Batman was dead.
Wayne Manor.
Blood, deep as a rose about to wither, lay splattered like paint flung across a canvas.
It stained every corner of the hall, the sofas, the tiles.
Everywhere bore proof of how gruesomely he had died.
He was still wearing that Batsuit when he died.
But to describe it with one of Joker's jokes: Batman's upper body seemed to have had an argument with his lower body.
In simple terms, his waist and abdomen had been severed clean through, separating his upper and lower halves.
There were several meters between his upper and lower body.
Pale, red-stained organs had spilled all over the floor, an utterly miserable sight.
"Tap, tap."
Crisp footsteps and soft breathing sounded.
"He's dead."
The voice sounded somewhat cheerful.
"What does it feel like to see your own corpse?"
The setting sun shone through the transparent windows, casting the reflections of two figures.
Both were tall, but the only difference was that one figure had pointed "ears," like cat ears or perhaps bat ears.
Batman ignored Jino's mockery.
The man who always seemed gloomy whenever he wore his mask tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth. His gaze swept across the room, revealing his usual suspicious expression.
"Judging by the bloodstains, the time of death can be estimated at roughly an hour ago."
Batman walked toward the mangled corpse, while Jino casually sat down on a bloodstained chair.
Jino watched as Batman turned over the body lying facedown on the floor.
The young man's gaze fell upon the wrist of the other Batman, who had been split in two.
The palm of his right hand was mangled, but the outline of a "u"-shaped mark carved into it with a sharp weapon could still vaguely be seen.
Not far away lay