The air inside the factory was thick with dust and tension. The protagonist stood amidst the wreckage, the remnants of his cursed energy still lingering in the space. Metal beams lay split in half, machinery cut down as though by some invisible force. He had done this. He had unlocked Dismantle, but using it effectively—mastering it—was a different matter altogether.
His breathing was steady as he stepped toward one of the larger machines that still stood, despite being partially sliced by his previous attacks. His body pulsed with the rhythm of cursed energy, coursing through him like a second heart, fueling the strange and violent abilities at his command. Cleave had become instinctual, precise, but Dismantle—that was raw power, a force of pure destruction that could lay waste to anything in his path. It was the edge he needed to refine.
Raising his hand, he let the cursed energy flow through his arm, focusing on the massive piece of rusted machinery in front of him. The trick wasn't just to obliterate. He knew he could do that now. He had to control it, to bend the chaos to his will, turning it into something more efficient than just unbridled devastation. If Cleave was about precision, then Dismantle had to be the embodiment of controlled chaos.
With a slow breath, he released the attack. The slash was almost imperceptible, a thin line of cursed energy that moved with frightening speed. The air shimmered for a moment, and then the machinery groaned as it split cleanly in half, collapsing to the ground with a metallic crash.
The sound echoed throughout the factory, and a small sense of satisfaction crept through him. The power was his now, fully under his control.
But before he could revel in his success, his mind shifted. Penguin. He had sent his message, and Gotham's underworld would respond soon. The anticipation of retaliation settled in his gut, cold and hard. He couldn't allow himself to be caught off guard. His power might have grown, but he had no intention of getting careless.
Penguin would send more than just thugs next time. Something stronger. More organized. He would need to be ready.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Elsewhere, deep in the heart of Gotham, Bruce Wayne sat in the Batcave, going over the latest news from the GCPD. His fingers tapped against the keyboard, bringing up reports that highlighted a new string of murders. Six men, all connected to Oswald Cobblepot, had been found brutally slain near a downtown alley. The police had no leads—no witnesses, no real clues—but the sheer violence of the crime had caught Bruce's attention.
The slashes on the bodies had been too clean. It wasn't a normal fight, nor did it look like an attack from any of Gotham's usual criminals. This was something else. Something calculated.
Batman pulled up the images from the crime scene on his screen. He zoomed in on the wounds, studying the cuts. They were too precise for knives or even swords. Something else had caused these injuries, and whatever it was, it wasn't a weapon he had seen before.
He closed the file and stood up, his cape flowing behind him as he moved toward the Batmobile. Whoever had taken out Penguin's men was dangerous, and it wasn't just because of the body count. This wasn't a simple street war between gangs. The efficiency of the murders suggested something more—someone more.
Bruce didn't believe in coincidences. Something new had arrived in Gotham, and it was time to find out what.
Back at the factory, the protagonist felt the shift in the atmosphere. He had trained enough for now, but something told him he needed to move. His instincts sharpened by the cursed energy, he sensed that the city was beginning to notice his presence.
Stepping out of the factory, he moved silently through the streets. The shadows were familiar, and he knew how to navigate them without drawing attention. But Gotham was different tonight. He could feel the eyes on him. Someone was watching.
His mind flicked to the thug he had left alive. The message had been sent, but Penguin hadn't responded yet. Instead, something else was coming for him. Not more thugs, but something—or someone—more dangerous. His cursed energy rippled beneath his skin, ready to be called upon at a moment's notice.
The rooftops loomed overhead as he made his way through the back alleys. Every step felt calculated, each move deliberate. He could almost sense the disturbance in the air before he heard it—the faintest sound of something dropping onto the roof behind him. Silent, but not silent enough.
He froze, his heart rate steady despite the sudden tension. Whoever was following him was good—better than the thugs Penguin had sent.
Without turning around, he spoke into the night, his voice low. "You can come out."
There was no immediate response, just the quiet of the city, but then a figure dropped down from the rooftop, landing with a grace that most people couldn't manage. Cloaked in shadow, the figure stepped forward, and for the first time, the protagonist saw him. Batman.
The Dark Knight's cape billowed slightly as he took a few more steps, his eyes narrowing beneath the cowl. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The two stood across from each other, sizing one another up in the dim light of the alleyway.
Batman's voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "You've been busy."
The protagonist didn't flinch. "I don't have time for your games, Batman."
"I'm not here to play games." Batman's tone was sharp, but controlled. "Six dead, all of them connected to the Penguin. That's not a coincidence."
"And?"
"And now I'm here. To make sure Gotham doesn't become your playground."
The protagonist's eyes narrowed. He could feel the cursed energy swelling inside him, but he kept it in check. He wasn't ready for a fight with Batman—not yet.
"I'm not your problem," the protagonist said coldly, turning his back on the Dark Knight.
"Walk away, and you will be," Batman replied, his voice low and deliberate.
The protagonist paused, his fists clenching as he fought the urge to unleash Cleave right then and there. But he knew better. This wasn't the time. Not yet.
Without another word, he walked into the shadows, leaving Batman standing in the alley behind him.
But as he disappeared into the night, one thing was clear: Gotham wasn't the only one watching anymore. Batman was on his trail, and the stakes had just gotten higher.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. This power… it was terrifyingly satisfying.
He had unlocked Dismantle now, and his cursed energy was just beginning to awaken. Soon, Gotham would know exactly what it was up against.
And not even Batman would be able to stop him.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Meanwhile, back at the Iceberg Lounge, Oswald Cobblepot sat at his desk, reviewing the reports his lieutenant had brought him. The kid had been right—this new player in Gotham wasn't someone to be underestimated. His men hadn't just been killed; they had been slaughtered.
Cobblepot leaned back in his chair, puffing on his cigar as he considered his next move. This mysterious figure had sent him a message, but Oswald Cobblepot didn't get to where he was by backing down from a challenge.
No, he would make the next move. And when he did, he would make sure this intruder regretted ever stepping foot in his city.
He picked up the phone, dialing a number he rarely used. It was time to call in a favor from one of Gotham's deadliest.
"Send the word out," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "I want him found."