batman witnessed his corpse—all to make Batman feel guilty.

Once Batman felt guilty, then when Shiler plunged into Hell before his eyes, Batman would inevitably jump after him.

And for Constantine, Shiler’s descent into Hell alongside Batman was a double blow—like a knife plunged straight into the carotid artery; Shiler imagined Constantine was probably going mad in the real world right now.

Meanwhile, by descending into Hell with his soul, he could also retaliate against his own Superego for refusing him passage, and against the Marvel Shiler who gloated—no vacation for me, no vacation for anyone.

Thinking of this, Shiler’s mood improved considerably; his adverse reactions eased. As he turned to observe his surroundings, Batman spoke: “Since you’re fine, let’s go.”

Shiler asked, puzzled: “Go? Where are you planning to go?”

“To save you,” Batman turned and walked forward. Shiler, confused, said: “Save me? I’m right here. I told you, I’m fine—there’s no broccoli storm in Hell. Maybe my allergy will clear up soon…”

“I mean the other you—and the tower,” Batman walked on without looking back. Shiler followed, frowning, squinting in disbelief: “You mean… you want to save my other personality traits and the tower???”

“Batman, have you ever considered this: I’m in Hell—so who’s really suffering here?”

“Is it possible that those personalities and the tower don’t need saving? Look at how eagerly they’re rushing out—do they look like they need rescuing?”

“And this is Hell—everywhere are powerful demons. All your combat training means nothing here.”

Batman kept walking forward; Shiler quickened his pace to his side, turned to study his face, and noticed that beneath the mask, Batman’s expression was rigid, his fingertips trembling.

Shiler raised an eyebrow—he guessed Batman’s PTSD had flared up. After all, reason might tell him Shiler wouldn’t die so easily, but the visceral shock of witnessing death was immense; his illness had never fully healed, and further trauma could easily trigger another episode.

Shiler stepped in front of Batman, blocking his path: “Calm down, Batman. You’ve realized your mental state is poor—you need psychological treatment. I suggest we find a safe place first…”

As Shiler spoke, Batman sidestepped him and walked straight ahead. Shiler frowned deeply, clearly angered by this disrespect—but he still took a deep breath and whispered: “Fine… considering you jumped down to save me…”

“Listen, Batman—this was just a plan. A plan. Do you understand? Whether I was taken by FBI agents, stabbed, died in a phone booth, or my soul fell into Hell—it was all part of my plan to retaliate against those reckless, petty bastards…”

Batman stopped, turned to Shiler: “You made this plan because you thought I could do nothing, didn’t you? All criminals who harm others think the same…”

Shiler shook his head: “No. It’s simply that when I seek revenge, anyone can be a tool—including myself, and you.”

“You already suspected I was planning something, didn’t you? Your reason told you this might all be my scheme—that if I jumped into Hell, the real danger might be to Hell itself.”

“Just like now—your reason judges that the tower and my other personality traits face no danger; my traits charging toward demons will only bring ruin to the demons.”

“But still, a voice in your heart urges you to save me—even though I don’t need saving. Batman, haven’t you realized yet? You’ve never left that alley.”

Shiler slowly stepped before Batman, meeting his eyes: “You’re ill—but you refuse treatment. Like many ignorant, backward people, you treat psychological trauma as an unspeakable, untouchable scar—unwilling to face it, unwilling to accept scientific healing…”

“If you keep this up, one day that scar will be torn open in a far bloodier way. When that happens, unless you spend your life never showing weakness, once everyone learns it’s your vulnerability, you’ll pay tenfold, a hundredfold…”

“You’re the one who needs treatment,” Batman said, staring at Shiler. “You’d rather harm yourself just to manipulate minds, taking pleasure in watching others stumble through your schemes…”

“Correct. But if you know I’m a madman, why did you jump?”

Batman turned and resumed walking toward his goal. Behind him, Shiler shook his head and murmured: “The road to healing is long and arduous…”

At that moment, the ground rumbled. Shiler staggered from the vibration, turned back—and saw a gaping, bloodied maw.

A colossal demon sandworm erupted from beneath the earth. Batman spun around, bent his knees, stabilized his stance; as the dust cleared, he saw the worm open its circular mouth, lined with spiral fangs—and swallowed Shiler whole.

Batman’s eyes widened instantly. He surged forward at blinding speed, used the slope’s height to leap onto the worm’s back, gripped its horned head, and punched its eye.

The worm writhed in pain midair but did not open its mouth; instead, it plunged headfirst into the sand.

Amid faint, flickering traces on the dunes, the colossal sandworm vanished into the earth, fleeing toward an unknown distance.