The Talon on the bottom let out a sickening "crack" as his spine momentarily failed, immobilizing him. The other Talon, now with three limbs broken, was equally incapacitated.
But the fight was far from over—four Talons remained, each one watching Batman with a predatory intensity.
The Talons were now realizing that the Court had severely underestimated Batman's power. They'd assumed Batman was the butler's son, so their main force had been dispatched elsewhere. Here in the Batcave, they'd only left a standard squad.
But if Batman was here, had their team failed to keep him occupied?
There was no time to consider this further. The unexpected strength of their opponent held them back, forcing them to circle, seeking a moment to attack.
Yet Batman was hardly going to give them that chance. Besides, with the Batcave's temperature now dangerously low, he himself needed to leave soon.
He moved first, lunging forward to disarm a Talon, taking his blade with a fluid motion. Batman, a weapons master skilled in all manner of bladed weapons, wielded it with impressive ease.
Batman didn't kill, but that never meant he held back from causing injury—something all of Gotham's rogues could readily attest to.
Just as he entered the Batcave, Batman spotted one of the Talons who had been immobilized by Alfred's swarm of bats. Frost had already formed on the Talon's body, and his self-healing had yet to complete.
This confirmed Batman's theory: wounded and assaulted by the extreme cold, the assassins temporarily lost their regenerative powers, or at least their cellular activity had slowed to a halt. Now, all he needed to do was immobilize them and let the cold freeze them into submission, ending this threat for good.
Using the blade he'd taken, Batman struck decisively at one of the Talons. As he slashed, the other Talons saw an opportunity and lunged to attack. But Batman, sensing the assault from behind, remained unfazed. He deftly twisted his blade, bending back to evade the incoming blows. In one fluid motion, he maneuvered to disarm all his attackers, forcing their weapons out of their hands with a few well-placed moves.
A sharp clang resounded as the metal weapons hit the ground.
The Talons stared down at their empty hands, realizing, almost instantly, that defeating Batman tonight was out of reach. A silent look of retreat passed between them—they needed to flee and bring reinforcements. But Batman, keenly perceptive, recognized their intent to escape.
That wouldn't be allowed.
Extending his right leg, Batman snapped one of the Talons' legs in a single precise kick, using immense force at just the right angle. As the Talon cried out, Batman seized him, quickly twisting and breaking both of his arms to render him completely immobile. He tossed the crippled assassin aside.
Three left.
He counted to himself.
Positioning himself to block the exit, Batman lunged at the next Talon, who fell after a brief struggle, unable to match Batman's sheer strength. With a few powerful strikes, this Talon too was left incapacitated on the cold stone floor.
Two remaining.
Batman turned his steely gaze on the last two Talons, his cold, piercing look making them hesitate. Overwhelmed by his strength and relentless resolve, they each took a fearful step back.
Finish this quickly, Batman reminded himself. He could feel the bite of the cold air through his armor, which, built for combat rather than insulation, offered little protection against these freezing temperatures. He needed to end this fast.
While the two Talons were momentarily stunned by his intimidating stare, Batman closed the distance between them, moving with swift precision. With a quick movement of his feet, he swept their legs out from under them, forcing both to their knees, face-to-face.
He placed a firm hand on the back of each of their heads. In a low, gravelly voice, he said, "It's over."
"Bang!"
With a final, forceful collision, he knocked their heads together, and both Talons slumped into unconsciousness.
Batman stood there, breathing out a slow, visible cloud of white mist.
...
Is this a dream or reality?
Whenever Harvey is alone, he loosens the bandages himself, staring at his disfigured face in the mirror, unable to stop wondering the same thing.
If it's a dream, how can it be so cruel, so real?
But if it is reality, why does he have to face all of this?
Harvey can clearly recall the look of horror in the nurse's eyes when she removed his bandages, along with the other people's expressions, wavering between pity and morbid fascination. Even his girlfriend, Gilda, couldn't hide her reaction when she saw his face—an expression that pierced Harvey deeply.
He had once thought he wouldn't care, but reality proved far harsher than he'd imagined.
Just one small bottle of acid had effortlessly destroyed everything, overturning his entire world.
Some of those who once flattered him had already disappeared from his life, which was the lesser blow. Worse were the ones who had shown their true, ugly faces, revealing contempt and cruelty. During his recovery, they were already planning to appoint a new prosecutor to replace him.
And what about him?
Harvey sneered bitterly. If his face could be restored, he might still have a place in politics. But if it couldn't…?
He turned his gaze to the newspaper lying on the table beside him, where the words "The Fall of Gotham's White Knight" were splashed in bold, impossible to ignore. It was, after all, the paper's biggest headline that day.
The media, greedy for a story, had once lavished him with all sorts of sycophantic praise. Harvey had grown numb to it. But now that he had fallen from grace, the media quickly changed its tune, racing to report on his downfall, as if lagging behind would make them irrelevant. Though their words seemed to express sympathy, Harvey could read the underlying glee in every line.
They judged him, discussed him, even pretended to care with hollow concern. Harvey saw it all too clearly—they were only using his misfortune as a talking point, so they'd have something to say in idle conversation.