Chapter 7

The night streets of Gotham were filled with thick fog, hovering over the gray, concrete landscape, reflecting the neon lights. Hephaestus walked slowly, his steps heavy, and the rhythmic sound of his boots on the pavement seemed to echo off the dark, damp walls of the buildings. Around midnight, the city seemed to live its own, poisoned life. The filthy alleys buzzed with the sounds of murmurs and whispers, while the air was thick with the stench of rot and violence.

Passersby who crossed paths with Hephaestus quickly averted their gaze, terrified by his appearance. The armor he wore, though futuristic, was cumbersome, and every piece seemed to embody brutal functionality. His face, deformed by fire, remained in shadow, with only a terrifying smile and cold, piercing eyes visible beneath the mask. Women who dared to glance at him immediately changed direction, disgusted, which stirred anger that began to build inside him.

"These pathetic creatures... How different they are from the gods?" he thought, grinding his teeth. "Eyes full of fear, no respect... They once built altars, and now?" Rage churned in his heart, his hands gripping the edges of his cloak, which fluttered behind him like the shadow of death. "This city... it's just like her. Rotten to the core. But perfect for someone seeking revenge. Only here can I prepare to punish those who have scorned me."

Step by step, Hephaestus approached the city center, where Gotham's wealthy residents tried to maintain the last remnants of luxury. The shimmering windows of jewelry stores, gold chains, diamonds, all gleamed in the contrasting glow.

"Ah, wealth. Always the same. Mortals reaching for something they will never understand…" His gaze fixed on one of the larger jewelry stores, where diamonds sparkled like tiny stars in the grim, gray world of Gotham. This place, clearly maintained for the richest, was almost a symbol of everything he had ever rejected.

Hephaestus stopped in front of the display, his eyes locked on the shining stones, but his thoughts drifted to other goals.

"Emeralds, they might come in handy."

Hephaestus pushed the door to the jewelry store, and the bell above the entrance chimed, announcing his arrival. The interior was filled with a subtle, luxurious ambiance. Dark wooden shelves and glass cases, where diamonds and precious stones sparkled, illuminated the space with a soft, golden light. Classical music played quietly in the background, and the air was scented with something delicate, perhaps vanilla and musk. But to Hephaestus, this place was like any other luxury trash heap, filled with falsehood and greed.

The customers, mostly wealthy men and women, browsed the jewelry with dignified indifference, as if their only concern was choosing the right trinket. But when Hephaestus stepped inside, conversations stopped. His massive, dark figure and deformed, masked face drew immediate attention. People instinctively backed away, frightened by his imposing appearance.

The cashier behind the counter, a young woman with light, tied-up hair, looked at him with a mix of uncertainty and fear. Seeing a man who didn't resemble a typical jewelry store customer, her hands trembled slightly as she placed a gold necklace back into the glass display case. Nervously, she adjusted her glasses.

"C-can I help you, sir?" she asked, trying to maintain composure, though it was clear that panic was building inside her. Hephaestus didn't respond immediately. His gaze swept over the cases, as if absent from this reality, his mind operating on a different level.

"E-excuse me... but... I must ask you to..." She stammered, feeling her control over the situation slip away. "To leave the store, please."

Hephaestus raised his head, his smile under the mask growing more sadistic. A fire of madness flickered in his eyes, and his words came out in a tone that would freeze blood in anyone's veins.

"Leave?" he growled, his voice booming like the distant echo of a volcano before eruption. "Leave, you say? By what right, little girl, do you attempt to command a god? A god who could tear this place to atoms with just a glance?" Hephaestus stepped forward, and the cashier, seeing his unstoppable figure, instinctively backed into the counter, knocking her hip against it.

The tension in the air grew. The customers, watching the entire scene from a safe distance, didn't know what to do. Some stared at Hephaestus in terror, others glanced at the cashier, as if expecting her to save them. But what happened next surpassed their worst expectations.

Hephaestus leaned heavily on the counter, his gaze still fixed on the girl, and with a wave of his hand, he gestured toward the glass cases.

– Collect it all. Diamonds. Don't spare any rubies either. And don't you dare be slower than you are now. – His tone was calm, almost gentle, but within that gentleness lurked something terrifying.

The cashier looked at him with wide eyes. She was trembling, but her hands began to obediently gather the jewelry into a small silk pouch. Her fingers were almost limp, and every movement seemed to drain her of all energy. Hephaestus watched with impatience, and eventually, unable to tolerate the silence, he began speaking, his voice transforming into a mad monologue.

– Mortals, oh, how low you have fallen... Each of you thinks these trinkets have meaning, that what sparkles has any value! But you don't know, you have no idea... – His eyes burned with fire, and his voice vibrated with anger. – I was the blacksmith of the gods! I created armor and weapons that could turn your tiny worlds to dust. And now, now I'm collecting these meaningless little stones from the hand of a weak mortal!

The cashier, in a panic, glanced around and noticed the hidden red alarm light behind the counter. Her hand slowly moved toward the button. Hephaestus continued his diatribe, his rage escalating.

– ...Aphrodite, that snake, was just like all of you! She sold love for adornments, for opulence, for emptiness! And where is she now? Where...?

Then he heard a faint sound. A click. The alarm.

His eyes narrowed instantly, and his rage exploded. In one swift motion, he drew his latest toy—a plasma shotgun—and aimed it without hesitation at the cashier.

– You'll pay for this, – he hissed through gritted teeth.

He fired. Green plasma erupted from the barrel, illuminating the store with a horrifying glow. The cashier's body slammed against the wall behind the counter, her face contorted in a final grimace of terror before being completely engulfed by a wave of energy.

A scream filled the space. The customers, paralyzed by fear until now, suddenly bolted for the exits. Crushed together, struggling to escape, they tried to flee the store. Hephaestus looked at them with disdain. One quick movement. He aimed the plasma shotgun at their backs and pulled the trigger.

Boom! Green energy tore through the air, hitting two men who fell dead on the floor. Several women ran outside, screaming at the top of their lungs, while the rest vanished into the darkness of the streets.

Hephaestus slowly holstered his weapon and, with clear satisfaction, picked up the bag of jewels. Laughter, full of triumph, echoed in his throat. He turned toward the door calmly, as if the entire massacre had been a mere trifle. He saw the terrified faces of people outside, but none dared to approach.

Hephaestus approached the threshold, ready to leave the building.

He crossed the threshold of the jeweler's, the floor now stained crimson with the blood of dismembered former customers. The cold Gotham air hit his face. For a moment, he stood on the edge of the sidewalk, gazing at the crowd that had gathered around the store. Faces were full of terror, eyes wide with fear, everyone frozen at the sight of the imposing man with a bag full of jewels in one hand and a plasma shotgun in the other. His smile, now painted on his distorted face, was sadistic, almost grotesque in its delight. Yes, this sight was something he relished.

Fear. It was like a sweet melody, a soft whisper of the wind carrying the scent of human frailty and weakness. Hephaestus savored this feeling, as if he were feeding on the terror he saw in people's eyes. At that moment, amidst the chaos, he felt powerful, unshakable, like the god he once was. And like a god, he could now decide who lived and who died, who deserved to breathe and who should lose their life.

Surveying the crowd, which was slowly beginning to retreat, he smiled wider. This sensation was like a drug, addictive. He drew his weapon, not looking up, and without a word, almost casually, fired a few shots into the sky. Green plasma orbs illuminated Gotham's grim landscape, slicing through the air like lightning. The sound of the shots echoed among the buildings, plunging the crowd into even greater panic.

People started fleeing in every direction, like a herd of animals suddenly spotting a predator. Screams echoed off the building walls, and the footsteps of people running in panic rang out on the now-empty streets. In a few moments, what had been a crowded Gotham street was transformed into a desolate expanse, where only the wind stirred the remnants of papers and trash. The city, once vibrant with life, now felt almost dead in his presence.

Hephaestus stood at the center of this chaos, relishing what he had created. He was an artist, and fear was his tool. He aimed the weapon ahead and took a deep breath, as if absorbing what he had wrought.

– Look at me... at what has happened, – he said, gazing at the deserted street where moments ago a crowd of terrified people had tried to avoid his gaze. – Gods... beings like me are no longer needed. Mortals have created their own illusions of power, their own false ideals. But all of it... it's nothing. When I stand before them, their lies fall, and the truth... – He smiled again, as if seeing the whole world bowing at his feet. – The truth is that only strength and fear matter.

He turned on his heel, looking at his handiwork, at the jewelry store that moments ago had gleamed with wealth, now nothing more than an empty shell. In his eyes, Gotham was like this place—full of pretense, lies, and false values. A city that worshipped wealth and power did not understand true power.

– This city... is like everyone I have known. – His voice grew quieter, more introspective. – Corrupted. Decaying from within. But I... I will change that. I will destroy these illusions. I will destroy them all. And then... in the ashes... I will create something new. Something real.

Hephaestus lifted the bag of jewels and slung it over his shoulder. Thoughts of the past, of the gods who had rejected him, of Aphrodite whom he once trusted, filled his mind. He cast aside those memories like old trash, unnecessary and meaningless in his new world.

– And then, even Aphrodite... even she... will understand who I truly am. – His eyes gleamed. He imagined exacting revenge on all who had betrayed him, on all who had wronged him. – The god of vengeance. The god of chaos. The god... who knows no mercy.

As he turned to leave, he heard the distant sound of an engine. The sound, deep and echoing through the empty streets of Gotham, grew louder. Hephaestus, still standing on the jeweler's threshold, closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sound vibrate in his mind.

– Let's have some more fun... – he whispered to himself with a lightness, his smile growing ever more manic.

Hephaestus took a deep breath, listening to the sound of the engine growing louder among the empty streets of Gotham. He slowly raised his head, his senses sharpening as a shape appeared around the corner, several hundred meters away—a low, black, menacing form. The Batmobile emerged from the distance, a dark, futuristic vehicle with brutal, angular lines. It resembled a beast born of chaos and steel, ready to devour anything in its path.

The car roared toward him, kicking up dust and debris as it approached, its growl reminiscent of a storm advancing with terrifying force. Hephaestus crossed his arms over his chest, momentarily contemplating the sight of this machine, so fitting of Batman's image—cold, relentless, shrouded in secrets. The Batmobile was a symbol of power, might, and control—all things Hephaestus despised.

– Typical – he muttered under his breath, watching the approaching vehicle. – So this is the famous Batmobile? The technology that mortals attribute almost divine properties to.

Hephaestus sneered derisively. To him, the Batmobile, though advanced, was nothing more than a high-tech gadget. A tool of a man who saw himself as a hero but was, in reality, just a human encased in steel armor, clinging to his ideals and morality.

"Batman..." he thought. "A man who believes he can reshape this world. But this city doesn't need saving. It needs... obliteration."

His smile grew increasingly deranged as he aimed his plasma shotgun. His finger slowly rested on the trigger, and the world seemed to freeze for a moment as he made his decision. The plasma projectile glowed green, pulsating with gathering energy. Hephaestus aimed squarely at the oncoming Batmobile.

– Let's have some fun, Bat – he whispered, his voice dripping with sinister satisfaction.

In an instant, he fired. The plasma shot sliced through the air, heading towards the Batmobile with unstoppable force, as if its entire destructive energy was intended to obliterate everything in its path. The vehicle was closing in faster, but just before impact, something changed.

A blue light flared around the Batmobile. Energy fields, previously invisible, suddenly enveloped the vehicle, forming a powerful protective shield. The plasma shot collided with the shield with a deafening crash. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as the forces of two mighty technologies battled for dominance. Tremors rolled through the ground, and the air was filled with the sound of the intense struggle between plasma and force field.

– So this is your protection, Bat – Hephaestus murmured under his breath, watching with satisfaction as the shield resisted his shot, but only for a brief moment.

The shield began to crack. Overloaded by the plasma energy, it flickered blue before breaking apart with a loud snap. The plasma shot struck the Batmobile with its full force.

The explosion illuminated the dark streets of Gotham as the Batmobile was obliterated in a powerful blast. Debris scattered in all directions, and the sharp sound of metal being crushed by immense force cut through the air. But before the smoke had even begun to clear, Hephaestus noticed something remarkable.

A catapult in the Batmobile activated just before the vehicle was completely destroyed. The mechanism worked with almost superhuman precision, and in an instant, Batman shot out from the wreckage. His silhouette emerged from the explosion like a shadow, soaring through the air towards the nearest building. His cape billowed out behind him, creating the image of a dark wing cutting through the night sky.

Hephaestus watched him, raising an eyebrow. From his perspective, the maneuver seemed as spectacular as it was impractical.

– Oh, he really loves his dramatic entrances – Hephaestus mocked. – Does it always look like this? Maybe I should give him a round of applause.

Batman landed on one of the buildings with a precision that suggested years of training. His suit, dark and form-fitting, along with the cape, resembled a grotesque version of a nocturnal bat. The armor, though lighter than most technological suits, appeared remarkably durable. The mask covered most of his face, leaving only his jaw exposed, and his eyes were hidden behind white lenses that gave him an even more inhuman appearance.

Batman's gear was meticulously crafted. Black kevlar, combined with advanced materials, not only protected him from weaponry but also allowed for freedom of movement. The utility belts wrapped around his torso were packed with gadgets, ready for use at any moment. The cape was designed to enable gliding, giving him additional mobility in combat.

Hephaestus studied him more closely, narrowing his eyes as Batman began to approach him, leaping from one building to another. There was something almost superhuman in Batman's movements – precision, cold calculation, and an absence of hesitation. It was something Hephaestus could appreciate, though in a completely different way than Batman.

– Ah, so you're the great hero of Gotham. The man who thinks he can fight the gods – Hephaestus muttered to himself, watching the approaching figure. – Well, Bat, let's see how long you can last before I shatter your illusions of justice.

As Batman closed in, landing gracefully on the rooftop of the nearest building, Hephaestus raised his plasma shotgun and aimed without hesitation.

Batman, dodging the shot, landed on another nearby rooftop with fluid grace, his silhouette blending into the darkness of Gotham. The city lights reflected in his white lenses, giving him an otherworldly, almost demonic appearance. Just a few meters ahead stood Hephaestus, the god of blacksmiths and fire, a mythological figure incarnated in a form more powerful than Batman could ever have imagined.

The silence of the night cut through the tense atmosphere between them. Batman knew he faced an opponent about whom he had little information, and he understood that even a single element could prove crucial: his experience fighting the most dangerous foes on Earth. Bruce Wayne was no ordinary man; he was a warrior who had trained worldwide for years, battling monsters and criminals.

Batman quickly launched into action, drawing batarangs from his belt. The blades flew through the air with incredible precision, but Hephaestus didn't even flinch. When the blades hit his reinforced armor, they bounced off as if they were nothing more than mere pebbles.

– Really? Is that all? – Hephaestus laughed, raising his plasma shotgun. His eyes burned with arrogance, and his heart with fury. – You want to fight like a man, but I am not from your world, Bat.

Before the god could pull the trigger, Batman had already shifted position. His movements were almost superhuman, twisting in mid-air and using his cape to glide over Hephaestus's head. Batman landed behind him and pulled out a grappling hook, aiming for Hephaestus's legs. The line wrapped around them, trying to immobilize him. Hephaestus looked down with clear amusement. A powerful kick from his leg snapped the line like a crushed spider web.

– You're quick, I'll give you that – Hephaestus said, turning towards Batman. – But not quick enough.

He fired the plasma shotgun, and the green plasma shot exploded where Batman had been just a second before. The Bat had evaded the shot, but the shockwave shattered a nearby hydrant, sending water gushing into the air. Batman dropped a smoke capsule to create a cover, but Hephaestus, using his superhuman perception, already saw where the Bat was moving.

Instead of firing blindly, the god of fire raised his hand, and his fingers began to glow with a red aura. Within seconds, the temperature around him rose, and the asphalt beneath his feet started to melt.

– They said you're the world's greatest detective, Batman – Hephaestus sneered. – But you're just… human.

A fiery streak shot from his hand, slicing through the air and hitting Batman's smoke screen. The smoke vanished instantly, and the flames lunged toward the Dark Knight. Batman raised his hand, activating the fire shield in his armor, but still felt the heat seeping through the armor. Hephaestus sensed the moment of weakness and lunged at Batman with full force.

Hephaestus's strike against Batman's armor was like a hammer blow. Batman was pushed back several meters, landing heavily on his back. His cape spread out around him like wings, and Hephaestus moved toward him with the certainty that his opponent had no chance.

"Your toys won't save you from the fire," Hephaestus hissed, coming closer. "No man can survive a clash with a god."

But Batman had other plans. Before Hephaestus reached him, he fired another grappling hook in the opposite direction, pulling himself up toward the nearest building. In one hand, he had already prepared another gadget—a bat-grenade, which landed at Hephaestus's feet. The explosion stunned the god momentarily, but caused no significant damage. As the dust settled, Hephaestus stood there, unmoved, just slightly scorched from the blast.

"Is that all you have, Bat?" Hephaestus asked with an ironic smile. His eyes, however, blazed with anger. "Now it's my turn."

Hephaestus raised his arms, and a fiery aura began to form around him. Flames danced around his body, channeling his anger into pure energy. Batman, seeing that his usual attacks wouldn't be enough, changed tactics. He knew he had to use intelligence and cunning to neutralize such a powerful opponent.

"You are strong," Batman acknowledged, landing on a nearby balcony. "But you are not invincible. Every strength has its limits."

Hephaestus laughed at these words, his voice full of arrogance.

"Really?" he scoffed. "You want to teach me about strength, mortal? I created it!"

At that moment, Batman threw another gadget, this time a sonic grenade, which immediately began emitting high, piercing sounds. Hephaestus paused momentarily, his face contorted in pain, but quickly reacted by creating a ball of fire around himself, which smothered the sound waves.

"I must admit, you have ingenuity," Hephaestus said, still maintaining the fire aura around himself. "But it's not enough."

Before Batman could prepare another trap, Hephaestus lunged with incredible speed. His fist, driven by divine strength, struck the wall behind Batman, shattering it into dust. The Bat managed to avoid the blow but knew his chances of victory were diminishing with every second.

Batman landed again on the ground, near the wreckage of the Batmobile, with Hephaestus right behind him. Batman pulled out an electric batarang and threw it at Hephaestus. The god easily caught the blade, but electricity began coursing through his body, briefly paralyzing him. This was a small advantage Batman had to exploit.

The Bat jumped toward Hephaestus, aiming a punch at his face. Despite the shock, Hephaestus managed to reach out and grab Batman by the throat, lifting him up.

"This is the end, Bat," the god growled through clenched teeth, looking down at him. "You should know when to retreat."

Batman, struggling to breathe, pulled out his last weapon from his belt—a small detonator. Hephaestus looked at him with disdain.

"Another gadget? Do you really think it will save you?" Hephaestus taunted.

"It's not about salvation," Batman said, his eyes locking with Hephaestus's. "It's about time."

Suddenly, a loud explosion echoed in the background. Batman had set traps earlier, placing them on nearby buildings. Fragments of concrete walls and metal began to fall toward Hephaestus, forcing him to release Batman, who fell to the ground. The fire god recoiled for a moment, shielding himself from the debris.

Batman seized the moment and, without a word, fired his grappling hook toward the nearest building. He ascended rapidly above the chaos, while Hephaestus, still dazed from the explosion, looked up and saw Batman escaping into the darkness of Gotham.

"Come back!" the fire god roared, but the Bat had vanished into Gotham's shadows, leaving Hephaestus alone amidst the ruins of their battle.

"Fleeing is not the end," Hephaestus muttered, his eyes blazing with anger. "It's only the beginning, Bat."

Batman knew that the clash with Hephaestus was not just a fight; it was the start of something much larger. In the darkness of Gotham, he was already planning his next moves, analyzing every weakness of his divine opponent.