Superman's body seemed capable of blocking the radiation from the Kryptonite, Clark felt the effects of the deadly radiation on him were diminishing, he took a deep breath, stood up, and slowly walked over.
"What exactly is going on?"
"He used his body to seal it," Batwoman said, "Probably worried that if someone found it, they would be affected by the stone."
"Kryptonite has radiation effects on ordinary people," Clark said, giving Batwoman a perplexed look, then added, "He might have been concerned that if people saw him collapsed on the ground and approached, they would be affected by the radiation."
Batwoman had evidently also deduced this; the images broadcast in the news reports were real, though not complete. Superman, as he was falling, clutched the arrowhead tightly, which was fitted with this ring.
Probably the moment he was attacked, Superman realized what had hit him, and his first thought was the lethal radiation effect on the ordinary people; he had to find a way to block the radiation.
"Ordinary people are indeed very vulnerable," Clark said, "But if a person is lying on the ground, not knowing if they're alive or dead, there will always be someone who comes to help, regardless of how strong they are."
"You..." Clark looked at Batwoman hesitantly again, and Batwoman shook her head, saying, "My suit is radiation-proof."
What Clark wanted to say was that upon seeing himself affected, his first instinct was to shove the Kryptonite ring back into Superman's hands. Did that mean he was different from other Supermen?
Wait, now was not the time to think about this. Clark shook his head and went over to check; there were no visible injuries on Superman's body, indicating that the culprit behind his fall was this ring.
"King Robin..." Batwoman murmured the name while pondering.
"Wait." Clark called out, saying, "Something's not right, his spirit doesn't seem to be here."
Batwoman frowned at him.
"I've noticed, or to be precise, after participating in the Battleworld game, that my sense of Kryptonians is different from that of humans," he said.
"Go on."
"It's hard to explain, it's like an instinct. According to Batman, it might be because our brainwave intensities are completely different from humans', so they can't sync up. But with our kind, especially when the brainwaves are identical, the intensity is so high that it allows for a connection through the air," Clark explained.
Batwoman nodded, and Clark continued, "So when there are Kryptonians around, I can feel it, but right now I feel no presence of my kind here at all, which proves his brain isn't functioning. Put simply, his soul has flown away."
"Where has his soul gone?"
"I don't know," Clark pondered and said, "Only that Batman used a few of us as guinea pigs for his brainwave research. He mentioned something to me at that time, but I mostly didn't understand."
"Repeat it."
Clark roughly explained to Batwoman the theory of ghost radio waves and the possibility of brainwave coding, which were all proposed by Batman; he was just relaying the information.
After she had finished speaking, Batwoman fell into thought. She had never conducted research in this area before, but after all, she was also Batman; a single thought could make everything clear to her.
"So you're saying that kind of pollution might be... Can you find your universe's Batman?"
"Um..." Clark suddenly became a bit embarrassed, but he still said, "This fog significantly weakens my vision and hearing. Overall, my senses will become about the same as a normal human's."
"Is there no way for him to find you?"
"I guess he must be looking for me," Clark said. "The fog is too peculiar, normal people can't cope with it, but after all, I can fly, and he's likely in need of my help right now."
"He knows I'd be glad to help him, and that I'm also looking for him. So he might wait in a higher place, making it easier for me to spot him. But given the strangeness of this fog, he might also think of other methods."
As soon as the words left their mouths, both of them thought of the same thing—the Bat Light.
Clark flew out the window, and after gaining some altitude, he looked far into the distance. As expected, on the glass curtain wall of a building, he saw the familiar bat pattern.
That light was very strange, seeming as if it had been tuned to a different frequency, so it could propagate far through the fog. After flying down, Clark said to Batwoman, "He's not far from here, about 2 kilometers away. I'll go and bring him over, then you two can figure out what exactly is going on."
Batwoman nodded, and Batman was quickly brought over by Clark. He frowned looking at Superman on the bed, not because Superman was weak enough, but because his condition was somewhat similar to Arkham Batman's.
Jason was still lying in Parker's home within the dream. By the middle of the night, he had developed a fever again, and this time it was more violent. His consciousness had completely dissipated.
Spider-Man, who had returned from investigating, fed him another antipyretic. During the medication exchange, a flash of blood-red passed before Jason's eyes. Jason abruptly raised his arm and grabbed Spider-Man's wrist.
Jason couldn't speak, but still, he questioned with his eyes. Spider-Man gently pried his fingers open, pulled his hand back, and said, "I caught his tail, but unfortunately, he's too fast. I can't make head nor tail of his movements. I accidentally got slashed, but it's not serious, a band-aid will do."
Through his blurred vision, Jason could clearly see a cut on Spider-Man's wrist, where the launcher was strapped—the injury wasn't very big, roughly like being nicked by a small knife, but there was quite a bit of blood that stained his suit red.
Jason's tactical instinct told him that the opponent must have aimed to cut off the launcher on Spider-Man's wrist to limit his movement and combat abilities. It was only because Spider-Man dodged in time that he did not succeed.
Jason had been chased by this Blade Killer, and knew how bizarre his opponent was. The killer could always appear in all sorts of unpredictable corners and disappear just as mysteriously. Even he, with his rich combat experience, could only run for his life.
It was conceivable that, given Little Spider's combat experience, if his launcher were to be really knocked off, the chances of escaping were not great, and getting seriously injured would be considered lucky.
Moreover, the injured hand was his right hand. Because he needed to take care of himself in the afternoon, he hadn't done his homework. He didn't have time to write at night due to the investigation, and now with the injured hand, he wouldn't be able to make up for it in the morning. Without a doubt, he wouldn't be able to submit it tomorrow.
Moreover, you always have to write things at school. Right below the wrist was the injury, and however many days it took for the wound to heal, it would hurt to write for that many days.
"Is it necessary..." Jason muttered instinctively, no longer able to distinguish whether this place was reality or a dream.
Spider-Man sat down beside him, resting his hand on his knee, looking at the ceiling and said, "Yeah, is it necessary... I don't know either, maybe it was just an impulse, wanting to do it this way."