Mr. Negative's dark energy surged like a tide, weaving black and white in a precise strike that hit Batman exactly as intended.
The negative energy erupted into black flames, engulfing Batman entirely, clawing its way into his mind with relentless ferocity.
Mr. Negative leapt down from the gaping hole in the FEAST shelter's wall, inching closer to Batman. In one hand, his negative energy extended into a long, shimmering sword.
He was waiting for an opportunity—waiting to see Batman consumed by anger, fear, or hatred, reduced to a slave of his emotions, like all those Mr. Negative had corrupted before.
Or, in the midst of Batman's fierce resistance, to drive the sword through his heart.
Mr. Negative preferred the former. If he could fully control Batman, harnessing such a formidable ally, he believed he could bypass the FEAST shelter entirely and move straight to the next phase of his plan.
For now, Mr. Negative focused on triggering an eruption of Batman's negative emotions, ready to absorb them.
The negative emotions he absorbed would transform into pure negative energy. The more he consumed, the stronger he would become.
He had taken Eddie Brock for this very purpose—to stoke Eddie's negative emotions further. But compared to Eddie, the darkness within Batman was far richer, an abyss without end.
As Mr. Negative drew closer, he finally stood less than three meters from Batman.
With a casual kick, he sent Eddie Brock, writhing on the ground, flying dozens of meters away. Without sparing a glance at Eddie, who spat blood from the impact, Mr. Negative fixed his gaze on Batman.
Raising his free hand slowly toward Batman, Mr. Negative prepared to truly feel the pain and anger he had amplified within Batman's heart.
This was the price his power demanded—like drinking poison to wield it as a weapon.
His negative energy seeped into Batman like ink into clear water. From this moment, Mr. Negative would empathize with all of Batman's negative emotions, seeking to manipulate them.
But in the next second, he realized he had gravely miscalculated.
The ink he thought he'd dropped into clear water hadn't landed in a pool at all. It had fallen onto a colossal black glacier, floating in darkness, its exposed surface alone enough to spark a rare flicker of fear in Mr. Negative.
This immense glacier was composed of countless plans—mad, chaotic, yet eerily ordered—as if Batman's entire life were built from meticulously constructed contingencies.
Just brushing against a fraction of it made Mr. Negative's head throb, as if his brain couldn't process the overwhelming flood of information.
"Is this a man or a monster?"
Doubt crept into Mr. Negative's mind again. He didn't delve further into the intricate, sprawling web of Batman's plans.
That wasn't his goal. His aim was to drive Batman to madness, to turn him into a beast ruled by negative emotions or to bring him fully under Mr. Negative's control.
"Feel your anger, your hatred—let them loose! Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward. Embrace your burning rage and let it blaze!"
"Unleash the beast within you. Look at me—I can turn your pain into power, your anger into reality. Give me all your negative emotions, and I'll grant you true freedom!"
Mr. Negative's eyes glowed a stark white as his words and negative energy worked in tandem to provoke Batman's emotions into a full eruption.
Meanwhile, Eddie Brock, sent flying by Mr. Negative's kick, lay with his organs nearly shattered, his body almost folded in half from the impact.
Yet he wasn't dead. The small fragment of the symbiote, torn off by Batman's webbing, twitched and crawled across the ground, slithering onto Eddie Brock's body and seeping into him, vanishing from sight.
Inside Batman, the Venom symbiote, suppressed by his indomitable will, felt the relentless pressure of Batman's dark presence, like an unending tide threatening to suffocate it.
As Mr. Negative tried to provoke Batman's negative emotions, Venom grew excited, roaring within Batman's body:
"Yes, tear him apart! Let him feel the pain!"
But events once again defied Mr. Negative's expectations.
When his negative energy touched an ordinary person, their most unbearable memories would surface, ready for Mr. Negative to empathize with, absorb, and control.
His negative energy had clearly entered Batman's body. He could sense the suppressed anger, pain, and vengeance intertwined within.
Yet Mr. Negative couldn't ignite them, couldn't push them to overwhelm Batman.
"Huff… I need to use more negative energy to guide it," Mr. Negative exhaled deeply. He knew he couldn't treat Batman like an ordinary person.
He had to go all in, unleashing every ounce of negative energy he possessed to pry open Batman's heart and draw out those emotions.
Dissolving the black-and-white sword of negative energy, Mr. Negative strode forward, standing face-to-face with Batman, less than half a meter apart.
He raised both hands, claw-like, on either side of Batman's head. From every orifice on Mr. Negative's face, black-and-white energy poured forth, unleashed at full force against Batman.
Crack.
A fissure split the glacier in Batman's mind, but what emerged wasn't the flood of anger, hatred, pain, or guilt Mr. Negative had expected—emotions he could devour and manipulate. Instead, there was silence.
Beneath the glacier lay not the fragile humanity Mr. Negative had assumed, but a deeper, darker, vaster expanse of ice.
It was the most piercing insight into human evil, the most exhaustive rehearsal of failure, the calmest anticipation of betrayal, the deepest savoring of fear, the absolute acceptance of pain, and an unyielding obsession with ending crime.
These elements, fused together, had been held in check by Batman's iron will. Now, they surged forth, engulfing Mr. Negative entirely.
In the instant of contact, his negative energy melted like snow in a furnace. Clutching his head, Mr. Negative let out an inhuman scream:
"Aaahhh—!"
His sanity shattered under the weight of this orderly, incomprehensible torrent of darkness.
He couldn't control it, couldn't absorb it, couldn't even comprehend it.
Like a primitive man who only knew how to kindle a campfire, he'd been thrown into the heart of a star. Collapsing like Eddie Brock had moments before, he convulsed, foaming at the mouth.
No longer Mr. Negative, he was Martin Li again. The white light in his eyes vanished, and the black flames of negative energy dissolved.
"Plans… so many plans… failed plans… backups of backups… darkness… so much darkness… cold… bats… so many bats…"
He muttered these words repeatedly, his eyes rolling back until, with a final shudder, he went still, his breathing stopped.
Mr. Negative—or rather, Martin Li—was dead.
Inside Batman, Venom trembled with terror. It finally grasped—or perhaps failed to grasp—the nature of the being it had provoked.
Even without a brain or heart, composed entirely of inky, viscous symbiote matter, Venom felt a fear that pierced its core.
Its quivering voice echoed within Batman:
"No, don't do this to me… I'm your most devoted servant, your most loyal follower…"
"I'm a fool, a worm. I shouldn't have tried to control you…"
"Let me live. I—I'll abandon the name 'Venom.' I'll belong only to you…"
Batman's form, constantly shifting and swelling, finally settled into the shape of Peter Parker in his Arkham suit. He ignored the symbiote's pitiful pleas within him.
Staring at the lifeless body of Mr. Negative, Batman stood frozen, statue-like, for several long seconds.
The Oracle AI remained silent, automatically activating a life-sign scan. Batman crouched beside Martin Li's body, methodically confirming his death through multiple means.
A bone-deep chill coursed through Batman—not fear of the corpse, but fear of his own existence.
He had become a weapon capable of killing merely by being glimpsed. Though he hadn't struck a blow, a life had ended simply by touching the depths of his memories.
For a fleeting moment, Batman felt a godlike power, as if he could neutralize any threat without lifting a finger.
But that sensation was instantly crushed by his ironclad morality, replaced by shame.
Eddie Brock was still alive, injured but stable. Batman left him where he lay and, expressionless, approached Martin Li's body.
His fists clenched so tightly they creaked. After a moment of silence, he lifted Martin Li's body and headed toward the Catholic church beneath the Kosciuszko Bridge.
There, in the church's graveyard, Batman would dig a grave by hand to bury him.
This was his small gesture of respect for the philanthropist Martin Li had been, not for Mr. Negative—though Martin's founding of the FEAST shelter might not have stemmed from pure intentions.
Having done all he could, Batman vanished into the night of Queens, leaving only a barely audible whisper in the cold wind:
"So, I am Arkham."
Woo-oo—
A siren's wail pierced the night sky.
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