The command left no room for argument. Dick launched himself into a series of handsprings that carried him rapidly across the ballroom, using overturned tables and decorative pillars as impromptu platforms.
"Aw, splitting up the dynamic duo already?" Bullseye called after them. "We were just getting to know each other!"
He punctuated the taunt by flinging a handful of broken champagne stem glass toward Dick's retreating form. Batman intercepted the deadly projectiles with his cape, the specialized material absorbing the impacts.
"Your fight is with me," Batman growled, positioning himself directly in Bullseye's path to Alberto.
"Actually, my fight is with Junior Falcone over there," Bullseye corrected, jerking his thumb toward Alberto's retreating figure. "You're just in the way." His hand dipped into his pocket, emerging with more playing cards. "Though I gotta admit, this is way more fun than a standard hit."
The cards flew with deadly precision, not toward Batman but in a calculated ricochet pattern off surrounding surfaces. Batman tracked the seemingly random trajectories with growing alarm, realizing too late that they were designed to bypass his defenses and strike Alberto from multiple angles simultaneously.
Batman launched himself into a desperate dive, intercepting the cards mid-flight with his armored gauntlets. Pain lanced through his forearms as the paper edges somehow sliced through his armor—another impossibility made reality by Bullseye's unique abilities.
"How the hell—" Batman started, genuinely shocked by the playing cards' penetrating power.
"Trade secret," Bullseye winked, already loading up with a handful of broken glass. "Let's just say it's all in the wrist."
Through the ballroom's massive windows, Batman caught a glimpse of Alberto's security detail hustling him across the street toward Saint Michael's Cathedral—the massive Gothic church that stood opposite the hotel. Smart move—the church's ancient stone walls would provide better cover than the hotel's modern glass and steel construction.
Batman tapped his comm link. "Alfred, Alberto Falcone is heading for Saint Michael's. Alert GCPD for additional protection."
"Already done, sir," Alfred replied promptly. "Though I'm afraid Commissioner Gordon reports their forces are stretched thin managing the evacuation. Backup will be delayed by approximately twelve minutes."
"He doesn't have twelve minutes," Batman muttered, watching as Bullseye's gaze followed Alberto's retreat with predatory focus.
"Sanctuary, sanctuary!" Bullseye called out in a mocking falsetto, noticing the direction of Batman's attention. "How appropriate—the sinner seeking salvation in the house of God." His expression darkened with a twisted smile. "Spoiler alert: he doesn't find it."
Without warning, Bullseye hurled the handful of glass shards toward the massive chandelier above them. The glass struck key structural points with impossible precision, severing the main support cable. The massive fixture began to descend—not toward Batman, but toward the exit path, blocking Batman's route to Alberto.
"Clock's ticking, Bats!" Bullseye called out, already sprinting toward a service exit that would give him a direct path to the church. "Junior's confession time is coming!"
Batman fired his grapnel gun at a support beam, yanking himself up and over the falling chandelier. Glass exploded across the ballroom floor as the fixture crashed down, sending crystalline shrapnel in all directions. Batman's cape deflected the worst of it as he swung toward the same exit Bullseye had taken.
"Robin, status?" he demanded through the comm as he landed in a controlled roll, continuing his pursuit without breaking stride.
"Still on Shiva's trail," Dick's voice came back, slightly breathless. "She's good, Bruce. Really good. I'm trying to slow her down without engaging directly."
"Stay on mission," Batman ordered. "Bullseye is pursuing Alberto to Saint Michael's. I'm in pursuit but may not intercept in time."
"Copy that," Robin replied, professional despite the obvious tension in his voice. "Be careful. Bullseye's accuracy is... not normal."
"Noted," Batman acknowledged grimly, bursting through the service exit into the rainy Gotham night.
The storm that had threatened all evening had finally broken, sheets of rain cascading down between the towering buildings. Lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating Bullseye's figure as he sprinted across the cathedral plaza, dodging between panicked gala guests and responding emergency vehicles.
Batman launched himself from the hotel steps, cape spreading to slow his descent as he glided over the chaos below. The specialized fabric cut through the rain, maintaining enough rigidity for controlled flight despite the downpour. He angled his trajectory to intercept Bullseye before the assassin could reach the church's massive oak doors.
Bullseye sensed the approach—that uncanny awareness that marked truly elite killers. Without looking up, he snatched a police baton from an officer managing the crowd and hurled it skyward with deadly accuracy. The baton struck Batman's left shoulder, disrupting his glide path and sending him into an uncontrolled spiral.
Batman recovered mid-fall, tucking into a roll that absorbed the worst of the impact as he hit the cathedral steps. Pain lanced through his previously injured shoulder, but he pushed it aside, regaining his feet in time to see Bullseye disappear through the church doors.
"Alfred, alert Father Mitchell to evacuate any civilians in the cathedral," Batman ordered, taking the stone steps three at a time.
"I've already taken the liberty, sir," Alfred replied. "However, Wednesday evening mass concluded thirty minutes ago. The cathedral should be largely empty save for Father Mitchell and his assistants."
"And Alberto," Batman added grimly, reaching the massive doors. They stood partially open, warm light spilling out into the stormy night. Batman paused, analyzing the entrance for potential traps. Bullseye was perfectly capable of rigging the doorway in the seconds he'd had inside.
Finding nothing obvious, Batman slipped through the gap, entering the hushed sanctuary of Gotham's oldest cathedral. The space was cavernous, Gothic arches soaring overhead to support a vaulted ceiling decorated with biblical scenes. Stained glass windows lined the walls, now dark mirrors reflecting the interior lighting rather than transmitting daylight. Rows of wooden pews stretched toward the distant altar, where hundreds of votive candles flickered, casting dancing shadows throughout the sacred space.
The cathedral appeared empty at first glance—no sign of Alberto, his security team, Bullseye, or the church staff. But Batman's trained eye caught subtle indicators: water droplets on the marble floor leading toward the confessionals along the right wall, a prayer book slightly askew in a front pew, the faint echo of movement from somewhere in the vast space.
"Where oh where has the little lamb gone?" Bullseye's voice echoed from the shadows, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "The shepherd's here to collect his wayward soul."
Batman moved silently down the central aisle, cape draped to minimize his silhouette. Every sense was on high alert, tracking the minute sounds of moisture dripping from Bullseye's rain-soaked clothing, the subtle shifts in air current that might betray movement.
"You know what I love about churches, Bats?" Bullseye continued conversationally, his voice bouncing off the stone walls and making precise location impossible. "So many wonderful props. Candles, communion wafers, holy water... and my personal favorite—"
A golden censer—used for burning incense during high mass—came flying through the darkness, its chain whipping behind it like a deadly tail. Batman barely managed to dodge as it whistled past his head with enough force to shatter the wooden pew behind him.
"—religious artifacts that make excellent projectiles," Bullseye finished with a laugh. He stepped out from behind a marble column, twirling something between his fingers that glinted in the candlelight. "Amazing acoustics too. Perfect for a requiem mass."
Batman assessed his opponent with clinical precision. Bullseye was soaked from the rain, his server's uniform abandoned in favor of a black tactical undershirt that allowed maximum mobility. His eyes held the manic gleam of someone genuinely enjoying the chaos he created. Whatever professionalism he maintained during contracts, there was something fundamentally unhinged beneath the surface expertise.
"Where's Alberto?" Batman demanded, shifting subtly to position himself between Bullseye and the confessionals where water droplets led.
"Confessing his sins, I expect," Bullseye replied with a predatory smile, gesturing toward the ornate wooden booths. "Though he should have chosen a more secure location. Those thin walls won't stop a toothpick, much less what I've got planned for him."
He held up what he'd been twirling—a communion wafer of all things. "Body of Christ," he intoned with mock solemnity, before flicking it with impossible speed toward the confessional. The wafer—an innocuous disk of unleavened bread—somehow sliced through the ornate wooden screen of the booth, drawing a terrified yelp from inside.
"See?" Bullseye grinned. "Told you I could make anything lethal."
Batman surged forward, closing the distance between them with explosive speed. Bullseye was deadliest at range—the key was to engage him in close combat where his throwing abilities would be less advantageous.
Bullseye sidestepped the initial assault with surprising agility, producing a rosary from his pocket that he wielded like weighted chain. The wooden beads whistled through the air, striking Batman's armor with enough force to dent the plating.
"Bless me Father, for I am sinning right now," Bullseye quipped, following the rosary attack with a flurry of communion wafers that somehow cut like razor disks. "And I'm about to sin a whole lot more."
Batman deflected most of the improvised weapons with his gauntlets, but one wafer sliced across his exposed jaw, drawing first blood. He ignored the pain, pressing the attack with a series of strikes designed to force Bullseye away from the confessionals and Alberto's hiding place.
"You're good," Bullseye acknowledged, ducking under a roundhouse kick and retaliating with a golden candlestick he'd snatched from a nearby altar. "Most people would be decorating these nice walls with their internal organs by now. But you're not most people, are you, Bats?"
The candlestick whipped past Batman's head, missing by millimeters before embedding itself in a wooden beam with enough force to splinter the ancient oak. Batman used the opening to land a solid blow to Bullseye's midsection, driving the air from the assassin's lungs.
Bullseye staggered back, still grinning despite the hit. "That tickled," he wheezed, suddenly hurling a handful of communion wine from a nearby chalice directly into Batman's eyes.
The crimson liquid temporarily blinded Batman, stinging his eyes and obscuring his vision. He rolled instinctively, feeling projectiles whiz through the space where he'd been standing. When he cleared his vision, he found three ornate hat pins embedded in the marble floor—pins that would have found his jugular if he'd remained stationary.
"Borrowed those from the bishop's mitre in the vestry," Bullseye explained casually, now perched atop a stone saint fifteen feet above the floor. "Hope he doesn't mind. Render unto Caesar and all that jazz."
Batman scanned the cathedral, cataloging potential weapons and defensive positions. The confessional where Alberto hid was approximately thirty feet to his right. The main doors remained the primary escape route, though the cathedral's layout included secondary exits through the vestry and sacristy. Bullseye's elevated position gave him commanding sightlines to most of these options.
"You won't reach Alberto before I put something sharp and pointy through his black little heart," Bullseye observed, reading Batman's tactical assessment with unnerving accuracy. "Though I gotta say, I'm starting to wonder if I even want to. This—" he gestured between them, "—is so much more entertaining than a standard contract kill."
"This isn't a game," Batman growled, circling to maintain eye contact while working his way closer to Alberto.
"Everything's a game if you look at it right," Bullseye countered, absently breaking pieces from the stone saint's halo and flicking them with deadly accuracy. Each fragment shot toward Batman like a high-velocity bullet, forcing him to dodge and weave. "Life, death, murder for hire. It's all about hitting the target, whatever it happens to be."
One stone fragment caught Batman's thigh, penetrating the armor and embedding itself in muscle. Pain flared, but Batman compartmentalized it, maintaining his focus.
"You're bleeding, Bats," Bullseye noted with satisfaction. "First blood to me. Well, technically second blood after that communion wafer facial, but who's counting?" He tilted his head, studying Batman with disturbing intensity. "You know what your problem is? You're playing defense. Always reacting, never initiating. That's why you'll lose."
To demonstrate his point, Bullseye suddenly hurled a barrage of broken rosary beads toward the confessional. Batman had no choice but to dive into their path, his cape spread wide to intercept the deadly projectiles before they could reach Alberto. The beads struck with tremendous force, several penetrating even the reinforced material to impact his armor beneath.
"See? Predictable." Bullseye shook his head in mock disappointment. "The moment I threaten little Falcone, you jump in the way like a good hero. That's a weakness I can exploit all night long."
He was right, Batman realized with growing frustration. Conventional tactics wouldn't work against an opponent who could turn literally anything into a lethal weapon and who could attack from any angle with perfect accuracy. And as long as Alberto remained vulnerable in the confessional, Batman would be forced to maintain a defensive posture.
Time to change the game.
"You're right," Batman conceded, straightening to his full height. "So let's try something different." He reached down and tore away the piece of cape damaged by the rosary beads, then deliberately turned his back on Bullseye and walked toward the confessional.
"Uh, hello? Did you hit your head?" Bullseye called after him, genuinely confused by the unexpected tactic. "Big bad Bat just giving up and walking away? That's not very sporting."
Batman reached the confessional and yanked the door open, revealing a terrified Alberto Falcone huddled inside, blood trickling from where the communion wafer had sliced his cheek.
"Batman?" Alberto gasped, eyes wide with fear. "What are you—"
"Out. Now." Batman hauled the crime lord's son to his feet, shoving him toward the vestry door at the far end of the cathedral. "When I engage Bullseye, run. Don't stop until you reach GCPD."
"Is this a joke?" Bullseye laughed from his perch, already loading up with more improvised ammunition. "You're just going to walk your target out the door while I watch? That's not how this works, Bats."
"It's exactly how this works," Batman replied, turning back to face the assassin. "Because despite your homicidal tendencies and twisted sense of humor, you're a professional. And professionals finish their contracts."
"Damn straight," Bullseye agreed, twirling what appeared to be a sharpened collection plate between his fingers. "Which is why Junior dies tonight, one way or another."
"Maybe," Batman acknowledged. "But not if I stop you first."
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" Bullseye asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. "I've got better range, better accuracy, and let's be honest, better fashion sense." He gestured to Batman's tattered cape. "Black is so last season."
Batman's hands moved to his utility belt, retrieving a small metallic sphere. "By changing the rules of engagement."
He hurled the sphere at the floor beneath Bullseye's perch. It exploded on impact, releasing a dense cloud of smoke that rapidly filled the cathedral's central nave. At the same time, Batman activated his cowl's infrared vision, tracking Bullseye's heat signature through the concealing smoke.
"Smoke? Really?" Bullseye's voice came through the billowing cloud, unimpressed. "I don't need to see you to hit you, Bats. I can hear your breathing, the rustle of that fancy cape, even the way your boots sound on marble versus carpet."
To prove his point, a sharpened piece of collection plate came whistling through the smoke, striking Batman's shoulder with pinpoint accuracy. The specialized metal penetrated his armor, embedding itself half an inch into his flesh.
Batman grunted in pain but used the moment to precisely locate Bullseye's position. The assassin had descended from his perch and was moving laterally through the smoke, circling toward where Alberto huddled near the vestry door.
"Run!" Batman shouted to Alberto, launching himself through the smoke toward Bullseye's heat signature.
Alberto bolted toward the vestry, surprisingly fast for a man in formal evening wear. Bullseye pivoted to track him, already drawing back his arm to launch another deadly projectile. Batman intercepted just in time, tackling the assassin mid-throw and sending them both crashing into a row of pews.
Wood splintered beneath their combined weight as they grappled on the cathedral floor. Batman had the advantage in close quarters—his superior strength and armored protection giving him the edge in direct combat. He landed a series of punishing blows to Bullseye's torso, feeling ribs crack beneath his armored gauntlets.
But Bullseye was far from helpless in hand-to-hand. With snake-like speed, he produced a sharpened crucifix from somewhere on his person, driving it toward Batman's exposed lower face with lethal intent.
Batman caught his wrist inches from impact, the two men locked in a contest of raw strength as the crucifix trembled between them, its pointed end aimed at Batman's throat.
"Getting serious now, huh?" Bullseye grinned despite the pain, blood staining his teeth from an earlier blow. "Good. I was starting to think you were all cape and no cattle."
With a surge of effort, Batman forced the crucifix aside, then headbutted Bullseye with the hardened crown of his cowl. The impact was devastating, opening a gash on the assassin's forehead that immediately began pouring blood into his eyes.
"That's more like it!" Bullseye laughed, seemingly energized by the violence rather than deterred. He kicked up with both legs, launching Batman off him with surprising strength. As Batman rolled to regain his footing, Bullseye was already up, blindly wiping blood from his eyes while his other hand dipped into his pocket.
"Let's see how you handle this, Bats," he snarled, producing a handful of consecrated communion wafers which he began launching in a deadly fan pattern.
Batman dove behind a massive stone baptismal font as the wafers embedded themselves in the ancient stonework, somehow penetrating several inches into solid marble. The display of lethal force was mind-boggling—ordinary communion bread transformed into projectiles that could penetrate stone.
"Physics-defying nonsense," Batman muttered to himself, using the moment of cover to check the vestry door. Alberto had successfully escaped through it, at least temporarily removing the immediate threat to his life.
Now Batman could fight without splitting his attention.
He tapped his comm link. "Robin, status?"
"Still alive," Dick's voice came back, accompanied by the sounds of intense exertion. "Shiva's toying with me. I think she's actually giving me fighting tips while trying to kill me."
"Harvey?"
"Secure with GCPD. Heading to a safe house." A crash sounded in the background. "Gotta go. Shiva just—"
The communication cut off abruptly. Batman had no time to worry about it as Bullseye suddenly vaulted over the baptismal font, having circled while Batman was distracted by the comm.
"Getting updates from the little bird?" Bullseye asked, delivering a vicious kick to Batman's midsection that drove him back several feet. "Hope he's having better luck than you are."
Batman blocked the next blow, countering with a sweep kick that Bullseye easily avoided. They exchanged a flurry of strikes, each man testing the other's defenses while looking for openings. Despite his manic persona, Bullseye was a disciplined fighter with considerable skill beyond his throwing abilities.
"You're holding back," Bullseye observed as they separated after a particularly intense exchange. "That famous Bat-code getting in the way? No killing, no permanent injuries?" He spat blood onto the cathedral floor. "That's why you'll lose, you know. You've put handcuffs on yourself while I'm free to do whatever it takes."
"You think restraint is weakness," Batman replied, circling cautiously. "It's not. It's discipline."
"Call it whatever you want," Bullseye shrugged, retrieving a candle from a nearby altar. With disturbing speed, he melted its end against another candle and hurled it like a dart. The hot wax adhered to Batman's exposed jaw, burning intensely while hardening to his skin. "From where I'm standing, it just looks like you're afraid to do what needs doing."
Batman scraped the burning wax away, pain flaring across his face where it tore skin away with it. The minor injury wasn't significant, but Bullseye's words struck deeper than he cared to admit. Against an opponent of this caliber—someone with no moral restraints, no limits to their methodology—Batman's ethical code did create tactical disadvantages.
But it also defined him. Separated him from the monsters he fought.
"I'm not afraid," Batman growled, launching a batarang with sudden precision.
Bullseye caught it mid-air with contemptuous ease. "Please. I catch arrows between my fingers for warm-up exercises. You really think a bat-shaped boomerang is going to—"
The batarang exploded in his hand, the controlled charge designed to disorient rather than maim. Bullseye staggered back, temporarily deafened and partially blinded by the flash. Batman pressed the advantage, closing the distance with predatory speed.
His first strike connected solidly with Bullseye's jaw, rocking the assassin back on his heels. The second caught him in the solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs in an explosive gasp. The third—a devastating elbow to the temple—should have ended the fight then and there.
But somehow, Bullseye remained standing. Blood streaming from multiple wounds, ears likely ringing from the explosion, balance compromised—and yet he maintained his footing through sheer force of will.
"Not... bad..." he wheezed, swaying slightly but still managing his unnerving grin. "But... not... good... enough..."
With shocking speed for someone so injured, Bullseye lashed out, catching Batman with a spinning back kick that connected squarely with his damaged ribs. Pain exploded through Batman's torso as the already cracked bones threatened to give way entirely.
Batman staggered, momentarily vulnerable. Bullseye capitalized immediately, producing a sharpened piece of stained glass from somewhere on his person and driving it toward Batman's exposed jaw.
Instinct and training took over. Batman caught Bullseye's wrist just before impact, then executed a textbook counter that should have disarmed him cleanly. But Bullseye anticipated the move, transferring the glass shard to his other hand with a flourish that spoke of countless hours practicing such maneuvers.
"Always have a backup plan," Bullseye smirked, slashing with his newly armed hand.
Batman barely managed to avoid the worst of it, but the glass still opened a shallow cut across his chest where the armor had been previously damaged. He retaliated with a knee strike to Bullseye's midsection, creating momentary separation.
Both men were breathing heavily now, injuries beginning to take their toll. The cathedral floor around them was littered with debris from their battle—splintered pews, shattered glass, broken religious artifacts mixed with blood from both combatants.
"Gotta say, Bats," Bullseye panted, wiping fresh blood from his eyes, "this is the most fun I've had on a job in years. Most targets just die without putting up much of a fight. But you—" he gestured appreciatively, "—you're making me work for it."
"Glad you're enjoying yourself," Batman replied grimly. "It's about to end."
"Big talk," Bullseye laughed, though there was a new wariness in his eyes. Despite his bravado, the accumulating injuries were affecting his performance. "But Junior's still out there, and I've never failed to complete a contract."
"There's a first time for everything."
Bullseye's expression hardened. "Not for me there isn't." He reached into his pocket again, producing what appeared to be a handful of loose change. "Time to finish this."
The coins shot through the air with deadly force, each one aimed at a vital point—throat, eyes, the seams in Batman's armor. Despite his injuries, Bullseye's accuracy remained uncanny, the coins moving too fast to track individually.
Batman threw himself into a controlled roll, evading most of the projectiles but feeling several impact his armor with enough force to dent the plating. One coin grazed his cowl, the edge somehow sharp enough to leave a visible scratch in the hardened material.
Bullseye followed up immediately, rushing forward with a broken piece of pew transformed into an improvised stabbing weapon. Batman parried the initial thrust, countering with a palm strike to Bullseye's sternum that should have created space between them.
Instead, Bullseye somehow turned the blow into an opportunity, grabbing Batman's extended arm and using the leverage to deliver a knee strike to his damaged ribs. Pain exploded through Batman's side, momentarily compromising his defense.
Bullseye pressed the advantage mercilessly, landing a series of devastating strikes that drove Batman back against the altar. The assassin fought with desperate intensity now, sensing that his window of opportunity was closing as exhaustion and injury took their toll.
"What's the matter, Bats?" he taunted, forcing Batman to defend against a flurry of attacks. "Getting tired? Or just realizing you can't win playing by your precious rules?"
There was truth in the accusation. Batman's refusal to employ lethal or permanently crippling techniques was creating a tactical disadvantage against an opponent with no such restraints. Bullseye would keep escalating, keep pushing boundaries, keep finding new ways to turn anything and everything into a deadly weapon.
This wasn't just about saving Alberto Falcone anymore. It was about stopping Bullseye before he could hurt anyone else—including Robin, who was still engaged with Shiva somewhere in the hotel.
Sometimes, Batman realized with grim clarity, protecting the innocent required crossing lines he'd rather not cross.
The next time Bullseye launched a strike, Batman didn't simply block or evade. He countered with brutal efficiency, targeting the assassin's right hand with a strike specifically designed to shatter the small bones of the wrist.
The crack was audible even over Bullseye's surprised grunt of pain. His dominant hand now hung useless, the complex arrangement of carpal bones fractured beyond immediate function.
"You broke my hand," Bullseye said, genuine shock in his voice. For the first time, the manic grin was replaced by something approaching concern. "That's not very heroic of you, Bats."
"I'm not a hero," Batman replied coldly. "I'm what Gotham needs me to be."
Bullseye glanced at his mangled hand, then back at Batman. Something shifted in his eyes—respect mingled with newfound wariness. "Maybe you've got more killer in you than I gave you credit for."
He switched the broken piece of pew to his left hand, his movements slightly less fluid but still deadly. "Lucky for me, I'm ambidextrous."
The next exchange was brutal and direct, both men abandoning pretense for raw efficiency. Batman countered Bullseye's left-handed strike with a move borrowed from his League of Shadows training—a joint manipulation specifically designed to dislocate the elbow.
Another crack, another cry of pain. Bullseye's left arm now hung as uselessly as his right, both hands effectively neutralized as weapons.
"Jesus Christ," Bullseye gasped, staggering back. Blood streamed from multiple wounds, his breathing labored as he assessed his crippled hands. "You don't mess around when you decide to take the gloves off, do you?"
"Last chance," Batman said, advancing slowly. "Surrender."
Bullseye glanced around the destroyed cathedral, his gaze calculating despite his injuries. For a moment, Batman thought he might actually yield—the rational choice given his condition.
Instead, the assassin's manic grin returned, albeit strained with pain. "No can do, Bats. Professional pride and all that." Despite his ruined hands, he somehow managed to produce a final playing card from his sleeve. "Besides, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."
With a flick of his wrist—achieved through sheer willpower despite the broken bones—Bullseye sent the card flying not at Batman, but at the ancient support column beside him. The card embedded itself in the stone with impossible force, striking a structural weak point that Batman hadn't even recognized.
Stone cracked, ancient mortar giving way as the load-bearing column began to fail. Batman dove clear as the section of ceiling above them started to collapse, massive blocks of stone crashing to the cathedral floor.
When the dust settled, Bullseye was gone—a blood trail leading toward the vestry door indicating his escape route.
Batman tapped his comm. "Alfred, Bullseye is injured but mobile. Both hands severely damaged. Alert GCPD to set up a perimeter around the cathedral."
"Already coordinating with Commissioner Gordon, sir," Alfred replied promptly. "Though I must express concern about your own condition. Biometric readings from the suit indicate multiple injuries requiring immediate attention."
"They'll have to wait," Batman cut him off. "Robin's still engaging Shiva. What's his status?"
A momentary pause, then: "Master Dick's communications went offline approximately two minutes ago. His last reported position was the hotel kitchen area."
Cold dread settled in Batman's stomach. He knew exactly what Lady Shiva was capable of—had seen firsthand the bodies she left in her wake during his time with the League of Shadows.
"I'm on my way," he growled, already moving toward the main doors despite his injuries. Blood leaked from multiple wounds, his breathing labored from the damage to his ribs, but none of that mattered now.
His partner needed him.
As Batman burst from the cathedral into the stormy night, he cast one final glance back at the destruction behind him. The sacred space had been desecrated by their battle, ancient artifacts destroyed, holy relics transformed into weapons of violence.
And Batman himself had crossed a line—intentionally inflicting lasting damage rather than simply incapacitating an opponent. The decision had been tactical, necessary given the circumstances, but it raised uncomfortable questions about what other lines he might cross when pushed to his limits.
Questions that would have to wait. Right now, Robin needed Batman. Dick needed Bruce. And nothing else mattered.
Racing across the rain-slicked plaza toward the hotel, Batman could only hope he wasn't already too late.