"Who is Jehovah?"
Duran looked toward the figure, but more than anything, his eyes were locked onto the bat symbol on that person's chest.
"Jehovah is the Father who protects all, the God who leads us to a new life."
Duran's expression was one of utter devotion. It was clear he placed immense trust in the one who had granted them a new Bible.
But the Bat had no interest in arguing further. In a flash, he surged forward and slammed Duran against the wall.
"Tell me."The Bat's eyes were so fierce, they struck terror into the heart.
Duran, though shaken by the intensity of that gaze and unable to maintain eye contact, refused to speak a word.
All he offered was speech steeped in religious fervor.
"We are all sinners walking the earth, but it is not yet my time to ascend." Though he dared not meet the Bat's eyes, his tone remained steady as he spoke those words.
"Ascend?"It was the first time the Bat had heard that phrase, but instinctively, he felt it might be the root cause behind the homeless leaping from buildings.
Duran said nothing more. He simply closed his eyes and waited silently, as if he were certain the Bat wouldn't do anything to him.
Looking at Duran, calm and defiant like a dead pig unafraid of boiling water, the Bat was at a loss.
Duran had, without a doubt, committed many crimes in the past, but he had paid for them through his time in prison.
Now, he was just an unfortunate soul tricked into joining a cult.
Thud!The Bat tossed Duran to the ground.
By the time Duran reopened his eyes, the Bat was already gone.The house was empty now—except his treasured scripture had also vanished.
Duran sat up and immediately felt a sting in his neck.
The Bat hadn't done anything extreme, but his sharp arm blade had left a small cut on Duran's neck.
It wasn't serious—just a scrape—but for Duran, the real loss was the scripture he cherished more than anything.
He stood up and shook his head.
Jehovah had once said that their actions would eventually attract the attention of superheroes—perhaps even the Batman, who had just stepped down from being President of the United States.
And if Batman did come knocking, they were to thoroughly search their homes for bugs or, if necessary, abandon the place entirely.
Because you never knew where Batman might have planted a surveillance device.
Duran acted decisively. He stripped off all his clothes and tossed them into a trash bin.
Then he headed to the bathroom to wash himself thoroughly, even scrubbing the wound on his neck—just to ensure all of Batman's tracking methods would be rendered useless.
All of this had been taught to them by Jehovah.
If they ever encountered the Bat, they had to be alert—he might have attached some tracking device. Batman's methods of planting trackers were virtually undetectable.
After finishing everything, Duran pulled out a set of brand-new clothes—tags still attached—from his wardrobe, put them on, and left the place without a second glance.
This was no longer his home. The Bat had been here.
Now, he needed to find Jehovah and report the loss of the scripture.
Duran's actions were meticulous and cautious, but he failed to notice—until the very moment he left—that the Bat had been watching the entire time.
In his hands was the opened scripture.
"I shall nail them to the cross."
That line wasn't written in normal ink—it was scrawled in blood-red pigment across the page.
The color alone said enough.
Any sane person would realize something was off with this version of Christianity.
But how many of the people who had fallen so far as to become homeless were truly in their right mind?
Bruce silently watched the little red dot moving rapidly across his arm-mounted screen, speeding toward Brooklyn.
Truth be told, Duran's precautions were warranted—Bruce had planted at least three types of trackers on him.
What Duran didn't know was that Bruce no longer relied solely on external tracking devices.
The cut on Duran's neck wasn't accidental.
Even now, Bruce's Batsuit was made from symbiote metal, which had since been upgraded and nanonized.
That allowed the suit to release not just external devices—but internal ones too.
Within Duran's bloodstream, a tiny symbiote-metal tracker was transmitting his live location back to Bruce.
Bruce flipped down and landed softly.The Batmobile, still engulfed in flames, was already in position.
It surged forward at full speed—heading straight for Duran.
By this point, Duran had already arrived at his destination. After paying the cab fare, he walked toward an apartment in Brooklyn.
But once the cab disappeared, he abruptly changed direction, sprinting the opposite way.
Even after taking such precautions, he still didn't feel safe. He began circling around Brooklyn in a wide loop.
He passed the same spot several times.
Only when he felt sure no one was tailing him did he finally bolt toward his actual destination.
What he didn't know was—the Bat had long been waiting patiently, watching him execute his complex evasion route.
These people clearly had some degree of counter-surveillance training.
But the training period was short, and their instructor clearly wasn't very skilled in counter-intelligence.
Then again, maybe this place wasn't all that important. Perhaps to Jehovah, it was just a dispensable outpost.
Duran twisted and turned until he reached an abandoned subway station. He entered—and there were guards posted inside.
Yet Duran remained perfectly calm. He was used to this level of security.To him, a group that could guide people to Heaven should naturally be this strict.
The guards here were people Duran recognized—they were part of the first group of homeless brought in by Jehovah.
There wasn't much difference between any of them.
Duran admired those assigned to guard duty, but at the same time, he felt relieved that he wasn't among them—because those chosen as guards would never get a chance to "ascend."
Only the later recruits—like Duran—were promised the opportunity to ascend.
Everyone had something they sought. Not everyone would get it.
"Why are you back?"The guard's voice was wary upon seeing Duran return.
Their hands were already resting on their hips, ready to draw their weapons at any moment.
"I need to see Jehovah. The Bat showed up at my house," Duran said anxiously.
It was obvious—the Bat's presence had them rattled. They'd heard the stories. Once the Bat locked onto you, escape was nearly impossible.
The two guards exchanged a glance and nodded. Duran didn't notice the subtle signal passed between them.
"I know the rules. You can search me. I swear I'm not carrying anything that can be tracked," Duran pleaded, desperate to meet Jehovah, retrieve the scripture, and drink the holy water that would calm his spirit.
But in the next second, both guards drew their guns and pointed them at him.
Duran was stunned. He didn't understand. Just moments ago, they'd seemed friendly—now they were ready to kill him.
Weren't they all disciples of Jehovah? Weren't they all his faithful followers?
"Jehovah has decreed: anyone who comes into contact with the Bat must go to hell."One of the guards answered, resolving all of Duran's confusion.
It was the will of their supreme Jehovah.
When Duran heard this, he felt at peace. He opened his arms, ready to embrace his end—perhaps this was his ascension ceremony.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the two guards to fire.
"Bang!"
The gunshot rang out, but Duran didn't feel the weight leave his body, nor any pain. He opened his eyes—he was still in the abandoned subway station.
The two guards before him had already been subdued.
No one knew where the Bat had entered from, but one thing was certain: the guards were no match for him.
Even though they carried weapons capable of killing anyone with ease.
But now, they could do nothing—their arms had been broken by Bruce, and their heads smashed against the wall, knocking them unconscious.
"Why did you do that? This was Jehovah's will." Duran was quite displeased with Bruce interfering with what he considered his ascension ceremony. He had been on the brink of fulfilling his lifelong dream, only to be interrupted by this bat.
The Bat said nothing. He simply walked up to Duran and knocked him out with a single karate chop.
Ever since the Spider incident, Bruce had started developing a more portable and multifunctional suit of armor, attempting to incorporate the various technologies he had encountered there.
Symbiotic metal could do a lot, but it couldn't always keep up with nanotechnology.
Fortunately, in this world, Tony Stark had already developed nanotech, which allowed Bruce to nanonize the symbiotic metal on his suit in the meantime.
Because of this, the Bat's current armor was nanonized, enabling Bruce to analyze Duran's blood.
As Bruce suspected, there were traces of hallucinogens in Duran's bloodstream—though they didn't disrupt rational thought. In fact, they made the mind even more alert.
But unlike other drugs, this one seemed to activate only in specific environments, causing individuals to bow before the so-called Jehovah.
All the Bat needed to do now was capture this Jehovah.
Surely, the gunshot at the entrance had already alerted him, but he likely hadn't had time to relocate yet.
Before entering, the Bat had already scanned the entire abandoned station.
There was only one entrance and exit, and it wasn't connected to any existing subway line.
This place had essentially become a highly concealed secret base—perfect for conducting all sorts of activities. Just like how Kingpin once dug out a hidden lab beneath Brooklyn big enough to run his collider experiments.
But unlike Kingpin, this so-called Jehovah didn't have vast wealth or a massive organization behind him.
Bruce sprinted toward the location he had earlier identified during his scan as an altar—something that could serve as a makeshift church.
When Bruce burst into the altar room, he found only one person quietly sitting there, surrounded by a sea of lit candles that made the entire scene feel eerily surreal.
"You've arrived." The person didn't react to Bruce's intrusion. He simply stared at the Bible in his hands.
"Jehovah."
"Yes, it's me." Hearing Bruce speak the name, the man gently closed his Bible.
It looked almost identical to the one Duran had held earlier, except it was thicker, and its cover bore blood-red markings.
Jehovah slowly stood and walked toward Bruce.
At that moment, Bruce detected a strange scent. Instantly, the lower-half mask that left his chin exposed transformed into a full helmet, filtering all potentially harmful substances.
"Don't you think it's a little late to start being cautious now?" Jehovah now stood at the center of the altar, smiling as he opened his Bible toward Bruce.
"Whoever believes in Him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of God's one and only Son." Jehovah recited John 3:18 as he looked at Bruce. "And you are already condemned. You don't believe in Jehovah, nor do you believe in me."
Bruce felt as if a new scene was opening before his eyes.
Gone was the dark, candle-lit abandoned subway.
Instead, he saw a place so bright it was almost blinding, a place so warm it felt like paradise itself—a land of peace, comfort, and abundance.
It made Bruce even more alert. He was sure that the moment he smelled the scent, he had filtered the air completely to ensure nothing but oxygen entered his body.
Yet what he was seeing now clearly told him—he'd been affected.
Jehovah, seeing Bruce's dazed state, showed no surprise. He simply continued:
"The human heart is deceitful and wicked, because all are sinners. Human nature is hypocritical, because people hate being harmed."
With those words, Bruce saw a new vision—no longer paradise, but a hell of seething lava, crawling with countless demons.
"Demons do not come from hell, nor do angels fall from heaven."
"You know what I hate most? Watching those so-called criminals pretend to repent. But once they return to their environment, they go right back to their old ways."
"Prison doesn't change them. The law doesn't change them. They simply redirect the pain they endured onto others."
"So why let them live? I give them hope, and then let them die with that hope in their hearts. Isn't that merciful?"
"Those people shouldn't exist in this world."
"I used to admire you, you know. During that chaotic night in New York, you became a reaper of justice. You looked like God's spirit of vengeance on Earth. You purged the world of evil on His behalf."
"But after that, you changed. You stopped killing. You only caught them and handed them over to the police, to the courts, to the prisons—letting them live on."
"That's wrong. They should be dead."
"You shouldn't cling to that so-called belief of yours. Pick up your blade again and strike them all down."
"If you won't do it—then I will."
"I have confirmed it: The soul who sins shall die. (Ezekiel 18:4)"
Jehovah continued speaking, but in the next instant, Bruce lunged at him. A heavy punch shattered his nose and knocked out one of his front teeth.
Jehovah was in utter disbelief. He had full confidence in everything he had done—even when facing the Bat.
He truly believed he could defeat him.
"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)"
"What you've done does not honor the name of Jehovah. You're just someone using religion as an excuse to exercise your own judgment." The Bat now stood tall, looking down at the so-called Jehovah.
Ugh, having a cold is the worst!!!
(End of chapter)
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