The hunters…
Well, judging by their arsenal, they were professionals when it came to hunting anything that had long since forgotten how to breathe.
Real fucking veterans.
The way they had spread themselves across the plaza, forming a half-circle around me.
The way they moved smoothly and without hesitation, covering each other’s blind spots.
The way they immediately recognized that I was immune to two classic weaknesses of ordinary undead, silver and garlic, not to mention the fact that sunlight didn’t mean shit to me.
This wasn’t some gang of street thugs.
It was a coordinated execution squad.
More importantly, they’d clearly studied my tricks.
They knew about my shadow manipulation and had prepared countermeasures in advance.
All five of them had apparently applied some kind of magical bullshit to themselves that prevented their bodies from casting shadows.
They’d also positioned themselves carefully, making sure the shadows of other objects around the plaza didn’t touch them.
But the most interesting part was something else.
My Higher Undead instincts were practically screaming that two of these inquisitors in leather coats, the ones holding open grimoires, were dead too.
Vampires…
I noted it with mild surprise.
Ironic.
An order of fanatics was using vampires to hunt other vampires.
Pragmatic.
I approve.
“So Batman really did hire suicide soldiers after all.”
I said it loudly enough to make sure they heard me.
Without waiting for an answer or some dramatic speech about God or whatever, I reached mentally into my inventory.
If they weren’t going to give me shadows, I’d make my own.
The air tore apart with a deep roar.
I threw the massive Archangel out of my spatial pocket, directly into the sky above the hunters.
The multi-ton space fighter hovered on its repulsors, and its enormous hull immediately blocked out the sunlight, casting a dense, absolutely black shadow over two of the five hunters.
The only problem was that beneath those two, there was still an empty circle of light, apparently cleared by some kind of spell.
The mech’s shadow simply couldn’t touch them within a radius of several meters.
It curved around an invisible dome.
Did that stop me?
Knowing that was exactly what would happen?
Fuck no.
I charged forward, gripping the Dragon Slayer’s handle, and swung the massive blade in a wide arc, its movement blurred by speed.
I didn’t get to finish the attack.
My Nightmare Knight instincts suddenly screamed like crazy, as if I were some rookie zombie seeing fire for the first time instead of a Higher Undead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glass vial flying directly toward my face.
It contained a glowing amber liquid.
My dead body immediately gave me the answer.
Take that to the chest and you’ll burn to a crisp.
I aborted the attack, killed my momentum, and dropped into the nearest edge of the Archangel’s shadow.
Not retreating.
Tactical repositioning.
The thought flashed through my mind as I slipped through the darkness.
That’s exactly why I brought the mech.
Sun Tzu was right.
The best battlefield is the one you create yourself.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
Space spat me out directly behind one of the vampire mages.
A short swing.
The Dragon Slayer was a chunk of black iron that could ignore and cut through most forms of magic all by itself.
Add the monstrous strength of my physiology, Breathing Technique, and whatever remained of Bane’s Venom circulating through my veins, and the blow could probably leave even Superman with a bruise on his jaw.
Or at least make the Kryptonian stagger.
The mage’s defensive barrier flashed pale for a fraction of a second before impact.
It didn’t stand a chance.
The translucent dome shattered with the sound of breaking glass.
The full, devastating momentum of my strike crashed into the hunter’s back.
There was a sickening crack as ribs and vertebrae snapped.
The unfortunate bloodsucker was simply blown off his feet and thrown a good ten meters across the asphalt like a broken doll.
I tilted my head slightly, letting a crossbow bolt pass within a millimeter of my ear.
Alive…
I noted with cold surprise as I looked at the mage lying on the ground.
And that physiology is definitely enhanced.
Even a high-level vampire close to my own level as a Higher Undead wouldn’t survive a direct impact from that much mass moving that fast.
He should have been torn in half.
Yet this bloodsucker was clearly weaker than me.
Expensive military implants?
Pre-applied biokinetic magic?
“Minus one.”
I said it aloud while watching the broken body on the asphalt begin knitting itself back together with wet clicks and disgusting gurgles.
Definitely magic.
Or some kind of artifact sewn into his clothing.
I adjusted my grip on the sword, preparing for another charge.
The hunting group reacted instantly.
The same archer was already standing beside the recovering mage.
He discarded the crossbow, which was useless at close range and against my reaction speed, and drew a silver-colored longsword from its sheath.
Just looking at that blade made my undead insides want to turn themselves inside out.
The weapon radiated such concentrated holiness that my gums started itching.
The second vampire mage, still unharmed, was protected by the remaining two.
One of them also drew an identical holy blade.
The other, the biggest of the group, held several vials of that same amber liquid in both hands, ready to provide support if necessary.
The guy guarding the injured mage is clearly more experienced.
I quickly assessed the situation.
But what the hell does experience matter if you’re planning to parry the Dragon Slayer with a longsword?
The laws of physics apply to everyone.
I smiled widely and almost insanely beneath my mask, lowering my stance and loading my legs for another burst of speed.
The swordsman opposite me adopted a rigid defensive stance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a silver chain wrapped around his right wrist, with a massive cross attached to it.
Well, now we’ll find out whether your God is going to help his faithful servant against the laws of kinetic energy.
Unfortunately, I never got to find out.
Half a step into my charge, a loud, obnoxious hiss spread across the plaza.
It was followed by a piercing squeal from the park’s loudspeakers, making my shoulder twitch instinctively.
Static crackled.
Then a voice came through that I absolutely hadn’t expected to hear here.
“That’s not my plan!”
Joker shrieked hysterically, with an almost offended tone in his voice.
The hunters used those few seconds of confusion to regroup intelligently.
The guy with the vials quickly retreated several meters, getting out of the experienced swordsman’s line of attack.
“Some fucking costumed idiots from the Order!”
The clown’s voice continued blaring from the speakers.
“Batman, as usual, sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong and ruins my show!”
“Calm down, Brucie.”
I said casually, never taking my eyes off the swordsman.
“I already know your plan would have been much more pathetic, predictable, and simplistic than hiring actual professionals.”
“You simply couldn’t afford them.”
“And as for Batman…
well, he is what he is.”
“Still better than the time you were playing the role.”
The swordsman’s eyes widened in surprise.
He clearly hadn’t expected me to say something like that out loud, in front of everyone.
Joker didn’t have time to answer.
He didn’t need to.
I used that microscopic moment of distraction to maximum effect.
I charged.
The asphalt crumbled beneath my boot as I practically rammed into the hunter with my entire body weight, bringing the two-handed sword crashing down from above.
The man barely managed to raise his glowing sword in time to block.
When an absurdly heavy steel monstrosity forged for chopping demons collided with an elegant, sanctified longsword, physics predictably won.
The absurdly heavy monstrosity won.
A deafening clang rang through the plaza.
Another magical barrier appeared, this one visibly denser than the previous one.
It flashed gold and originated from the cross wrapped around the hunter’s wrist.
It still couldn’t prevent the blow from breaking through.
The barrier shattered into sparks, disappearing, but it had accomplished its main purpose.
It had absorbed most of the impact’s momentum.
The hunter wasn’t torn apart.
Instead, he was thrown backward like a broken doll.
This time he flew only about five meters before crashing heavily onto his back.
At the same instant, something erupted in flames to my left.
The surviving vampire mage spat a roaring wave of white fire at me.
I already knew the answer.
One step into my own shadow.
The cold of the subspace.
And I emerged behind the healthy trio.
They reacted instantly, turning toward me.
The large man hurled another vial.
I didn’t even slow down.
While still airborne, I pulled the Knight Slayer from my inventory with my left hand and threw the dagger directly at the incoming bottle.
The short steel blade shattered the glass with surgical precision.
The pale amber liquid exploded outward in a fan of golden droplets.
One large drop still managed to hit my left hand.
I immediately dove into the shadows again, escaping the cloud of whatever that dangerous shit was, and materialized at the opposite end of the battlefield.
I was breathing heavily.
It burns…
Goddamn, does it burn.
But it’s not fatal.
I quickly assessed the damage while looking at my glove.
The effect was probably caused by concentrated water from the Lazarus Pit, further enhanced with Holy Magic.
The drop burned straight through the tactical Kevlar and ate into the dead flesh underneath.
It smelled like scorched skin.
But more importantly, I had my answer.
If I got sprayed with the stuff, I wouldn’t immediately crumble into dust.
I could survive it.
Again.
Shadow.
Again.
Charge.
This time, I targeted the guy carrying the vials.
I was going to eliminate the artillery.
The man understood immediately.
Instead of throwing another bottle, he sharply pulled a small round shield from behind his back.
The shield was covered in an intricate network of runes.
What the fuck?!
That was all I had time to think.
The shield erupted with blinding, concentrated brilliance.
A beam of pure, primordial holiness struck me directly in the face, instantly burning through the retinas of my undead eyes.
The world disappeared into white fire.
Heat blasted across my face with such force that even the dense fabric of my mask began melting.
But the worst part was what happened inside my body.
My Higher Undead body, normally light, overflowing with energy, and completely incapable of fatigue, suddenly felt unbearably heavy.
Weak.
Powerless.
It was as if someone had forcibly shoved me back into a fragile, pathetic human shell.
My muscles screamed from the overload.
My fingers loosened.
For a fraction of a second, I was genuinely afraid I wouldn’t be able to hold onto the Dragon Slayer.
The light destroyed everything.
Within a thirty-meter radius, there wasn’t a single shadow left.
My escape routes were cut off.
I was trapped inside a sea of white fire, blind and vulnerable.
But the hunters had made one mistake.
The artifact’s Holy Magic had suppressed my undead nature, but it couldn’t override the System.
My Heavy Weapons Specialist trait continued supporting my joints.
The Breathing Technique, drilled into my reflexes, continued forcing oxygen through my lungs.
And Bane’s serum was still boiling through my bloodstream.
There was no choice.
Stopping now meant dying.
It was either go big or go home.
I clenched my teeth until my enamel creaked.
I adjusted my grip on the impossibly heavy handle and, relying solely on my memory of where the bastard with the shield had been standing, poured every remaining ounce of muscular power into one blind, desperate, completely barbaric swing.
“FUCK YOU!”
I roared as I stepped into the white void.
This time, when I brought the blade crashing down onto that fucking glowing shield, I also released all the kinetic energy I’d accumulated.
It wasn’t anything extraordinary.
Certainly nowhere near the level of Superman’s punches.
But it was enough.
A deafening metallic screech rang out as the shield buckled under the monstrous pressure.
The blinding holy radiance choked and died as though someone had flipped a switch.
The burning pressure of the Holy Magic disappeared.
My body’s former undead power instantly returned, pushing out the pathetic weakness.
I didn’t stop.
Blind, relying solely on the aura of the living man directly in front of me, I delivered another strike.
A backhanded swing.
Exactly into the same spot.
This time, the wet crunch of breaking bones and the muffled groan pleased me far more.
The shield bearer flew away like a rag doll.
Except…
I’m fucking blind!
An impenetrable black curtain covered my vision, dotted with phantom white spots left behind by the burns.
My eyeballs had literally been cooked.
And the problem was that I didn’t have any regeneration ability in my System slots capable of growing burned-out eyes from scratch.
And the Lazarus Pit…
That was a long way away.
Regardless, close combat had officially lost its appeal.
My original, beautiful plan had been to squeeze something above Platinum out of the System by dramatically overcoming a highly coordinated counter-team.
That plan had gone spectacularly to shit.
Trying to play the untouchable ninja vigilante while blind?
Find someone else to volunteer.
I still planned on living in this body for a while.
Shadow.
Shadow.
Shadow.
I slipped through Shadow Space, relying on my specialized undead senses.
This situation fucking sucks.
Three of them are seriously injured and currently regenerating.
Two are still healthy and covering them.
From their perspective, I’m disoriented, blinded, and weakened.
And…
well, this group should have at least one more ace up its sleeve.
Therefore, they’re unlikely to leave Fox Park right now.
They’ll try to finish me.
Except…
I have an ace too.
And it’s been hanging directly over their heads this entire time.
I emerged from the shadows at a safe distance, hidden behind the massive trunk of an old oak.
My face burned from the injuries, but a vicious grin spread across my lips anyway.
I gave a short verbal command, knowing perfectly well that my vehicle’s sensitive microphones would pick it up even through the noise of the morning city.
“Archangel.
Combat mode.”
“Destroy the five targets beneath you.”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t see it.
But I heard it.
And I felt it.
Through my feet, I felt Gotham’s tectonic plate shake.
A volley from the main cannon of the six-hundred-ton Dominion machine would have left an entire district as nothing but a crater of molten glass.
That wasn’t part of my plans yet.
So the precise carpet bombing from the secondary weapons was aimed exclusively and delicately at the center of the arena.
Directly at the heads of the idiots who had decided that the enormous shadow above them couldn’t possibly possess enough destructive power to matter.
The roar of the plasma weapons nearly burst my eardrums.
The air instantly heated.
The smell of scorched earth and completely incinerated flesh filled the air.
The earthquake lasted only a couple of seconds.
That was enough.
Don’t show all your trump cards at once.
And then suddenly show them all.
The Art of War according to Sun Tzu, adapted by an eighth-grader, works flawlessly.
A golden-white System notification flashed before my inner vision through the darkness.
[Feat Completed]
Victory over the elite strike team of the Van Helsing Order.
Reward: 1 Platinum Ticket.
Even though I fucking cheated with the Archangel at the end.
The System’s unusual generosity almost made me shed a single dignified masculine tear.
Unfortunately, the joy came with an aftertaste of ash.
The price of that Platinum included my burned-out eyes, the charred outer layers of skin on my face, and the very real and humiliating possibility of being killed by some nameless extras who wouldn’t even get proper names in a DC comic.
I dove into the shadows and emerged in the center of the smoking ruins that had once been Fox Park.
I mentally recalled the Archangel into my inventory.
My undead senses remained satisfyingly silent.
No living beings.
No undead.
Not even souls nearby.
The mech’s weapons had annihilated everything.
Unfortunately, the park’s loudspeakers had disappeared along with the hunters.
And there was still that “final surprise” from the gang of losers waiting ahead.
And I’m blind and unarmed.
I shook my head in irritation.
I materialized the newly acquired Platinum Ticket in my hand.
The card was made of dense, cold metal.
I didn’t even consider running away and taking time to recover.
Seriously, what could Joker possibly have left that would surprise me on a global scale?
Even the professional killers Thomas hired had only managed to blind me.
Annoying?
Absolutely.
Critical?
Not really.
Not with my undead senses and shadow manipulation.
Besides, I’d had plenty of experience fighting blind across my previous incarnations.
I tore the ticket open.
It disintegrated in my hands.
The description appeared directly inside my mind.
Name: Lord Death of Murder Mountain
Type: Trait
Rarity: Elite
Description: Killing and maiming are simply your instincts.
You were born with blood on your hands, and you will spill much more of it.
Thanks, Captain Obvious.
I already knew I was good at this without an Elite trait.
I spat in disappointment.
But I already had five traits.
The maximum.
The next System notification appeared immediately.
Warning!
Trait slot limit reached.
Maximum: 5
You have one of the following options available to resolve the conflict:
1.
Burn one existing trait.
2.
Burn the new trait.
3.
Fuse it with one of your existing traits.
Available synergy: Heavy Weapons Specialist.
Honestly, I expected the synergy to be with Nightmare Knight.
I frowned beneath my burned mask as I rapidly calculated the possibilities.
The Dragon Slayer had been resting on my shoulder this entire time.
I’d become so accustomed to ignoring the monstrous weight of that piece of steel thanks to Heavy Weapons Specialist that it felt like styrofoam.
And now there was a real possibility that I’d have to sacrifice that critical advantage for some abstract trait.
On the other hand…
This was a fusion with an Elite trait.
The result would be at least an Elite+ trait, and the core of the synergy would still be heavy weaponry.
After hesitating for a couple of seconds, I mentally selected the third option.
Name: Heavy and Deadly
Type: Trait
Rarity: Elite+
Description: You are an executioner for whom the weight of a weapon has become synonymous with the word Death.
The heavier the weapon or object you hold, the stronger you become physically, proportionally to its weight.
You completely ignore any inconvenience, speed penalties, accuracy penalties, or stamina penalties caused by using a weapon far beyond your normal capabilities.
Furthermore, killing with heavy weapons comes naturally to you with terrifying efficiency.
Your strikes inflict increased kinetic damage, ignore armor, cause devastating injuries, and produce guaranteed critical effects, including shattered bones and torn tissue.
Your attacks instinctively find weak points and spread panic.
Every successful kill with such a weapon grants you a stacking buff to strength and bloodlust, as though a mountain of corpses were feeding your power.
Muahahaha!
Another fucking jackpot!
I almost laughed out loud.
I immediately felt the difference.
The Dragon Slayer resting on my shoulder hadn’t merely remained as light as before.
It now felt like a natural extension of my own arm, almost like a phantom limb pulsing with the desire to cut flesh.
Its very mass somehow, paradoxically, fed my muscles.
And at that exact moment of triumph, my enhanced ears caught a sound.
The timing was perfect.
From the left, somewhere near the access roads around the park, sounds began breaking through the noise of the city.
First came the hysterical, panicked screams of random civilians.
Then came the screech of tires as a car raced toward me at an insane speed.
From the vehicle’s speakers came the familiar, cracked giggle of a clown, mixed with an ear-piercing, almost unbearable ultrasonic shriek.
But all of that was merely background noise.
A distraction.
The important thing was moving directly behind the car.
My Higher Undead senses screamed as though I’d been electrocuted.
Whatever was running behind the ultrasonic signal was smashing through everything in its path.
Streetlights.
Abandoned cars.
Brick corners of buildings.
People who hadn’t managed to get out of the way.
It felt…
Colossal.
Pure, primal, compressed rage.
An aura radiating death dozens, hundreds of times stronger than the entire army of chemically enhanced Monsters combined.
The ground beneath my feet trembled with every step, like a localized earthquake.
No fucking way…
Bruce seriously brought me a goddamn Doomsday on a silver platter?!
If I still had eyes, they would have widened to the size of dinner plates.
My fingers tightened around the Dragon Slayer’s handle until the metal creaked.
My brain went into overdrive.
Doomsday.
The monster that, in several versions, had killed even Superman.
If this was the original…
I was fucked.
No sword and no barrage from the Archangel would be enough.
He’d adapt.
Then he’d eat me.
Possibly literally.
I slowly relaxed my fingers, and the gigantic sword dissolved back into my spatial pocket.
Calm down.
In this version of reality, Superman already destroyed the original Doomsday in Metropolis roughly two and a half years ago.
I’d bet my arm that this is some lab-grown weakling stitched together from scraps Bruce collected.
Which means…
In his case, one single ultimate blow should be enough.
I took a fighting stance, spreading my empty hands apart, and listened to the approaching thunder.
The important thing is to tank his first hit.
And the second.
And the fifth.
And the hundredth.
Absorb it.
Store enough kinetic energy.
Then give it back multiplied by a thousand.
Either I die within the next ten seconds…
Or Gotham is going to shake for real today.
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