radicalducati Chapter 370 The Death of the Night Owl
Chapter 370 The Death of the Night Owl
Chapter 370 The Death of the Night Owl (Part 2)
"Now, it's time for the main course." The clown wiped away the tears of laughter, then stared intently at the night owl.
Rune's gaze also shifted to Night Owl.
"It's time to accept your fate, Night Owl." Rune looked at the man who had become a slave to power and whose heart was filled with hatred.
The death of Night Owl is destined to be a declaration of war to the crime syndicate, but without its strategist, which member of the syndicate can defeat Rune?
"No!" Night Owl roared, activating all his weapon systems. "You will all die!"
Energy beams, miniature missiles, sonic shockwaves—all sorts of weapons, each with varying degrees of power, ranging from tearing a person apart to blasting a town to smithereens, rained down on Rune like a torrent.
To unleash such an attack in such a confined space—Night Owl clearly intended to bury everyone underground in Gotham with the explosion. Even knowing the strength of his opponent, he still managed to devise a way to kill him in the shortest possible time.
At the very least, it could kill Harley Quinn and Jester!
But Rune just waved his hand.
He didn't even open a portal to use the power of space to avoid the damage. The surrounding shadows seemed to come alive, forming a huge, unknown, slime-like monster. Then the monster opened its mouth and roared!
Whether it was a missile with a physical form, a laser that relied on energy to attack, or a weapon that attacked through the air like a sound wave, it was all devoured by this monster as easily as an ordinary person eating.
"But this is impossible!" Night Owl's eyes widened. He couldn't understand this. Even though he had once wiped out all the sorcerers in Gotham like Batman, he had never seen magic of this level.
Of course, he couldn't see it.
In the magic system of the DC Universe, Transfiguration exists. In fact, due to the different levels of the universe, the implementation, principles, and forms of Transfiguration in the DC Universe are more diverse and complex.
However, very few people can elevate the transformation magic to the level of runes, let alone construct magical creatures of that strength.
But Rune is different. With the support of a vast, almost inexhaustible amount of magic, he can even bring a third of the Earth to life as a stone giant, not to mention the shadow that is now more in line with the essence of Rune's magic.
Ever since Rune merged the bloodline of the raven into himself, his magic has been moving toward darkness.
"Nothing is impossible." Rune looked at Night Owl and pointed at him from a distance. In that instant, Night Owl felt a sharp pain. He couldn't even be sure why he was in pain.
"I'm stripping something away from you, but it's not on a physical level, it's on a spiritual level." He saw the Gotham ruler's confusion and was happy to explain his pain to this despicable fellow.
"What did you do to me?" Night Owl lost all his strength and collapsed to his knees, his heavy armor striking the ground and sending up a cloud of ash.
But this shouldn't have happened!
Although Night Owl is a complete villain, he is still a mortal, and has indeed undergone enough trials, at least in terms of pain tolerance, he is not much different from Batman—meaning he can even overcome the limits of physical pain. But this strange torment seems to erupt from the depths of his soul; Night Owl has never trained to endure this kind of soul-deep pain.
"It's your emotions and your personality," Rune explained coldly. "I've extracted all the anger, hatred, sorrow, and ambition you've accumulated throughout your life—the things that constitute your soul, that is, Thomas Wayne's soul—"
This was just a whim of Rune's. Thomas Wayne was just a mortal. Even if Rune used Devouring Magic, he couldn't get much magic from him. But what about his emotions and personality?
As Batman's counterpart, Owl's soul is theoretically one of the most precious treasures in this world, and the emotions and personality derived from it should also be one of the most powerful substances in this universe.
So he tried it, and surprisingly succeeded.
The owl could feel himself becoming empty and weak. His anger, sadness, and even his will to live were fading away. At first, he wanted to beg for mercy, but later he realized it was pointless.
Finally, the red light in his eyepiece went out.
Thus, Thomas Wayne's body was still alive, and his soul still existed, but he was nothing.
However, Rune now held a beautiful bead the size of his palm, shimmering with multicolored light.
"It's over," Rune said, transferring the indestructible high-tech armor from Night Owl into his own space, leaving Thomas Wayne exposed to the elements.
"Now—" The clown blocked Harley Quinn's path with one hand, and in the other hand, a huge, rusty wrench appeared. He leaped down from the platform. "It's my turn!"
He sneered and charged at Thomas, but Thomas only glanced at the clown before lying down on the ground, motionless.
The clown, however, didn't care about his reaction. "Daisy—Daisy—give me your heart! I'm almost going crazy—all because I love you!"
Pat pat pat —
The clown finally reached Thomas's side, and he continued singing: "This is not a good wedding—I can't afford a carriage—but you still look happy—and sit on a tandem bicycle—"
Rune was too lazy to continue watching. The clown and Harley Quinn were not Batman. If Thomas fell into their hands, it wouldn't just be a matter of going to jail.
No, no, no, in this world, only good people go to jail!
Sure enough, a desperate, inhuman wail rang out, but it was quickly drowned out by maniacal laughter and heavy blows.
It seems that after these emotions and personality traits are extracted, the person whose traits are extracted will only experience a period of confusion, but new emotions will still be generated.
Rune came to a small conclusion.
Meanwhile, the clown is perfecting his masterpiece with Thomas in a primitive and bloody way, while the now penniless Night Owl is very "grateful" to this embodiment of chaos.
When everything quieted down, the clown began to breathe heavily. He was tired, but satisfied. At his feet was a pool of unidentifiable purple and green residue.
He ignored Harley screaming in the distance for not participating in the art creation, kicked a puddle of mud at his feet, and then admired his masterpiece.
How many boxes should we pack it in this time?
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