Chapter 974

Hell is not populated solely by demons, and not all demons are monstrous, grotesque creatures lacking human form.

As Shiler said, God’s aesthetic in creation is fundamentally consistent; aside from certain races that evolved later and are more naturally unrestrained, the older the demon, the more closely it resembles human form—or rather, the form of God Himself.

There are many humanoid races in Hell; the demon lord Bael belongs to the most famous ancient demon clan, whose members also have two legs, two arms, walk upright, and differ from humans only in skin color and more ferocious facial features.

There are also shadow demons that frequently raid the mortal realm, appearing like human shadows, possessing a pair of wings on their backs and a completely black body, yet still humanoid; additionally, there are numerous shape-shifting demons who walk among mortals, deceiving humans, sometimes maintaining human form.

Moreover, Hell harbors human black mages, cave dwellers, star spirits, and ancient rebel clans, as well as some fortunate human souls who, due to failed transactions, failed to pay their dues and now wander the wild lands of Hell.

Thus, humanoid beings and human souls appearing here are not uncommon, and not all demons possess the ability to devour souls.

In essence, there is no clear boundary between human souls and demon bodies; the ability to directly consume human souls implies the ability to directly consume demons—only powerful demon lords or battle-hardened demon generals possess such power.

If any lowly demon in Hell could tear apart its own kind, Hell could never have operated stably for so many years.

Moreover, Hell has something akin to law; in simple terms, it is a federal state, with Satan as the nominal sovereign, yet each region remains autonomous.

Of the slave Duiwu Batman observed from the mountaintop, at least one-third were human or humanoid beings; Alfred’s figure blended in unremarkably, yet Batman spotted his old butler at once.

Batman quickly understood what had happened: Constantine had suffered mental trauma, but one person remained mentally sound—Zatanna.

Although Zatanna was utterly out of place in Gotham, a city of chaos and sin, her methods seemed blunt and even foolish in such a mad place, yet like Constantine, she was a good person, devoted to saving the world, and could never stand by while her friend fell into Hell.

Batman guessed that Zatanna likely intended to rescue him and Shiler, and Alfred, upon learning of this, had joined her in descending into Hell.

Batman sighed from the mountaintop, unsure whether to feel moved or exasperated; he knew his butler had a hidden past—essentially, he was a KGB agent.

But a KGB agent is useless in Hell; the enemies here are not CIA operatives, and those brutish demons cannot be dealt with by a pistol or two.

Batman sighed again; his mission now had another objective: besides protecting Shiler’s unstable state and finding a way to escape, he must also devise a plan to rescue Alfred and take him with him.

After hesitating, Batman did not immediately head toward Alfred’s slave Dui ; based on his observations from above, Alfred’s mental state was good, unharmed, and the demon overseers were not forcing him to labor—they seemed to be leading them to familiarize themselves with the mine.

If so, he needed to move Shiler to a secure location first, lest something happen to Shiler while he rescued Alfred, leaving no safe place to shelter anyone.

Batman grew busier, yet his thoughts grew clearer; the death scenes swirling in his mind gradually faded. His black cloak swept across the mine, and with a sharp “snap,” he landed at the entrance of the underground prison, pushing the door open once more.

“You say you saw Alfred in the slave Dui ?” Shiler narrowed his eyes at Batman, who nodded. Shiler then asked: “What are you planning to do?”

“I’ll first move you to a safe place. I noticed an abandoned mine shaft not far from the prison, seemingly unused for a long time. I’ll take you there to rest, then go retrieve Alfred and find a way to escape.”

Shiler turned his eyes, but shook his head: “No, I don’t intend to leave. They brought us here to enslave us and force us to mine.”

“If we stay, we gain the status of slaves; if we flee, we remain undocumented in Hell—no matter where we go, we cannot explain who we are.”

“Do you really want to stay here forever?” Batman asked. “Isn’t our goal to escape?”

“Yes, I know you’re concerned about Gotham, but do you truly believe resurrection is that simple? Forget about finding Hell’s exit—every inch of land here belongs to a demon lord. If you try to open a portal to the mortal realm, you will be discovered.”

Shiler slowly stood, looking at Batman: “You should know the condition of your own soul—you’re not merely an ordinary human soul. If a demon lord detects your anomaly, they will never let you leave.”

“And Batman, this is Hell,” Shiler smiled, with mockery and madness: “You’ve seen the lives of Gotham’s lowest classes—you called it Hell. Then, aren’t you curious about the real thing?”

Batman stared at him in silence, but Shiler didn’t need an answer. He sat back down, tilting his head toward Batman: “I’ve disposed of the jailer’s corpse. Now, go over there and play your part as a slave…”

He lowered his head and fell silent. After fifteen seconds of thought, Batman still sat beside him as instructed.

He had to admit: Batman was indeed curious about Hell—or rather, what he’d seen here left him disappointed.

People often compare Gotham to Hell, but in the few hours Batman had observed, Hell was far worse than Gotham.

In the minutes he stood atop the mountain, he witnessed not a single armed violent clash, not a single demon bled or died—unthinkable in Gotham.

After a while, a four-armed demon with dark red skin stomped down, grumbling. Batman realized the language of Hell was not a spoken tongue but a soul-wave—so he understood every word.

“That damn Althan must’ve gone off to slack again. Damn it—we still haven’t formed three squads. If the boss finds out, he’ll yell at us again!”

He held a whip and a bunch of keys. At the cell door, he slammed the iron ring against the bars and shouted: “Get up! All of you! You useless scraps, move out! Today, we must form three full squads!”

Shiler and Batman remained motionless until the demon violently flung open the cell door, gesturing: “New arrivals? Do you know Hell’s rules? Get out here! Today you’ll learn the mine layout—tomorrow you start working. You idiots!”

Only after several weaker demons emerged from the opposite cell did Shiler and Batman blend into the crowd and follow the overseer out of the cell.

“You’re lucky today—the big worm isn’t hungry, so it didn’t consume many. It made two trips and brought back only a dozen. Normally, half of you would’ve ended up in its belly!”

As the demon herded them forward, he cursed: “So keep your eyes open. When you enter the mine, don’t gawk. Don’t want to become worm food? Work hard!”

Outside the prison, the overseer shackled every slave with leg irons and handcuffs. Shiler said nothing, letting them do as they pleased.

When it was his turn, the overseer spat: “Those beast-tamers are getting lazy—grabbing such frail human souls? They’ll fall apart in two days… Whatever. Move! Get out of my sight. Disgusting.”

Batman, standing in the back row, trembled, fearing Shiler might suddenly erupt. Every nerve tensed, ready for tactical action.

But Shiler lowered his head, walked past the overseer, and joined the other queue—without a word.

When it was Batman’s turn, he examined the shackles—made of an odd metal, no lock or seam, nearly impossible to remove. He resisted, but raised his head and met Shiler’s deathly stare.

Batman fell silent, allowing them to clamp the irons on. Both entered the queue, and the overseer led them toward the mine.

As they entered the mine, Alfred’s Dui emerged; the two groups stared at each other from afar.

Batman locked eyes with Alfred first—he opened his mouth to speak, but instantly understood Alfred’s expression: a silent warning not to speak.

Then Alfred’s gaze fell on Shiler—and Batman noticed, behind Alfred, walked Shiler’s butler, Merkel.

The three exchanged a glance Batman couldn’t comprehend, then passed without a word, as if strangers.

Inside the dark mine, the overseer paid less attention to them. Shiler slowed his pace, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Batman. Batman heard him whisper:

“They start work at dawn tomorrow. Enter through the mine’s right gate—the dig site is three levels underground. At noon, all slaves gather for lunch—about thirty minutes…”

“After lunch, Merkel will help you distract the guards. I’ll meet up with Alfred…”

Batman’s voice was full of disbelief: “Wait—why are you so familiar with this??”

Shiler stared straight ahead, glanced at Batman, and said:

“Because we’re professionals.”