Chapter 30: The Clown's Grand Revenge Plan

Chapter 30: The Clown's Grand Revenge Plan

Night. Thunderstorm.

Allen rode his electric bike back to Arkham Asylum.

The security guard opened the gate without much hassle.

"You've had a long night. Here, have a smoke."

Allen pulled out an unopened pack of cigarettes and handed it to the security personnel.

Gotta admit, Gotham's charity organizations are pretty humane, even handing out cigarettes. Since not taking them would be a waste, Allen pocketed some for himself while looting.

As for why he was giving them away—

First, he didn't smoke.

Second, social courtesy.

These guys guarded the gate for him and even let him in late at night. A little gesture was the least he could do. Otherwise, it just wouldn't feel right.

With practiced ease, Allen parked his bike and headed back to his bed, ready to shower and sleep—until he spotted a familiar face in the single room next door.

"Hey, Greenie, you're back."

Allen cheerfully greeted Poison Ivy—Lilian.

Lilian shot him an annoyed glance before pulling the blanket over her head, pretending he didn't exist.

She hadn't even been out for long before getting caught again. What kind of mood could she possibly be in?

After a while, she pulled the blanket down to breathe, only to be greeted by a horrifying sight—Allen's entire face pressed against the glass, distorted from the pressure, his wide-open eyes staring straight at her.

"Allen, what the hell are you doing?"

"You didn't say hi to me."

As Allen spoke, his breath fogged up the glass.

Is he insane?

Just because she didn't greet him, he had to press his face against the glass and stare like that? Did he even realize how creepy that was?

"Yeah, I'm back."

Lilian reluctantly responded.

She was genuinely worried that Allen would just stand there like a ghost, watching her all night.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

…

Boom!

Lightning streaked across the stormy night sky.

A lone figure stood atop a rooftop, letting out a pained, maniacal laugh.

Arthur felt an unbearable sorrow in his heart, but his pathological laughter made it impossible to suppress the eerie sound from escaping.

His trembling hands clutched his scarred scalp as memories of Allen burning his hair flashed through his mind.

He had threatened. He had cursed. He had begged.

But in the end, he couldn't escape Allen's cruelty.

"Batman... Bruce Wayne... the pain you've caused me... I will return it a hundredfold, a thousandfold!"

Arthur clenched his fists in fury, pounding the concrete railing to vent his hatred.

A lifetime of misery had finally awakened the darkness within him, pushing him to become Gotham's most feared figure—The Joker.

Batman was the nightmare of criminals.

But he, Arthur, The Joker, would become Batman's nightmare.

Yet, everything had been ruined by Allen.

When Allen burned away his green hair—the very symbol of his Joker identity—it was as if his entire existence had gone up in smoke.

"You seek revenge?"

A cold voice suddenly came from behind him.

Arthur turned and grinned, his expression chilling. "Name your price."

"Batman's true identity is Bruce Wayne."

With that, the Talon Commander leapt off the rooftop, disappearing before Arthur could ask anything more.

"Bruce Wayne?"

Arthur stood frozen, memories buried deep in his heart surfacing once more.

His mother had once whispered a secret to him on her deathbed—he was the illegitimate son of Thomas Wayne.

Desperate to confirm the truth, he had gone to Wayne Manor, only to be met with Alfred's scorn and denial.

"Your mother suffered from schizophrenia. She was once a patient at Arkham Asylum. Master Wayne covered her medical expenses out of kindness, but she deluded herself into believing she had an affair with him. Please recognize reality and abandon any misguided thoughts about the Wayne family."

Alfred's words still echoed in his mind, stabbing at his very soul.

He had become nothing more than a pitiful worm, shamelessly trying to claim a share of the Wayne fortune.

Arthur had been content to stay in Arkham Asylum—because, in a way, it felt like he was staying close to his late mother.

"Hahahaha…"

Arthur spread his arms and laughed wildly, letting the icy rain pour down his face. His laughter was both deranged and euphoric.

"Batman… Bruce… HAHAHAHA!"

In a building several blocks away, the Court of Owls' judges observed Arthur through binoculars.

"Do you think the Joker will accomplish what we expect?"

"It doesn't matter. He's just one piece of a larger puzzle. His success or failure is irrelevant."

"Indeed. Only by executing multiple plans simultaneously can we guarantee absolute success."

"It's quite amusing, though. The Joker's real father was a drunk, yet he still insists he's Thomas Wayne's son."

"Anyone struggling at the bottom of society would rather believe in a beautiful lie."

…

Batcave.

Dick drove a drilling vehicle deep underground.

Before long, he returned with both good and bad news.

The good news? They had found an underground pool filled with Dionesium.

The bad news? Allen's warnings about an invasion from the Dark Multiverse might actually be true.

Bruce, who had regained some strength, made his way down to the underground river.

The pool of Dionesium emitted a faint green glow. Judging by its color and clarity, it was undoubtedly pure.

"Father, how is there a Lazarus Pit here?"

Damian stared at the pool in shock.

He had seen the Lazarus Pit used for resurrection by the League of Assassins before, but he had never realized it was the same substance as Dionesium.

Moreover, the League had been unable to perform resurrection rituals for some time—ever since the Redemption Blade was lost—because those revived without it turned into mindless monsters.

Bruce was just as baffled. He had always assumed the two were entirely different things.

After all, Allen had described Dionesium as a type of metal. Shouldn't it look more like mercury? At the very least, it should have some resemblance to liquid metal.

"We'll ask Allen about it tomorrow."

Bruce wasn't willing to destroy the Dionesium—mainly because of its healing and resurrection properties.

He couldn't guarantee that no one close to him would ever face an accident. One day, they might need it.

After all, everyone had selfish desires.

Bruce was no exception.

Besides, he needed to ask Allen if he had brought back the Redemption Blade.

If used together, the two would form an infinite resurrection pool.

Back in Silent Hill, he and Oliver had left early, so they didn't know what had happened afterward. If the Blade was lost in the Otherworld, it was best not to mention it to Damian—no need to risk luring Ra's al Ghul back into the picture.

"Take some samples for analysis."

With Wayne Enterprises' cutting-edge technology, Bruce hoped they could find a way to remove the side effects. If not, he'd call in the Justice League to help research it.

If that still didn't work, well… maybe the Avengers could lend a hand.

Superheroes always suffered casualties in their battles to save the world. If they could perfect Dionesium, they'd all owe him a massive favor.

At that point, Bruce could stand tall and speak a little louder. Surely, no one would object.

The thought made Bruce smile.

"Father, what are you smiling about?"

Damian frowned in confusion. To him, Bruce had always been a stoic and serious man.

Bruce patted his head. "Grown-up matters. Kids don't need to ask."

The casual gesture left Damian momentarily stunned. A strange, indescribable warmth filled his heart.

He stubbornly told himself: So this is fatherly love? Hmph. I don't need it.

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