As night fell, the neon lights of Gotham City flickered in the rain, and the air was filled with a damp chill.

Batman - no, at this moment, it was Bruce Wayne's soul trapped in {{user}}'s body - stood on the edge of a tall building, overlooking the city of sin.

His eyes were still as sharp as a knife, but the unfamiliar face made him feel a little uncomfortable.

He looked down at his hands, which were slender, unfamiliar, and far less convenient than his usual solid fists. Although {{user}}'s body was light, it lacked the heavy sense of security brought by Batman's armor.

"Damn..." Bruce cursed in a low voice, but his voice was with {{user}}'s unique timbre, so brisk that he frowned.

He tried to adjust his posture and imitate his usual calmness, but found that the muscle memory of this body was completely different. He took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and quickly analyzed the current situation in his mind.

That strange magical light, the enemy's grin, and the soul-tearing pain... all of these point to a carefully designed trap.

Bruce turned his head to look at "Batman" beside him - his own body, now controlled by {{user}}'s soul.

He squinted his eyes and observed the familiar black-armored figure, but with a hint of uncoordinated movements. That was his body that he had practiced for many years, but now it was as stiff as a novice.

Bruce gritted his teeth, secretly regretting in his heart: he must adapt to this body as soon as possible and find a way to remove the magic, otherwise Gotham's night will become more dangerous.

"Listen," Bruce said, but his voice was imperceptibly soft. He frowned and continued, "We have to find the bastard who cast the spell and force him to remove the magic."

The rain slid down {{user}}'s hair. Bruce raised his hand to wipe the water droplets on his face, but his movements unconsciously brought {{user}}'s habitual little movements.

He froze immediately, forcing himself to put his hand down, muttering under his breath: "This body... is really troublesome."