Night of the Return of the Joker (Part 2)

Batman first looked around, then turned to Schiller and said, "Do you think this is really a situation where I can beat him up?"

As a tactical master, Batman was not blindly confident. He saw hundreds of lunatics drawn by the scent of alcohol, with the infected madmen closing in around him layer by layer.

As the Dionysus Factor continued to spread, restless sounds began rising from distant buildings. Clearly, even more people had been infected.

"I said you can do it, so you can do it." Schiller shrugged. "This is a mock exam. If you don’t pass, you’d better prepare to be beaten black and blue by the official examiner."

"I always feel like you’re implying something."

After saying that, Batman still threw two Batarangs at Alberto. He knew he had to draw the lunatics’ attention. If he retreated, these crazed monsters would charge into Gotham and cause countless tragedies. So even though he knew withdrawal was the best tactic, he could not leave.

Alberto dodged the Batarangs with wild laughter and pounced on him. The two began fighting.

Meanwhile, Schiller had entered the church. Standing at the edge of the green pool, he looked into the liquid and muttered, "The one who fell into the Dionysus Factor wasn’t… Was that the one who fell into the chemical plant? Or the circus? Could it be…"

Then he continued, somewhat puzzled, "Batman actually didn’t choose him. I thought…"

At that moment, a person wearing a bird-shaped mask stepped out from behind the base of the Jesus statue. He said, "So it really was you. You’ve been interfering with us all along."

Schiller rolled his eyes. "Don’t interrupt my thinking."

"You will pay the price for opposing the Court of Owls."

Schiller seemed to be growing impatient with him. "What? Haven’t your companions’ experiences taught you to rein yourselves in a little?"

"You mean those idiots you trapped? I’m not like them…"

"I mean the ones who drowned in shit."

The person opposite him choked on his words. Apparently disgusted by his own instinctive association, he said, "You still dare mention that despicable trap!"

"It was still far better than your stupid, utterly uncreative plans. Water Source Plan? What other idiotic ideas do you have? An AllSpark Plan?"

"Idiotic plan?!" The other man raised his voice. "Look! We used Fine Wine to create a truly immortal madman! He will become Gotham’s eternal nightmare! Look outside…"

Outside the church, Batman had fallen into a bitter fight. The first wave of infected lunatics had already surrounded him, and he was being attacked by dozens of people at once. Even his superb martial arts had not gained him much advantage, and he had already suffered some injuries.

"What you created isn’t important. What’s important is that Batman didn’t choose him."

"What are you talking about? Can’t you see? Fine Wine is already boiling! It will spread throughout all of Gotham City! Everything you did was useless! This city will inevitably descend into madness…"

Schiller looked at Alberto, who was ganging up on Batman with a crowd of others, and sighed. "If I were Batman, I wouldn’t choose him either."

The bird-masked man continued talking to himself. "This is the greatest achievement of the Water Source Plan! Gotham’s eternally undying nightmare! As long as he exists, destruction and chaos will never cease! He will drag the entire city into the Abyss!!"

"…How should I put this?"

"Your formula is right, but you plugged in the wrong values."

Then he added with some emotion, "No one can control Batman, and no one can control his opponents either. Not even the Court of Owls."

"Batman? You mean that stray dog outside who’s about to be beaten to death?"

"I suggest you go save him now. Otherwise, it’ll be too late."

"Are you threatening me? How cliché…"

"No, of course not."

The bird-masked man stared at him and asked, "You still have the mood to play mysterious games? In less than ten hours, over half of Gotham City will be infected by madness. Do you understand how terrifying that situation will be?"

"That isn’t terrifying. You don’t understand. What’s truly terrifying isn’t a city under siege by zombies…"

Schiller sighed, seemingly no longer interested in talking to him. He vanished before the man’s eyes, teleporting to the top of the cathedral’s bell tower, where he finished the sentence he had left unfinished: "What’s truly terrifying is… Return of the Joker."

Below, the situation had become increasingly unfavorable for Batman. There were simply too many people attacking him.

At this point, Batman did not have the ability to fly through the sky or burrow through the earth. Suddenly thrown into such a brutal fight, it was difficult for him to gain the upper hand. More importantly, these lunatics had no regard for anything. Many of the methods he used to disrupt opponents were useless against them. They did not respond to any of it. Even when Batarangs struck vital areas like their eyes, they would still scream and pounce at him.

Batman had never faced opponents who feared death so little. His lack of experience cost him.

Batman felt blood running from his forehead into his eyes, turning his vision crimson. A brick struck his calf, and searing pain shot through his ankle, forcing him down onto one knee. Then came fists and weapons raining down like raindrops. Chaotic noises began ringing in his head, and it felt as though all his internal organs had been displaced.

Batman fell, gasping heavily.

Through his blurred vision, he saw a flash of intense light on the street before the church. He saw countless legs surrounding him, like a dense black forest. Beyond that forest, a fierce beam of light shone in, melting away those pitch-black trunks.

In his daze, he saw that it was a truck’s high beams. As screams rose in the distance, an enormous truck crashed straight into the crowd, sending countless people flying before stopping in front of Batman.

Batman lay on the ground, gasping for breath. The instant he looked up, he saw a chalk-white face in the truck’s seat and a bizarre smile.

Boundless fear suddenly rose from within him. The black tide in his heart began to surge. Lying on the ground beneath the harsh headlights, he saw a night sky he knew well. Amid the shifting light and shadows, it seemed as though those familiar bats swept past once more.

He seemed to have become that helpless Little Bruce again. Blood dripped from his forehead and splattered onto the ground like a string of crimson pearls.

He heard laughter. It was not as loud or piercing as what he had heard before. Instead, it was low and gentle, as though it were ringing within his heart. Yet it made Batman desperately want to crawl to his feet and see who it was.

Alberto turned toward the truck. Its door opened, and the driver inside wore work clothes. He laughed softly, his shoulders shaking again and again as though he were admiring his masterpiece.

That laughter did not sound mad at all. It even carried a trace of childish innocence, like a child using a toy truck to knock over toy soldiers, watching his toys fall while freely indulging in the malice unique to children.

Alberto and the other lunatics froze for only a moment before beginning to attack the unfamiliar intruder.

Unexpectedly, the truck driver cried out in alarm, as though he had only just realized what was happening. He wailed and ran away, practically fleeing with his head in his hands.

He ran across the street, hid beside the wall of a building, and peeked around the corner as though curiously observing what was happening here.

Alberto lowered his head, intending to continue dealing with the fallen Batman.

Then the truck exploded.

A tremendous roar erupted, flames burst outward, and the entire church along with the street in front of it instantly became ruins.

Only a small section of the church farther from the street survived. Schiller’s figure appeared once again atop its spire.

A figure limped out from across the street. Clearly, he had been caught in the blast as well. His face and head were covered in blood, and one of his legs was injured, but he still ran toward the center of the explosion as though overjoyed.

Once he arrived, he looked around in confusion, apparently unable to find what he was seeking. Suddenly, a figure appeared not far from him. Schiller raised a hand, pointed to the right, and said, "Batman was just blown away. He’s over there."

The truck driver examined Schiller, blinking as though he did not quite understand how Schiller had appeared.

Schiller ignored him and said to himself, "The person I’m looking for… Let me see… Oh, here he is. How did he fly so far?"

"That’s because I made a biiiiig bomb!" A burst of snickering accompanied the hoarse voice.

"Mm, the bomb was indeed powerful enough. You solved the problem with physics." Schiller’s tone was rather perfunctory.

The truck driver glared at him and asked, "Are you saying I was too rough? How could you say that?"

"I suggest you hurry and find Batman. If you wait any longer, he’ll die."

As though suddenly enlightened, the man hurriedly limped in the direction Schiller had pointed.

Schiller went around the church entrance and found Alberto amid the ruins across from it. Walking over with his arms folded, he said gleefully, "The Dionysus Factor only makes you unable to die. It doesn’t make you unable to feel pain. How does it feel, young master Falcone?"

Then his tone gradually turned cold. "Or should I call you Alberto, Talon of the Court of Owls?"

Schiller turned and saw that the person in the bird-shaped mask was also lying on the ground, covered in blood and looking close to death.

Schiller said gleefully again, "I told you something very frightening would happen, but you insisted on not listening. Without any means of escape, you still dared get so close to the center of the battlefield. I don’t know whether to praise you for being brave or call you stupid."

As the only person on the battlefield still standing completely unharmed, Schiller began mercilessly mocking them. Imitating the Court of Owls member, he said, "Look, look over there. That is the great creation of your Water Source Plan!"

"Oh, that isn’t quite accurate. He was neither created by you nor does he listen to you at all."

Whether from anger or because he wanted to speak but choked on something, the Court of Owls member broke into violent coughing, blood covering his mouth and face.

Schiller turned to Alberto again and said, "If Batman had chosen you, perhaps things would have been different. But unfortunately, he didn’t."

"Not just him. No one chose you, including me."

Alberto, whose recovery had been greatly enhanced by the Dionysus Factor, soon escaped his near-death state. He had a bad feeling.

Then he suddenly realized that his body was no longer under his control.

He looked at Schiller in terror and saw gray mist spilling from his eyes. Alberto gripped his own throat and said, "No, no!!!"

Schiller muttered, "This really is the Easter gift I gave you…"

A wisp of gray mist glowing with a dim green light floated out of Alberto’s eyes. Schiller took out a jar, caught the wisp inside, and screwed on the lid.

"Happy Easter, Evans."

The blond youth lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.

Holding the jar, Schiller walked to the Court of Owls member and shook it in front of him. "Thank you for helping me extract pure Dionysus Factor."

The final thing the Court of Owls member saw before he died was Schiller’s chilling smile.

Aha!

Just when you thought the Joker had appeared,

He hadn’t appeared.

Just when you thought he hadn’t appeared,

He had still appeared.

Hahahahaha, so many people fell for my feint. Hahahahahahaha, I stayed up all night writing out the answer. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha, I’d been waiting for this part for a long time. Hahahahahahaha, I thought of it before I even had an outline. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, writing is so much fun. Hahahahahahaha