"Batman? It had been a long time since I'd heard that name. I remembered... about fifteen years ago, a madman calling himself the 'Saint' defeated Batman. After that, no one ever heard from him again. The Church of the Saint ruled Gotham, rounding up and executing all dissidents. From then on, Gotham became a complete dead city..."
A thin wisp of smoke drifted from between withered fingers. Specks of firelight reflected on the puddles gathered in the cracks between moss-covered stone bricks, carrying an indescribable air of heavy twilight.
The old man, piled against the wall like dry bones, finished his last cigarette. A boot crushed the butt that had fallen from his hand. Pale fingers took a ring from the old man's palm. A line of tiny words was engraved inside the band—"God Bless the Kain Family."
Schiller looked up as flocks of blackbirds swept over the church spires. The sky was thick with storm clouds. The night rain had just stopped when he arrived. The damp masonry, corpses strewn everywhere, people fleeing and crying out, and the unbroken glow of fire made him feel as though he had returned to the fourteenth century, when human lives were worth less than grass.
There was no Batman here. Schiller stood at the mouth of the alley, silently staring at the words on the ring. He had expected this, but he had not expected the "Saint" who replaced Batman to do such a terrible job. One victory had set the entire city back four hundred years, to an age when churches ran rampant and plague was everywhere.
There was not the slightest trace of modern technology on the streets. No electricity, no skyscrapers, much less the high-tech devices Batman had installed throughout the city. The whole city was black as ink