Pfft!
Chen Tao spat his coffee all over the screen and smacked his head on the car roof.
He had just realized something terrible — this was the real world.
And Bane wasn't some game boss who would politely sit in his cave, waiting for the hero to grind levels, gather teammates, and challenge him when ready.
If the transmigrator Chen Tao had changed Batman's methods and behavior, then of course Bane would adjust his plans accordingly.
As the mastermind behind the Arkham breakout, Bane's original plan was simple: use the escaped lunatics to wear Batman down, exhaust him mentally and physically, then strike when he was weakest.
But with Chen Tao's arrival, the "Tire Out the Bat" plan was ruined.
Bruce Wayne's endless compulsion to save innocents had always held him back. Even when he saw through Bane's schemes, he still had to waste time fighting wave after wave of maniacs.
But Chen Tao?
Chen Tao didn't give a damn about a bunch of crazies throwing a party in his city.
Ding-ling-ling!
The alarm blared inside a Gotham bank.
A crowd of terrified civilians ran screaming through the front doors, followed by the Joker and his men, their arms full of bulging money bags.
The Clown Prince of Crime threw his arms wide open at the entrance, laughing wildly.
"Ha ha ha! Come on, Bats! Party time!"
No one answered.
The streets were empty — not a single police car in sight.
A gust of wind blew by, slapping a flyer onto the Joker's face. It read:
"Cast your sacred vote for Mayor Carroll!"
The Joker rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Hey… guys, I just got an idea. Hahaha—hahaha—HAHAHAHAHA!"
---
Meanwhile, back with Chen Tao—
A man as smart as Bane could never ignore the changes in Batman's behavior or the sudden appearance of mercenaries in the city.
Maybe Bane didn't know whether these mercs were allies or enemies. Maybe he simply sensed the truth.
But whatever the case — an unstable variable interfering in his conflict with Batman could only be solved one way:
Erase it. With brute force.
Yes — that was Bane's way.
The simpler and more direct the approach, the more effective it was.
The highest level of combat often comes down to the simplest moves.
Those who try to get fancy usually end up like Killer Croc — smashed and broken.
So now the plan changed.
No more "wait until Batman collapses from exhaustion, then kill him."
Now it was:
"Kill the mercenaries first — then kill Batman."
Holy crap.
Weren't villains supposed to let the hero grow stronger before killing him?
Chen Tao took a deep breath. Calm down. Think.
Bane was more decisive than Chen Tao had expected.
But there was still one thing Bane got wrong — he thought Batman was still as powerful as before.
That meant he wouldn't start the final battle until he was sure he had wiped out every interference that could lead to a siege situation.
So, if Deadshot and the others could just hold their ground, maybe even—
BANG!
Chen Tao froze as he saw Killer Croc's head smashed halfway into the dirt by Bane's punch.
He immediately grabbed the mic.
"Hang in there! Just stay alive!"
"F*ck!"
Sweat poured down Deadshot's forehead.
Two submachine guns and a pair of wrist-mounted rifles — four barrels in total — unleashed a storm of bullets.
Deadshot was confident: with his accuracy, even a fly couldn't get through that barrage.
And yet the impossible was happening before his eyes —
Bane was dancing through the bullets.
Spinning, leaping — the massive, muscle-bound monster moved like a butterfly through gunfire.
BOOM!
Deadshot swung out a rocket launcher, but at such close range, the cumbersome weapon was useless against Bane's agility.
"Damn it! If only I had—"
He didn't finish.
Bane was already in his face.
"HELP!"
CLANG!
Bane's eyes narrowed under the mask.
A blade slashed his skin — Cheshire Cat's strike.
The lithe, feline assassin twisted her body, unleashing a blow powerful enough to cleave steel.
But the Titan-venom-fueled Bane merely bled a little.
One punch — and her twin blades shattered like paper.
He spread his arms and smashed her into the air, sending her crashing through a building.
"Damn it!"
Deadshot's eyes darted to his remaining teammates.
Cheshire — down.
Killer Croc — down.
Tattooed Man —
Standing casually off to the side, shaking his head as he watched.
"Sigh… That's not how you fight, man."
"Bastard!"
Deadshot shouted, "Fall back! We can't—"
"Can't what? I don't believe that!"
Deadshot nearly choked on his breath.
Livewire stepped forward.
He grinned, his white teeth flashing, his Mexican-style braids whipping through the air.
In a blink, he hurled over a dozen lassos, wrapping Bane like a spiderweb.
"Hah! You losers see that? I got him! Still alive!"
"Don't get cocky—watch out!!!"
Too late.
Fool! If Bane could dodge bullets, what made him think ropes would work?
The next second, Bane ripped the reinforced cords apart like straw, yanked one end — and before Livewire could react, he was pulled forward, slammed into the ground again and again like a yo-yo.
Deadshot kept firing — to no effect.
He couldn't believe it. Bane was dodging bullets and beating Livewire at the same time, moving like some kind of musclebound breakdancer on steroids.
Tattooed Man whistled.
"Damn, if the floor had knives, he'd be dead already!"
"Shut the hell up!"
Livewire roared, dropping his ropes and unleashing a flurry of strikes.
His martial arts — like his lassos — were tight, choking, deadly.
"I don't believe it! You're human too, right—"
He heard Deadshot yelling something — "Don't do it!" — but ignored it.
He lunged.
Bane just stared blankly, almost dazed.
Livewire's grin widened.
The next moment —
Bane grabbed his arm and tore him apart.
Just like he'd torn the ropes.
Bane — destroyer of all flashy moves.
"Aaaaaaaah!!!"
Livewire's scream choked off midway.
RIP!
Muscle and bone tore like fibers.
Bane peeled the mangled body off his arm, wrung it out like a wet towel, and tossed it aside.
Tattooed Man muttered, "Wow. He's really dead, huh."
Deadshot clenched his jaw.
"Don't engage! Pull back—"
His employer's voice came through the earpiece:
"Get Killer Croc and retreat!"
"I know! Shut up!"
Deadshot gritted his teeth and opened fire again.
RATATATATA!
The muzzle flared — a metal storm that could shred any human.
But this time, Bane didn't even dodge.
Deadshot's eyes lit up.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Dozens of rounds slammed into Bane's chest, sizzling with heat. Smoke rose —
and when it cleared, only shallow dents and a trickle of blood.
"F*ck!"
Deadshot cursed.
"What kind of human is this?!"
He was about to retreat—
And then Tattooed Man stepped forward.
"You useless trash. Step aside. The Tattooed Man will handle this!"
Deadshot gave him a look that said, You've got to be kidding me.