Night wrapped Gotham in its usual shroud of mist and dim amber light.
Nolan stood at the tall windows of the penthouse once more, hands clasped behind his back, the city spread beneath him like a living map of veins and shadows. Traffic crawled far below, unaware of the games being played above it.
'It has to be tonight,' Vey said quietly in his mind.
Nolan's lips curved faintly. 'It has to,' Kieran agreed. 'There's no chance Batman lets Crane's death go unanswered.'
Nolan exhaled through his nose, a short, amused breath.
"Then I might as well save him the trouble," he murmured aloud. "Wouldn't want him breaking another window."
He stepped away from the glass and moved with unhurried purpose through the room.
The suit he chose this time was different from his usual—darker, more tactical in cut, but still elegant in that predatory, Gotham way. He slid a compact pistol into the inner breast pocket, feeling its weight settle comfortably against his ribs. A knife followed, fitted at his side near the waist where his hand could find it without thought. A few smaller tools disappeared into hidden seams and folds: insurance, contingencies, quiet little promises.
He caught his reflection once in a mirrored panel—calm, composed, eyes sharp—and nodded to it as if to an old ally.
The walk to the roof was brief. A private stairwell, a coded door, the whisper of hydraulics.
When he emerged, the difference was immediate.
The air up here was cleaner, cooler. The stench of Gotham—oil, smoke, rot—thinned into something almost crisp. Wind brushed across his face, playful, tugging his hair back as if trying to see him more clearly. He stepped toward the edge, boots silent on the stone, and lifted his gaze to the moon, half-choked by drifting clouds.
For a moment, there was peace.
Then his danger sense flared.
Not a thought. Not a warning. An instinctual spike, sharp and violent, screaming now.
Vey flowed into control seamlessly, twisting Nolan's body aside just as something cut through the space his head had occupied a heartbeat earlier. Air hissed where a blade—or something like one—passed.
Vey scoffed lightly, pivoting on the ball of his foot.
"I didn't think you'd attack right away, Batman," he said, already turning to meet the follow-up strike.
But the shape that came at him was wrong.
Not a cape. Not a familiar silhouette of pointed ears and flowing shadow.
This thing moved differently.
It was pale—deathly pale—its face frozen in a rictus that might once have been human. Eyes dull, almost lifeless, yet burning with a cold, predatory focus. Its movements were too precise, too quiet, like something that had been taught how to kill before it ever learned how to live.
Vey raised his guard instinctively, eyes narrowing.
When their gazes met, a chill ran through him—not fear, but recognition of something deeply unnatural.
"…You're not Batman," Vey said slowly.
The creature did not reply.
It only advanced again, silent as the grave.
A Talon had come for him.
The Talon moved first.
Just motion—pure, efficient, murderous movement.
Vey barely had time to shift his weight before the thing was on him again, blades flashing in the cold moonlight. He slipped inside its reach, twisting low, and drove his knife hard into the Talon's side, aiming for where ribs should part, where organs should fail.
The blade sank in.
And the Talon didn't even grunt.
Vey's eyes narrowed as he ripped the knife free and stabbed again—once, twice, three times—targeting joints, neck, the hollow beneath the collarbone. Precise. Surgical. Each strike would have ended a normal man.
The Talon didn't slow.
It caught his wrist mid-motion, its grip inhumanly strong, and flung him sideways. Vey hit the rooftop and rolled, boots scraping stone as he came back up into a guard.
"What the fuck…" he muttered.
The Talon advanced again, expression unchanged, blood—dark and almost too thick—sliding from wounds that refused to matter.
Vey reached inward, instinctively touching the strange, prismatic sense that let him see what others couldn't. He focused, expecting the familiar shimmer of emotion, fear, rage, intent.
There was nothing.
No color.
No hue.
Just a flat, empty grey.
Like staring into fog where a soul should be.
His eyes flicked back up, a rare edge of genuine surprise cutting through his usual composure.
"You don't even have an aura…"
The Talon lunged.
Vey snapped his pistol up in one smooth motion and fired twice, center mass. The shots thundered across the rooftop, echoes swallowed by the night. Both rounds struck cleanly in the chest, punching through the Talon's armor and flesh.
It didn't flinch.
Didn't stagger.
Didn't even slow.
Instead, it surged forward through the impact, slamming into Vey like a freight train.
They crashed to the rooftop, stone cracking beneath them. Vey twisted hard, narrowly avoiding the downward stab aimed for his throat—but the blade still caught him, slicing along his left arm from shoulder to forearm. Pain flared hot and sharp as blood immediately soaked into the sleeve of his suit.
Vey hissed and shoved the Talon off with both legs, rolling away before it could press the advantage.
He came up low, breathing steady despite the burning in his arm. The Talon rose at the same time, movements eerily smooth, like a corpse animated by perfect technique.
"Alright," Vey said quietly, circling. "So that's how this is going to be."
The Talon rushed again.
This time Vey met it head-on.
He ducked under a horizontal slash, drove his shoulder into the Talon's chest, and carried them both toward the edge of the roof. At the last second he pivoted, using the creature's momentum to hurl it into a concrete vent. The structure shattered under the impact, debris spraying across the rooftop.
Vey didn't wait.
He was on it instantly, knife flashing in a brutal downward arc—aiming for the eye.
The Talon's head snapped to the side, the blade carving a deep line across its mask and cheek instead. Vey followed with a kick to the knee, then another stab into the exposed joint behind it.
The leg buckled.
For the first time, the Talon dropped to one knee.
Vey pressed the advantage, slamming his boot into its chest and sending it skidding across the rooftop. He stalked after it, blood dripping from his arm, adrenaline drowning out the pain.
But as he closed in, the Talon twisted unnaturally, using one hand to vault itself back upright in a fluid, almost acrobatic motion—and countered with a spinning strike that clipped Vey's jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways.
Stars burst across his vision.
He staggered, barely bringing his guard up in time to block the next thrust, metal screeching against metal as blade met blade. The force behind the blow drove him back several steps.
It doesn't tire, Nolan's voice said in his mind, tight.
It doesn't feel pain either, Vey replied grimly.
The Talon pressed him, a relentless storm of precision strikes. Every movement was optimized for killing. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Vey found himself forced into pure reaction, parrying and dodging in rapid succession, each block jarring his already-injured arm.
He ducked a high slash and answered with a vicious elbow to the Talon's throat, then slammed the pistol butt into its temple.
The impact would have dropped a man.
The Talon merely tilted, then drove its knee into Vey's ribs.
Air exploded from his lungs as he was thrown back again, rolling to a stop near the edge of the roof. For a split second, Gotham yawned beneath him—miles of darkness waiting to swallow him whole.
Vey pushed himself up, chest heaving now, blood slick on stone beneath his palm.
The Talon advanced, slow this time. Deliberate. As if it already knew the outcome.
Vey wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and smiled—a sharp, feral thing.
"You're not human," he said. "Fine. Neither am I… exactly."
He surged forward again, not with finesse now, but with raw violence—driving into the Talon, forcing it back step by step. He slammed it against a steel housing, then rammed his knife deep into its shoulder and twisted.
Bone cracked.
Still, the Talon fought.
It headbutted him, split his brow, and raked its blade across his side. Vey barely felt it through the roar of adrenaline as he grabbed the Talon by the throat and smashed its head into the steel behind it—once, twice, three times—until dents marred the metal and dark blood spattered across it.
Finally, the Talon sagged for just a heartbeat.
Not unconscious.
Not defeated.
Just… momentarily slowed.
Vey staggered back a step, breathing hard, blood dripping steadily from multiple wounds, eyes locked on the thing that refused to die.
"…You Court bastards really don't play fair," he muttered.
The Talon came again.
Not with fury, not with rage—but with cold precision, closing the gap in a blink, blade angled for Vey's throat. Vey shifted his weight, preparing to slip past it—
—and never saw the second one.
It dropped from the rooftop access tower like a corpse thrown by the night itself, pale armor flashing as it pounced from behind, arms locking around Vey's shoulders, knife driving down toward the side of his neck.
It would have taken him.
But something black and massive slammed into it from the side.
Batman.
He hit the Talon mid-air, a brutal flying kick that sent both of them skidding across the concrete in a shower of sparks and dust. The grip on Vey vanished. Vey staggered forward, barely avoiding the first Talon's blade as it cut through the space his head had been an instant before.
Vey spun away, laughing breathlessly as he came up with his knife ready.
"Took you long enough, Bats."
Batman didn't rise to the bait. He was already on his feet, cape settling, eyes locked on the pale shapes moving in the dark.
"These aren't men," Batman said, voice low and tight. "What are they?"
Vey slashed at the Talon nearest him, forcing it back a step.
"No idea," he replied. "But they don't feel pain. And they don't stay dead."
Almost on cue, the Talon Batman had just kicked aside rose again, joints snapping back into place with a sickening smoothness.
Batman's jaw tightened.
Then both Talons attacked together.
One went for Batman high and fast, blades flashing in a blur meant to overwhelm. The other rushed Vey low, aiming to hamstring him before he could react.
Vey met his with steel.
He drove his knife into the Talon's thigh, twisted, ripped it free—and got nothing for it but resistance, as if he were carving marble instead of flesh. The Talon didn't slow. It answered with a sweeping strike that Vey barely ducked, feeling the blade skim his hair.
Across the rooftop, Batman was already in motion.
He caught the first Talon's wrist mid-strike, twisted hard enough to dislocate a human arm, then used the leverage to slam it face-first into the concrete. The impact cracked stone.
It still tried to rise.
"Persistent," Batman growled.
Vey slid in without thinking, timing his movement perfectly with Batman's. As Batman hauled the Talon up by its collar and yanked it forward, Vey drove a brutal kick into its knee from the side. The joint snapped sideways with a sharp crack, finally dropping the creature to one leg.
Batman followed immediately, smashing his elbow down into its neck.
The Talon collapsed—but only for a second.
The other Talon lunged at Vey again, blade aimed for his heart.
Batman intercepted, cape flaring as he stepped into its path and took the strike on his gauntlet. He locked the arm, twisted, and flung the Talon straight at Vey.
Vey didn't hesitate.
He caught it with a shoulder check and used its momentum to slam it into a ventilation unit, metal shrieking as it dented inward. He planted a foot against its chest and shoved it back hard.
They stood side by side now.
Breathing hard. Blood on concrete. Pale figures rising again in front of them.
"You will explain this." Batman said without looking at him.
Vey smirked faintly.
"If I feel like it."
The Talons charged again.
Batman and Vey moved together without a word—no planning, no signals, just instinct.
Batman dove low, sweeping the legs out from under one Talon while Vey leapt over him, bringing both blades down in a crossing strike against the second's shoulders. Batman rolled through the sweep and came up driving his knee into the first Talon's chest, launching it backward into Vey's waiting knife.
For a heartbeat, it looked like it might finally stay down.
Then its fingers twitched.
Vey exhaled sharply.
"Yeah. Definitely not staying dead."
The fight split naturally.
Batman drew one Talon away with a sharp movement, cape snapping as he retreated toward the far edge of the roof. Vey stayed behind with the other, circling it slowly, eyes narrowed, mind working fast.
They weren't reacting like men.
No flinch. No hesitation. No fatigue.
Vey tested it with a feint. The Talon answered instantly, blade whipping toward his throat. He slipped inside the strike, took a shallow cut across his shoulder, and drove his knee up into its ribs hard enough to crack armor.
It barely slowed.
"Alright," Vey muttered. "If you won't feel it… let's see if you can think without it."
He baited the Talon forward, letting it overcommit, then dropped low and swept its legs. The thing hit the ground hard, still trying to rise even as Vey mounted it, one knee pinning its chest.
It reached for him.
Vey didn't hesitate.
He slammed the pommel of his knife into the side of its helmet, once—twice—then twisted the blade and drove it up beneath the jawline, into the base of the skull.
The Talon jerked violently.
Vey grabbed its head with both hands and wrenched.
There was a wet, grinding sound as the blade tore through what little resistance remained. The head split, cracked, and collapsed inward like a broken mask.
The body went still.
For the first time since they'd appeared, one of them stopped moving.
Vey rose slowly, chest heaving, eyes snapping to Batman.
Across the rooftop, Batman had forced his opponent back toward the concrete edge. The Talon lunged again, faster than before—
Batman planted his feet and triggered something from his gauntlet.
Blue-white arcs of electricity snapped out, wrapping around the Talon's limbs. Its body seized mid-stride, joints locking as the current coursed through it. It stood frozen in place, vibrating faintly, blade dropping from nerveless fingers.
Batman stepped in close.
"Now," he said sharply.
Vey didn't waste the opening.
He drew his pistol in one smooth motion and fired once.
The round punched through the Talon's temple and out the other side, fragments of pale armor and dark matter spraying across the concrete behind it. The frozen body shuddered once… then collapsed forward, dead weight at Batman's feet.
Silence rushed in.
Only the wind remained, rolling across the rooftop, carrying the distant sounds of Gotham far below.
Vey lowered the gun slowly.
Batman stood still for a long moment, staring down at the fallen Talon, eyes narrowed behind the cowl.
The wind rolled across the rooftop, cold and sharp, tugging at Batman's cape and flattening Vey's hair against his head. The city below kept breathing, indifferent to the violence that had just stained its heights.
Batman broke the silence first.
"You didn't have to kill them," he said, voice low and controlled. "They could've been detained."
Vey scoffed, not even turning at first.
"Detained?" he echoed. "You think I crossed some line tonight?"
He finally faced him, eyes hard.
"They weren't human. You didn't break your little rule, Batman—those things were long dead."
Batman didn't reply immediately.
His gaze moved from the ruined bodies back to Vey, sharp and searching.
"Explain who sent them Vey."