"You just need to—"
"Shut up. I'm running. Don't— don't say anything about those two hundred million dollars. I'm afraid I might actually be tempted. No amount of money is worth dying for…"
"You're right. Staying alive comes first. Floyd Lawton—work with Cheshire, and you might still have a chance."
Deadshot froze mid-step, staring coldly at the figure who emerged from the shadows. The Ventriloquist.
That old bastard had been hiding the entire time, and now he chose to show up?
"Oh, my sincerest apologies, Mr. Lawton," the Ventriloquist said softly. "But Baby Batman insisted I do this!"
Though his tone sounded polite, the muzzle of the Thompson submachine gun in his hand was firmly pointed at Deadshot. His round, chubby face gleamed behind the glasses, reflecting a ghostly light.
"Don't make me do this, Lawton."
A deeper, raspier voice came—not from the man, but from the puppet in his hand, the so-called Baby Batman.
Deadshot's heart sank. "Arnold, you—"
"—If you don't attack him, I'll attack you."
Inside, Chen Tao couldn't help silently giving the Ventriloquist a thumbs-up.
Good! You understand what it means to be a proper enforcer.
"F***!"
Deadshot swore loudly. The Ventriloquist was right—
With Cheshire buying time up front, they might actually last a full minute.
But if he turned his gun on the Ventriloquist now, he'd be stuck between two monsters—front and back—and die even faster.
"One minute!" he cursed. "Just one damn minute!"
Then he raised the rocket launcher—and fired straight at Bane.
Whoosh!
"Move!"
Cheshire, darting back and forth, almost got blown sky-high by the explosion. She flipped, rolled, and barely landed out of harm's way, gasping heavily now—her once-calm voice gone ragged.
"You idiot! You mangy dog! You nearly blew me up!"
Countdown: 50 seconds.
BOOM!
Flames and smoke engulfed Bane—but Deadshot knew this kind of weapon could only knock him back, not truly harm him.
He fired again and again, then rolled behind the wreckage of a car.
Countdown: 40 seconds.
Bane leapt out of the smoke like a beast reborn. Cheshire tried to intercept him again, but he ignored her completely—his eyes locked on Deadshot.
Then he dashed forward like lightning—every step a blur, as if he were teleporting.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Four shots cracked through the air, and the four spotlights illuminating the area shattered all at once.
Bane's steps faltered slightly, but the silvery moonlight still guided his way.
BOOM!
The spot where Deadshot had just been hiding exploded under Bane's kick.
Concrete and debris flew up like grass clippings from a mower, raining into the sky.
Deadshot barely had time to feel relief before he saw several steel rods and slabs of rubble hurtling straight toward him—each one deadly accurate.
"Ah!"
He screamed.
He barely dodged the rebar that would've skewered him—but a heavy block of concrete smashed down on his shoulder.
Damn it—Bane hadn't been fooled at all!
Bane wasn't just brute strength; he was second only to Batman and Mister Miracle when it came to escape artistry.
Trying to use misdirection in front of him was like showing off card tricks to a magician.
Instead of buying time, Deadshot's ploy had only let Bane turn the tables—and land a clean hit.
Click!
Click!
Click!
Even injured, Deadshot kept firing rockets one after another—three in rapid succession.
This burst-fire technique maximized the blast radius—at least, it should've slowed him down—
And then Deadshot froze.
He watched, dumbfounded, as Bane caught all three rockets—bare-handed.
Then, with the motion of an ancient demigod hurling a javelin, Bane threw them all back.
Deadshot's pupils reflected the gleaming warheads.
"…F*** you."
Countdown: 30 seconds.
KA-BOOOOM!
The world erupted.
Shards of stone rained down like a storm. Deadshot spat blood, his back burning in agony.
Only his reinforced armor had kept him from being vaporized.
He tried to crawl away—
But despair struck when he realized a massive slab of concrete had pinned his leg.
Bane loomed above him, calm and unhurried.
Heh… the world's greatest marksman, killed by his own rocket.
Wasn't that the joke of the century?
Cheshire tried to run—but without Deadshot's cover, Bane caught her instantly.
One punch—
Deadshot watched as she flew across the ground like a kicked soccer ball, plowing through dust and debris before crashing into a pile of rubble and going still.
Countdown: 20 seconds.
Deadshot laughed bitterly—then coughed up another mouthful of blood.
His insides were probably shredded by now.
Didn't matter anymore.
He watched blankly as Bane walked toward him, each step heavier than the last.
His entire life flashed before his eyes—
Like a film reel spinning in his mind.
Damn… he actually got hit hard enough to see his own flashbacks. The thought almost made him laugh.
His childhood in poverty.
His dream of being an artist.
Those twelve bullets that pierced his parents and sister.
His broken life.
His years in the army.
The mercenary work.
And then—
His daughter.
"Zoe…"
Countdown: 10 seconds.
So this was it.
This was the end of Floyd Lawton.
Oh, moon… cold and dim, yet bright and eternal.
…
…
…
The world breathed—quietly, after the storm of fire and smoke.
There was no army left here…
except me.
No authority…
except me.
No hope…
except me.
No Batman, no one else.
Only Bane.
Countdown: 3 seconds.
Bane reached out his hand toward Deadshot—
That fatal, final caress.
2 seconds.
His rough palm brushed against Deadshot's throat.
1 second.
"Die."
0 seconds.
"BAAANE!!!"
The roar seemed to come from far, far away—
yet at the same time, right beside his ear.
The world trembled. The night itself froze in terror.
Bane's hand halted mid-motion.
He turned sharply—
And there, atop the mountain of garbage and wrecked cars, he saw him.
That figure.
The godlike nightmare he'd faced in his darkest dreams.
BZZZZZ!!!
It was as if an invisible bomb detonated in the air.
A cold, suffocating pressure swept across Bane's enormous body, making every hair on his skin stand upright.
What kind of gaze was that?!
Bottomless darkness howled inside those eyes—
a storm of rage and judgment.
The overwhelming aura crashed down like a tidal wave,
his very breath cutting through the air like the Arctic wind,
as if he carried the frozen glaciers of the North Pole upon his shoulders.
He wasn't just standing there—
he was like the heavens themselves collapsing onto the earth.
Take one more step, and you'll die!
That's what Bane's body screamed at him.
He knew Batman didn't kill.
He was a good man—a hero.
Superheroes all had that "no killing" rule, right?
But…
His very DNA was howling, roaring a warning:
Take one more step—and you'll die!!!
Bane knew Batman couldn't literally kill him.
He trusted his own strength.
But so what?
Every drop of his blood, every fiber of muscle, every strand of hair was shrieking the same truth:
If you move forward… you die!
He didn't understand how Batman did it.
How could someone radiate such raw, biological fear—
something so primal, so impossible, and yet…
so perfectly him.
The true ruler of Gotham stood before him—
roaring, proclaiming his dominion.
The Bat unfurled its wings, casting a vast shadow that fell over this place,
this moment,
this battlefield—
declaring to the world: the Son of Gotham has arrived.
And so Bane dropped Deadshot,
leapt away,
and disappeared among the heaps of rubble and shattered cars.
In the far east, the first light of dawn pierced the darkness—
like a blade slicing through the night's black veil.
That nightmare figure stood bathed in the glow,
his silhouette framed by the rising sun.
He stepped upon the dawn, sweeping away every last trace of darkness under heaven.
The red sun rose in the east—
its path blazing bright.
The vast, endless night…
had finally come to an end.