The night had teeth.
It bit into Gotham like a rabid dog, and tonight, it was feasting.
The abandoned courthouse lay in ruin—glass shattered, walls scorched, its halls once home to justice now echoing with gunfire and smoke. The firefight had died hours ago, but the tension in the air felt heavier than ever.
Batman knelt on a nearby rooftop, rain peppering his armor as he stared at the scene below. Flames flickered inside the gutted shell of the courthouse. EMTs moved bodies—some alive, most not. A perimeter of GCPD cruisers cast red and blue shadows over the crumbling stone.
Beside him, Draven leaned against a vent shaft, holding pressure on the bullet wound on his side. His breath came in ragged bursts, but his eyes burned with the same fire Batman had first seen in that alley days ago.
"You're lucky it went clean through," Batman muttered without looking at him.
"Yeah, well... luck's in short supply these days." Draven grimaced, adjusting the bloodied wrap.
Batman scanned the carnage. "These weren't gangbangers. Military coordination. Professional tactics. Who were they?"
Draven wiped blood from his lips and spoke quietly. "They're called The Ash Circle. I crossed paths with them in Rio two years ago. They were just a whisper back then—now they're a goddamn ghost army. Ex-mercs, rogue scientists, even washed-out GCPD. All united by one thing: they think Gotham is a lost cause… and they're going to burn it clean."
Batman's jaw tightened.
"Someone organized them. Someone gave them resources."
Draven nodded. "Someone powerful. Hidden."
"And they want me distracted," Batman said. "That ambush wasn't just an attack—it was a message."
Draven looked up, eyes dark. "You're not the only one trying to fix this city, Batman. But you're trying to save it. They want to replace it."
A sudden hiss in Batman's commlink interrupted them.
"Sir, there's been an incident." Alfred's voice, calm but clipped. "Arkham Asylum. A minor breach."
Batman stiffened. "Joker?"
"No... he's still in solitary. But someone tampered with his cell. Left a message etched into the wall."
Batman rose, voice low. "What message?"
There was a pause.
"'He's just the clown. Wait until the ringmaster arrives.'"
Lightning slashed across the skyline. Draven flinched as thunder rumbled like war drums.
"Great," Draven muttered. "More cryptic threats. Who the hell is the ringmaster?"
Batman didn't answer. Not yet. His mind was already racing.
Joker had been silent for weeks. Not laughing. Not speaking. But he was watching—listening. This wasn't his move, but whoever made it wanted him to know he was being replaced... or upgraded.
Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the street below. A GCPD van flipped onto its side in a fireball, launching officers backward like ragdolls. Screams erupted. Chaos renewed.
Batman didn't hesitate.
He dove from the rooftop, cape catching wind like a black-winged predator. He crashed through a second-story window across the street, landing in a forward roll as gunfire erupted from within.
Inside, masked figures in matte black armor were torching case files—records, evidence, names. Erasing the past.
One turned toward him, rifle raised.
Too slow.
Batman hurled a smoke pellet and vanished in the fog. Moments later, the man screamed as the Dark Knight erupted from the haze and dropped him with a brutal elbow to the throat.
The rest scattered—but not far. They weren't trained for fear. Not yet.
But they would be.
And when they came again, they'd be more dangerous.
More prepared.
Batman stood over the unconscious bodies, breathing heavy. The flames behind him danced across the shattered glass of an old courtroom mural: Justice Is Blind.
He looked to the skyline—toward Arkham's silhouette in the distance.
Toward Joker's cage.
Somewhere in the dark, a bigger game was unfolding. Gotham wasn't just at war anymore.
It was on the verge of metamorphosis.
And the monsters weren't just rising from the streets.
They were being invited.