Chapter 2496: The Battle for the Cloak (15)

Having lost the fifth-dimensional imp, King Robin grabbed a crazed Robin and gave him a savage beating until he almost hammered the other into a pulp before reluctantly letting go.

But that still wasn't the final blow he suffered. The crazed Robins told him that Red Hood, who had broken into the Capitol Building, also didn't find Batman. The worst news had arrived: Batman had gone missing.

If you say Batman was rescued and treated, or even fully recovered, King Robin wouldn't be scared. What he feared was a grievously injured Batman disappearing; you never know what he'd turn into the next time you see him.

However, King Robin was convinced that, no matter what, Batman would definitely return to Gotham, and he just had to lay a net of heaven and earth here, sure that Batman couldn't escape it.

But the problem was that all the citizens here were half-dead. To gather them up and threaten Batman seemed like a plan, but it was hard to tell if these people were alive or dead. What if Batman saw a bunch of dead people in his hands and decided to perish together with King Robin?

Only the cries, screams, and howls of living people had any intimidatory power. Saying that these people, not much different from corpses, were alive required others to believe it. And his reputation made it easy for people to think that he had massacred the entire city's population and wanted to reuse the corpses.

After considering, King Robin decided he still had to solve the problem of no living people in Gotham City. Aside from using the citizens to threaten Batman, he also wanted to know how the person who did this managed to instantly knock out everyone in Gotham.

If he could control this power, wouldn't he be able to better blackmail Batman?

Initially, King Robin thought someone had used a Weather Controller for the deed, as only that device could instantly disperse a gas or liquid across Gotham. But when he checked, he found its core components had been removed and it was completely inoperable, not recently taken either. This meant the method wasn't used.

His investigation had hit a dead end, so the only clue left was the so-called culprit mentioned earlier by Lightning Batman and Mr. Freeze, Victor—the fog and that mysterious PhD.

Following this line of thought, King Robin's first step should have been to find Lightning Batman and Mr. Freeze. But King Robin knew that Barry Allen's mother's body was of no use to Lightning Batman, and if he didn't take the bait, even the Anti-Speedster Toxin might be ineffective.

So going after Mr. Freeze became a good choice, as he clearly knew a lot. King Robin activated the Sky Eye Terminal on top of Wayne Tower to monitor the movements of all still-active people within the entire city.

But at that moment, fog arose again in Gotham.

As the dense fog crawled up the glass curtain wall, King Robin didn't react at first—just like a Robin who had lived here all year, he was all too familiar with this weather. What morning didn't have fog?

But when the thick fog spread indoors, he finally realized something was wrong—but by then, it was too late.

King Robin was engulfed by the fog, finding himself in a space that spread infinitely. Before him was still the glass curtain wall of Wayne Tower, but when he reached out, the glass slowly dissolved.

After he walked through, he found himself once again in the top-floor office of Wayne Tower, the glass curtain wall behind him.

King Robin turned around and walked towards the glass curtain wall again, only to find the same result—passing through it didn't lead downstairs but to another office identical to the one he was in.

He couldn't escape through the glass, so he tried the door; walking out of the office door only led him to another identical office.

Exiting through the door didn't work, so he tried the walls; passing through a wall also led to another identical office.

It was as if the entire space had become a hive, moving through one hexagonal space led to another, and no matter which wall he exited from, it was just another hexagonal space, nesting infinitely.

King Robin now realized what was unusual about the fog they spoke of.

King Robin also noticed something strange—the clock that had hung on the wall began to reverse, reversing for a while before starting to move forward again. The hands twisted, the numbers became chaotic, the time completely undecipherable.

King Robin was not a detective.

According to the comics, he was a miniature Mad Laugh, all of his contingency plans against superheroes directly produced results—like pulling out an Anti-Speedster Toxin from his belt against The Flash, or producing a medal containing a piece of the Godslayer Sword shard against Wonder Woman.

It seemed he had some tricky schemes, like soaking Barry Allen's mother's body in toxin, hiding a shard of the Godslayer Sword in the podium, but there's no explanation for how these props were made. Without these providential tools, these plans meant nothing, they would backfire.

Faced with the current situation, King Robin still intended to find some small gadgets. He had teleportation means, but they were ineffective in the dense fog. He had location devices, but they vanished after he left the spot. He had gadgets to speed himself up, but no matter how much he ran, it was just one office encasing another.

He even had a Malicious Compass, which would point to anyone trying to attack him. However, after pulling out the compass, the pointer just slowly rotated at a steady pace, not spinning fast nor indicating clearly. It was as if malice was everywhere but also nowhere.

Unable to find an escape or lock onto a target, King Robin simply started to sprint blindly, venting the anger in his heart.

He kept running, kept running, faster and faster, as the fog grew thinner and the sound of the wind swept past his ears, he saw a shadow standing deep within the dense fog.

Was that the so-called Guest in the Fog?

King Robin quickened his pace, pulling out weapons from his belt and firing at the shadow bang, bang, bang.

But just then, the slightest of noises made King Robin break out in a cold sweat.

Crack!

That was the sound of glass shattering, and the wind by his ear was no illusion.

King Robin screeched to a halt; as the heavy fog slowly dissipated, he saw himself standing in front of a shattered floor-to-ceiling window, just a small step away from falling off Gotham's tallest building.

King Robin wasn't afraid of the fall; he had too many ways to prevent falling injuries, but that presupposed he was aware, conscious. If he didn't realize he was falling, then the body of the young Bruce Wayne certainly couldn't withstand such a large impact.

The cold wind blowing in from outside sent a chill from the top of King Robin's head to his toes. After a sharp inhalation, he stepped back a few steps, and a strange sensation lingered in his heart. It turned the chill more tangible and penetrating, like a knife being thrust directly from his nostrils into his lungs.

"Do you think this kind of trickery will work?" King Robin clenched his gun and roared at the air.

"Of course it works," Shiller said from the rooftop of a nearby building, turning around to face the tentacled Little Bruce behind him: "Brute force won't work against that cunning investigator. When he charged into your place, what did you do?"

"Of course, I blasted him out with tentacles," Little Bruce said.

Shiller shook his head and said, "Don't do that, showing him your true form will only inspire him to greater courage. He sees you as an evil monster, so naturally, he will try everything to fight you."

"Instead, let him think you are neither a monster nor a human, not even anything at all, just a natural phenomenon." Little Bruce stared thoughtfully at Wayne Tower: "Make him believe that all the injuries he suffered were due to his own carelessness."

"That's true," Shiller smiled gently at Little Bruce, but Little Bruce seemed reluctant to look him in the eye and turned his head away.

"When you stage a play or paint a picture, you can choose to give the audience a specific target, so they understand that this is the person you want to paint, the message you want to convey, transmitting some truth or projecting strong emotions."

"But I prefer to let the imagery hold a certain consistency. When people's thoughts align with this consistency, when their thinking can be guided by certain techniques, and their aesthetics can be swayed in a certain direction, then they will naturally understand what I'm trying to say."

"A sort of filtering mechanism?"

"More of a hazy beauty, which allows you to completely hide behind the imagery. They'll think it's not a man-made piece of art, but something that comes from nature, a divine act that they can't resist."

"This way, they'll be less inclined to think, to be stunned instead, to immerse themselves more purely in art, to focus on their inner emotions rather than the logic of techniques, to be inspired to create their own works, rather than just appreciate others'."

Little Bruce realized that Shiller's tone always fluctuated, yet it was very light overall, like a small boat floating on surging waves, a fallen leaf swirling in a storm. The breathy voice and falsetto appeared at the most unexpected moments, making it extremely bizarre.

The things he talked about were half comprehensible to Little Bruce, but he understood the last sentence very profoundly.

Having witnessed Shiller's recent trick, yes, it was merely a blind eye technique, not a very cunning trap. But it gave Little Bruce a tremendous inspiration, stirring in him the urge to create his work right then.

Countless inspirations burst forth in his mind: how to use the human race's deepest fear of nature to create scenes that are illusory yet not, unclear yet haunting. To make them fear their own thoughts and associations, and ultimately, ensnare themselves, stepping towards death from losing their way.

In these thoughts, Little Bruce sensed a kind of beauty but it made him shiver all over.

He had already rid himself of most of the Evil God's power and reclaimed the clear-headed reason that belonged to Batman, but from the moment he began listening to Shiller's narrative, something had been irrevocably lost, a contamination more fearsome than the Evil God's power.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, he knew it was Shiller's hand, but it felt more like an invitation from Hell. He heard Shiller whisper gently in his ear.

"There happens to be a fine specimen here, perhaps I can show you more, would you like to see?"

Reason told Little Bruce not to, but to see if his name was written on the invitation, he still nodded.