The Batman Who Laughs could no longer suppress his desire to attack.
He charged forward.
Ian did not dodge. His fist met him head-on, and their punches collided in midair. With a boom, a shock wave spread in every direction, flipping up the golden stone slabs on the floor, cracking the columns, and sending fragments of stone pattering down from the dome. The Batman Who Laughs took three steps back. Ian took one.
The Batman Who Laughs's eyes lit up.
"Interesting." He charged again, even faster this time, his fist glowing dark gold as it smashed toward Ian's chest.
Ian sidestepped, then drove his right fist upward from below, hammering it into The Batman Who Laughs's ribs. The sound of bone breaking was crisp, like a dry branch snapping underfoot.
"Heh!" The Batman Who Laughs grunted, his body folding over, but his knee shot up toward Ian's lower abdomen.
Ian blocked it with his elbow. The knee struck his elbow with a muffled thud.
The next moment, The Batman Who Laughs retreated several steps, clutching his ribs, blood still hanging at the corner of his mouth.
And yet he was laughing.
"It hurts! It really hurts! It's been so long since it hurt this much!" He straightened up and rolled his neck, his bones cracking. "Come on, again!"
He charged again. This time, his attacks grew even more frenzied. Fists, knees, elbows, forehead—every part of his body became a weapon. Ian moved through his assault, dodging left and slipping right, while his fists kept landing on The Batman Who Laughs.
Chest, abdomen, shoulder, face—every punch carried a golden glow, and every punch made The Batman Who Laughs's body shudder.
It was as if they had stumbled right into the signature style of an American TV drama: gods brawling head-on like