When the heavenly lightning struck him, Bruce felt his body go numb. Excruciating pain flooded through him, every limb and bone threatening to split apart. Even his soul seemed to have been cleaved in two. He howled, but amid his own cries, he heard another agonized scream, even more wretched than his own.
Everything before Bruce was pitch-black. He had no idea where he was, surrounded by nothing but hazy darkness, though he seemed to be standing on the ground. His body swayed, on the verge of collapse. Instinctively, he reached out for something to support himself and touched a cold, hard surface. His vision gradually returned.
As his vision returned, he felt himself floating again.
Bruce looked down at his body. One moment it was illusory, the next solid.
Beside him stood a fireplace carved with a horse head, blazing with crimson flames. Yet despite being so close, he felt no warmth at all. To his left was a rectangular dining table covered with a red tablecloth, with a sumptuous chandelier of red candles hanging above it.
Bruce quickly surveyed his surroundings.
The architecture had an antique artistic style, reflecting the tastes of several centuries ago. He appeared to be in the hall of a castle, though he could not determine the time or place. He was probably inside an illusion, once again in a ghostlike state.
It was much like when he had watched the Wayne Family ancestors perform their blood-replacement ritual, but he had more freedom now. His movements were not confined to a basement but extended throughout the castle. He could wander freely through the entire building without any restrictions.
Bruce walked through room after room. A bedroom, another bedroom, and yet another bedroom. The castle was full of bedrooms. At last, he found a study