Batman was dying.
Main Universe Batman's wounds had deteriorated beyond recovery. His health was nearly depleted, and the physical pain had worsened his mental state. His consciousness was already beginning to fade.
Few people could treat Battleworld as a mere game, because everything here was far too real—including the pain and despair of death. Even Batman was no exception.
Just then, he felt a chill. The room's door opened, and Schiller and Greed returned.
Greed tossed the First Aid Kit to Bruce while Schiller sorted through the supplies. He said to the others, "We took a look around. The lighthouse has nine floors. There's a guard room on the first floor, and we seem to have killed all the dogs inside. There's a man named Jeff on the second floor, and we found our supplies in the storage room on the third floor..."
"I'm planning to check out the guard room on the first floor first. You can eat something and recover your strength. Once you're back in shape, we'll explore upstairs together."
"I'll go with you." Pale Rider stood and said, "I'm interested in that man you mentioned, Jeff. Maybe I can find a way to persuade him."
"That was my thought as well." Schiller nodded, then asked, "How are your combat abilities? Can you protect yourself?"
"I can." Pale Rider nodded. "To maintain a good image, I work out year-round and learned a few fighting moves from acquaintances and friends. I won't hold you back."
After receiving the First Aid Kit, Bruce began treating Batman. But this time, the die that appeared before everyone was no longer red. It was black, with golden numbers on it.
No one knew what was happening, but the die had already been tossed high into the air. When it landed, it showed