It was another rainy day in Gotham. The sky had barely begun to brighten when the rain started pouring down. The streets, still not fully repaired, were riddled with potholes filled with standing water. Along with the heavy rain came fierce winds, and pedestrians held their umbrellas in front of them as they battled the city's familiar foul weather.
A mass of Gray Mist slowly condensed in the room. In the Psychological Counseling Room at Gotham University, Schiller looked at the umbrella in his hand and shook his head.
The umbrella was damaged far too badly. At first, it had merely been missing a part, which caused one of its ribs to snap and one side of the canopy to cave in. It could still barely be used.
But the more it was forced to make do, the faster it broke. The second and third ribs snapped in succession, and over half the canopy had sunk in. It could barely be opened anymore.
Although the ribs supporting the canopy were broken, the metal shaft in the middle was still intact. Once folded up, it could still be used as a cane. But earlier, Schiller had teleported underground and hit that demon with the umbrella.
A demon's jaw was not made of cotton. The umbrella's handle had been chipped open, making it almost impossible to grip. Then he had hit Constantine with it, completely shattering the handle. Now, only the metal tube inside remained. All in all, it had gone from an umbrella to a club...
When Alberto walked in, he saw the professor standing behind his desk, holding something that could no longer be called an umbrella, his face full of regret.
His entrance drew Schiller's attention. Schiller looked up at him and said, "Morning, Alberto. Have a seat."
"Professor,