Chapter 2512: The Battle for the Cloak (31)

When the dense fog attacked again, no one realized how special this assault was. They all followed the rules they had previously discovered, expecting the fog to disperse quickly as usual.

The Robins had scattered again, but this time they were after King Robin's cape, which meant they had to attack Wayne Tower. However, attacking wasn't as simple as rushing straight in; they had to cooperate and divide the tasks.

First, someone needed to scout ahead to figure out the defenses around Wayne Tower, so they could formulate a subsequent attack plan.

Another group had to go back for heavy weapons, because no matter what, the building was doomed. They might as well return the favor with an explosion like the one at the Capitol Building.

And some were responsible for exploration and breaching; if it came to blasting, they would end up fighting King Robin in the ruins and would certainly need some special equipment.

Last but not least, someone had to stay behind to take care of the injured. Of course, that role was already taken. Little Spider, deprived of his gear, volunteered to care for Arkham Knight. It wasn't that he didn't want to go out, but he really couldn't stand idly by while someone was in such pain before him.

The Arkham Knight was not very coherent at the moment. When he was stimulated, the Robins' solution was to administer a sedative. It certainly worked, but it was badly timed.

At that time, the Arkham Knight was just mentally stimulated without severe physical symptoms or a tendency for serious attacks. The strong mental soothing effects of the sedative could trap the user in a different mire.

An overly active and excited mind could not be completely stabilized, and would keep dreaming wildly during sleep, waking and dreaming again, until unable to distinguish between dream and reality.

It was a very painful state, like hovering in a nightmare from which one cannot awaken. Spider-Man could not alleviate this condition and could only take care of him beside him.

The Robins finally realized that sticking with their other selves wasn't a good thing. The overly mild three couldn't make up their minds together, the too impulsive ones couldn't even persuade their other selves, and any decision had to be prefaced with an argument. Even those who could tolerate and coordinate with their other selves lacked comprehensive abilities, proving to be doubly inefficient.

Eventually, they decided to divide according to their universes because they realized that aside from proving they were the best Robin, they could also prove that their Batman was the best. The temptation was too great for the Robins.

Nightwing had already arrived. Not too many were needed for reconnaissance, and with a man short in the Arkham Universe due to the Arkham Knight's poor condition, Robin also followed Nightwing to backup.

The Robins from the Prime Universe went to the Batcave to prepare heavy weapons. They were proficient at this, and Barbara gave them access to the Batcave, ensuring that they could modify existing weapons if the finished ones weren't usable.

The Robins from the Schiller Universe prepared the special props for the direct combat. They actually carried a lot with them, but if it wasn't enough, they could go back through the Arena Portal. The challenge was figuring out which props would be useful.

The Robins from the Schiller Universe were the first to notice the fog's arrival, and they sensed something wrong the moment the dense fog settled because it was unusually thick this time.

Normally, there was still some visibility when the fog first descended. After a while, visibility fluctuated up and down, presenting spatiotemporal anomalies. But this time, as soon as the fog arrived, it sealed the surrounding space tight.

Dick, Jason, and Tim were standing close together, but they could barely see each other's faces. They immediately held hands to prevent the fog from separating them.

"What the hell? Why is it like this?" Jason frowned deeply, looking very serious as his instincts told him this boded no good.

"What should we do? Wait here for the fog to clear?" Dick looked around and then shook his head, "I think we can't wait much longer; it's getting dark already."

Yes, Gotham's sunset afterglow was fading, the streets growing darker, and the neon lights that should have sparked were missing, making Gotham's night even more bizarre and deeply dark.

Strangely, as night approached, a light rain began to fall on the city, but the rain seemed to belong to a different world than the fog. The rain fell straight to the ground without touching someone's clothing.

The good news was they wouldn't get drenched, but the bad news was they now had to face both darkness and dense fog.

The faint lights flickering in the distance on the streets just allowed them to make out each other's facial features in the shadows. Fog imbued everything with a blur, twisting everyone's face into a terrifying contortion.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Tim took a deep breath. Not just him, but everyone in the fog, including the criminals who left the insane asylum and the strangely shaped Batmen scattered all over, could sense something off.

It seemed that this time the fog was not just a stage, but the stomach of some unknown creature; they had all been devoured and were being gradually digested after being chewed.

"What's that?" Jason saw a figure at the end of a foggy alley, actually not far away. Because of the fog's cover, when the figure approached, they were less than three meters from them.

A knife flashed with a cold light and stabbed down. Jason yanked Dick toward him frantically, and they both rolled on the ground together, only to look up and see a pale mask.

"What is this?! "Tim screamed incredulously. The person was wearing a black high-necked sweater and a pale hood with normal facial features except for two dark eyes like two terrifying black holes, impossible to see what lay behind them.

Jason understood at first glance that this man was a terrifying serial killer, and they had become his targets.

Without hesitation, Jason drew his gun, kneeled, raised both arms to aim, and with a bang, a bullet hit the serial killer square in the shoulder. A blossom of blood opened on his shoulder, and the half of his body holding the knife slightly staggered backward.

But that was all, just a slight stagger backward, no pain, no convulsions, the knife didn't drop, and the attacker continued to advance quickly.

With one hand holding a gun and the other switching guns, Jason fired again—this time an ice cone shot directly at the killer. Then, with a softer bang, the serial killer was frozen in place.

The trio let out a sigh of relief, gathered around the ice sculpture, and noticed that the man was extraordinarily tall. When Jason saw that the gunshot wound had stopped bleeding, he knew for certain this was no ordinary man.

"Since when did Gotham have such a character?" Jason felt puzzled; he had been on the streets of Gotham for a long time and was familiar with various vicious criminals, but he had never heard of a white-faced serial killer.

"I suspect he's not from Gotham," Tim put forward thoughtfully, "It might be the fog that brought him."

"But before, didn't the fog only create strange illusions? How could it suddenly conjure up a serial killer?" Dick questioned.

"Have you not noticed that this fog is different? It's much thicker than before, as if the entire world has been engulfed by the fog," Tim said. "Maybe it changed the rules..."

Just as he said this, they all noticed eyes gradually appearing on the reflection of the ice block.

"How can it be so fast?!" Dick was incredulous, "Wasn't it supposed to take three minutes of staying motionless before anything would appear? Have we stayed for even two minutes? Or perhaps one and a half?"

"This precisely indicates the fog has undergone some changes," Jason said, stroking his chin. "It's become denser and more unpredictable, and the timing for various rules to take effect has changed."

"I think we better figure out who this guy is first," Dick suggested, knocking on the ice block.

No sooner had the question been posed than Dick, standing in front of the killer, saw the killer's mouth move beneath the mask, jerkily and unnaturally.

"Mi... Mi... Miles? Is your name Miles?"

The man didn't respond, seemingly trying to nod but unable to due to being frozen. Dick politely asked, "Alright, Mr. Miles, why are you here? And why did you attack us?"

But Tim sensed something was off, as serial killers typically don't engage in chit-chat, especially after they've already launched an attack—unless the talk serves a significant benefit to them.

A fine crack began to spread from the bottom of the block of ice.

Tim was the first to notice the cracks and let out a shriek; his initial reaction was to scream, "Run!!!"

The three of them turned to run, and the next second, the ice block shattered with a bang as the man, who seemed sluggish, got up with a sharp dagger and chased after them at a speed that didn't match his earlier movements.

"What's going on? Wasn't that dense ice?!" Jason was perplexed. "It's impossible to break out from inside! Does he think he's Doomsday or something??"

"He didn't want to talk to us; he was stalling for time," Tim bellowed. "He was trying to keep us engaged long enough to break free of the ice!"

"Damn, we've been tricked," Dick cursed as he ran. "I thought he couldn't get out, what do we do now? Where's the ship?"

"The ship is still cooling down," Jason said. "We can't deploy it right now, and even if we could, he would have enough time to slice us to death while we're boarding."

"Don't we still have shields? And perhaps... Angel Feathers?"

"No," Tim finally voiced his suspicion, "Whenever we're around him, he'll grow stronger. We can't fight him; he'll only get stronger!"

While they spoke, they realized they had run into a dead end, not because they weren't watching where they were going, but because the thick fog made it impossible to see clearly.

The white mask appeared at the end of the alley, indistinct. One step, two steps, three steps—the puddles reflecting the white mask shattered like breaking spines when stepped on.

A surge of urgent music rang in their ears.