Bruce was still upstairs in his Batman suit, but he looked completely different. He was skin and bone, his chest cavity split wide open, the inside filled with intricate mechanical structure that spread into his lungs and heart, while his ribs flared outward like a pair of wings.
In his hand, he gripped a sickle attached to an iron chain. The instant he sensed Jack's presence, the sickle, wreathed in the Power of Death, came whistling toward him. Jack rolled aside and dodged. He lay where he was, panting for a moment, then used all his strength to crawl up and looked back, but blood had already flooded his eyes, blurring the scene before him.
With a "pfft," a Batarang drove straight into flesh. Jack let out a muffled groan, and the scene before him grew even more surreal. One moment, children were running and jumping beside him in the warm corridors of the East End building; the next, an icy wind blew through a ruined hallway.
Jack pushed himself with everything he had and reached the corner ahead. He gasped hard, trying to focus again and answer the voice from before. The next second, with a loud bang, that terrifying monster was sent flying far away before his eyes, and a group of people charged over.
"Jack!" Schiller shouted. He rushed over and helped Jack up from the floor. Charles shoved something glowing white into Jack's arms, and the Life Force drove away the Power of Death. The wounds on Jack's body began healing rapidly, but because he had still lost too much blood, his face was somewhat pale, which actually made him look even more like the Joker.
"Thank you." Jack let out a long breath. "I feel much better."
Only then did Schiller have time to look