At last, it was confirmed. The dead person in someone's subconscious had lived another year after that fire, and that alone was enough to prove the point.
Batwoman had actually wanted Deathstroke to use the Origin Codex to check whether this woman had risen from the dead and carried out a counterattack, but there was no need for anything so troublesome now. The evidence was already sufficient.
He had probably figured out the details, or at least found reasonable explanations for them. All that remained was to find Christopher, tell him the answer, and complete the deal.
Batwoman left the pitch-black garage and strode toward the dining room. That family was still happily enjoying the birthday dinner. He stood unromantically beside the table and said through his raspy voice modulator:
"The case is solved."
The next second, the entire house and everyone inside it began to shake. Then everything around them seemed to turn into a beachside sandcastle, scattered by a gale and drifting up into the sky.
The clearing in the woods finally revealed its true form. The ground here was a carpet woven from purple blood vessels, pulsing with life. All kinds of venomous snakes and poisonous spiders crawled about everywhere, making soft rustling sounds.
A hospital bed stood in the center of the clearing. Darkness shrouded the entire forest, and only that spot had a little light. A gaunt man lay on the bed, his beard and hair tangled together, soaked with sweat and plastered to his skin. He looked to be in great pain.
Though he had wasted away beyond recognition, Christopher's features could still be vaguely made out. This was what he looked like in reality, projected into the nightmare.
All kinds of venomous insects crawled onto his bed, forming his bedding. The IV bag