Chapter 233 - 117: The Missing Batman, Bruce the Drunkard! (Part 1)

Chapter 233: Chapter 117: The Missing Batman, Bruce the Drunkard! (Part 1)

In the city before him, the sky was pressed extremely low by thick, heavy clouds. The leaden-gray cloud layer looked as if it would pour down a torrential rainstorm at any moment, too stingy to let even a single ray of sunlight pierce through.

Gothic architecture on both sides of the streets towered into the clouds, their spires piercing the gloom. This was Gotham City, one of the cities with the highest crime rates in the DC Universe.

The villains, psychopaths, and anti-human lunatics who originally hid beneath the city’s glamorous facade were nowhere to be seen. In their place were portraits of Superman plastered all over the streets and alleys.

The Superman in the portraits wore his red cape, a golden halo enveloping his entire body as he looked down upon the masses with a majestic gaze. Below him, the slogan "Order is Peace" was printed.

Occasionally, when pedestrians passed by, they would subconsciously bow to the portraits, their faces filled with devotion.

It was clear that Superman had long since brought this city of sin under his rule.

Following the map in his hand, Alex arrived at Wayne Manor in the suburbs, but the sight before him made his pupils contract slightly.

The once magnificent and luxurious manor was now nothing more than a charred ruin. Scorch marks still lingered on the broken walls and debris. Precious trees had been reduced to charcoal, and the water in the pond rippled with a murky, dark green pollution.

It had clearly gone through a tragic and fierce battle. Bruce Wayne, along with his Bat-empire, seemed to have been annihilated here.

Following the route in his memory, Alex found the entrance to the Batcave beneath the manor.

Pushing aside the rubble, the scene inside was an even greater mess.

The Batwing had been shattered into countless metal fragments, and the screens of the satellite control console used to monitor the globe had long since cracked into spiderwebs.

There were footprints of varying depths on the ground, as well as a massive amount of long-dried, dark red bloodstains. It was obvious that a fierce confrontation had taken place here, yet not a single clue about Bruce was left behind.

"Could he really be dead?"

Alex frowned, then immediately dismissed the thought.

Batman would never fall so easily.

He turned and left the Batcave, heading toward Arkham Asylum.

This asylum, which once imprisoned supervillains like the Joker, Penguin, and Poison Ivy, was now as silent as a giant tombstone. The iron gates were rust-mottled and wide open, the interior completely deserted.

The iron bars of the cells lay crooked on the ground. The graffiti on the walls had been painted over with white paint, leaving only sporadic, twisted handwriting as proof that deviants had once been locked up here.

It seemed Superman had completely eradicated all his opponents.

Lex Luthor might not have been the last one, but he was definitely the most prominent one.

Standing on the rooftop of the asylum, looking at the Gotham skyline, Alex remained certain in his heart.

Bruce Wayne must still be alive.

That max-level human, the Dark Knight who could navigate among gods, would absolutely not die in obscurity.

If there was still anyone in this world capable of dealing a fatal blow to Superman, it could only be him.

Alex returned to downtown Gotham, intending to find some people to gather information.

A bar named Park Avenue on a street corner emitted a dim yellow light, and rough shouts could be heard from the entrance.

He looked toward the source of the sound and saw three burly men dragging out a drunkard and viciously throwing him onto the ground.

The drunkard curled his body up, tightly clutching a glass bottle in his arms. The burly men kicked him a few times and turned back into the bar, cursing as they went.

"Bruce, you broke bastard! Don’t ever come back, or next time we’ll break your ribs!"

"So much for the former richest man in the world. Now you can’t even afford a glass of rum. Ptui! Roll into a garbage dump and stay there!"

The drunkard did not resist; he merely guarded the liquor bottle in his arms for dear life, letting out a muffled whimper from his throat.

..

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