Gotham was no longer a city—it was a graveyard. Its bones cracked beneath Bruce’s boots as he led them through the shadows. The skyline was jagged, torn apart by fire and decay, but Bruce had no time to mourn. He hadn’t mourned in years. Survival didn’t leave room for grief.

“Stay close.” His voice was low, steady, as his eyes swept the darkened alley. They followed, quiet but not silent, their fear palpable. He didn’t reprimand them. Fear was human. Fear kept them alive.

The Bat was gone. What remained was flesh, bone, and purpose.

A crowbar rested in his hand, its weight familiar. The edges were slick with blackened blood, the stench clinging to him like a second skin. Every swing drained him, every kill a reminder that he was fighting a war already lost. But they were still breathing, and that was enough. For now.

“We cut through here,” he muttered, pointing to an alley half-choked with debris. They hesitated, their body tense. Bruce turned, his eyes sharp beneath the grime on his face. “You can do this,” he said firmly. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie or a truth. In this world, belief was a weapon, and sometimes the only one they had.

A scream shattered the silence. Distant, but too close for comfort. His jaw tightened. “Move.”

They obeyed, brushing his coat as they passed. The brief contact was almost enough to pull him back to something he couldn’t afford to feel. His focus snapped forward, the sound of shuffling feet growing louder.

“You hear that drumming?” he muttered, his grip tightening on the crowbar. “That’s the world reminding us it can take everything.”

Their wide eyes met his for a second before he turned away. Gotham’s darkness was alive, hungry. It would consume anything in its path.

But not them. Not tonight.