Chapter 1: Blood Moon Over Gotham
The fog rolled over Gotham Harbor, its thick strands creeping like it had a mind of its own. Detective Harvey Bullock pulled his coat closer as he stood over the third body that week, the air heavy with salt and a faint metallic scent. Beneath the flickering streetlight, the corpse lay pale in the amber glow.
"Same as the others?" Commissioner Gordon asked, his rugged face grim as he approached the crime scene tape.
"Worse." Bullock flicked ash from his cigarette, the ember barely visible in the thick mist. "This one's completely drained. Not a drop of blood left, Jim. Coroner says it's like someone hooked him up to a vacuum."
Gordon knelt beside the body, studying the twin puncture wounds on the victim's neck with growing unease. The marks were clean and precise, almost surgical, yet primitive in a way that hinted at something old and dangerous.
Around the corpse, symbols had been carved into the concrete with what looked like a blade: ancient markings that seemed to writhe in the dim light.
"Any witnesses?"
"You kidding? In this part of town?" Bullock gestured toward the abandoned warehouses that lined the harbor. "Even the rats don't come down here after midnight anymore."
The fog continued to thicken, rolling inland from the harbor in waves. It wasn't natural fog—Gordon had lived in Gotham long enough to know the difference.
The temperature had dropped fifteen degrees since sunset, and now frost was beginning to form on the windows of nearby buildings despite the fact that it was mid-September.
"Commissioner Gordon."
Both men turned at the sound of the familiar gravelly voice. Batman emerged from the shadows between two shipping containers, his cape seeming to merge with the darkness itself. Even after years of partnership, Gordon still felt his heart skip when the Dark Knight appeared without warning.
"Batman." Gordon stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "Three victims in four days, all with the same m.o. What do you make of it?"
Batman approached the corpse with his characteristic silent stride, every movement precise and controlled. He knelt where Gordon had been, pulling out a small UV light from his utility belt. Under the purple glow, the carved symbols seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy.
"These symbols are pre-Christian," Batman said, his voice carrying that familiar note of absolute certainty. "Possibly Romanian in origin. The wounds are too precise to be random and the complete blood drainage..." He paused, studying the puncture marks more closely. "There's no equipment sophisticated enough to do this without leaving any trace evidence."
"So what are we looking at?" Bullock asked, though his tone suggested he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Batman stood slowly, his cowled face turning toward the harbor where the fog continued to pour in like a slow-motion tsunami. "Someone with very old knowledge and very specific appetites."
The three men stood in uncomfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Gordon had seen plenty in his years as a cop, but something about these murders felt different. It was as if Gotham itself was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to emerge from the mist.
A ship's horn echoed across the harbor, low and mournful. The sound seemed to hang in the air longer than it should have, bouncing off the buildings like a fading echo. Batman's head snapped toward the source of the sound, his body tensing like a predator sensing prey.
"There's something else," he said quietly. "The fog isn't random. It's moving in a pattern, following the old shipping channels. Whatever's coming into Gotham came by water."
Gordon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature. "Coming in? You think this is just the beginning?"
Instead of answering directly, Batman pulled out his grappling gun and fired it toward the nearest warehouse roof. As the line caught and he prepared to swing away, he looked back at Gordon with an expression that might have been concern—if Batman was capable of such human emotions.
"Keep your men away from the harbor district after dark, Commissioner. And if you get any more calls like this..." He gestured toward the drained corpse. "Don't investigate without backup. Good backup."
With that, he triggered the grappling gun's retraction motor and vanished into the fog, leaving Gordon and Bullock alone with the dead man and the growing sense that something was changing fundamentally in their city.
As if summoned by Batman's departure, the fog thickened even more, swirling tighter around the crime scene. The streetlights began to flicker, casting dancing shadows that seemed to move strangely in unnatural ways. Somewhere in the distance, a dog began howling—the sound raw and fearful, cutting through the air like a warning.
"Jim," Bullock said quietly, his usual bravado replaced by genuine unease. "Maybe we should call this in and get back to the precinct."
Gordon nodded, but as they prepared to leave, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Not by human eyes, but by something older waiting with infinite patience. The fog closed in as they made their way to the car, and for a moment, Gordon could have sworn he heard laughter—soft, refined, and utterly devoid of warmth.
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Twenty miles above the city, Batman perched on the edge of Wayne Tower's communications array, his cape whipping in the wind. Through his cowl's enhanced optics, he could see the unnatural mist spreading through Gotham's streets like spilled blood, moving in ways no natural weather could.
The symbols at the crime scene had been troubling enough, but it was the M.O of the murders that concerned him most. Three victims, all found in locations that formed a triangle when mapped—a triangle that pointed directly toward the heart of Gotham's oldest district, where the city's founding families had built their first mansions and churches.
He activated his comm system, connecting to the Batcave's main computer. "Alfred, I need you to research pre-Christian Romanian symbols, specifically ones associated with blood rituals. Cross-reference with any unusual shipping manifests from the past week."
"Very good, sir," came Alfred's crisp British accent through the comm. "Might I inquire what has prompted this rather eccentric research request?"
Batman watched the fog continue its relentless advance through the city below. Street by street, block by block, it was claiming territory with patience. "Someone's announcing their arrival, Alfred. And they're not here to make friends."
As he spoke, the fog reached the base of Wayne Tower, and for the first time in his career as Batman, Bruce Wayne felt something rare: uncertainty. The symbols, the blood drainage, the unnatural fog—none of it fit within his usual bounds of crime and justice.
In the distance, church bells marked midnight, their bronze voices rolling over the fog-covered city. As the final chime faded, Batman fired his grappling gun toward the harbor, swinging through the mist toward whatever was waiting for him in the darkness. Behind him, the blood moon broke through the clouds, casting a red glow over Gotham and making the fog shine like dark wine.