American comic book: After mastering resurrection, I became incredibly popular.

Bain's voice was still coming through the communication device: "Stay calm!"

Before his words could reach the caveman's dull brain, a figure emerged from the smoke, swinging his fist at the caveman.

……

Inside the dispatch building, the smoke had not yet completely dissipated.

A silhouette stumbles and falls, looking as if it might collapse at any moment.

His armor was riddled with bullet holes and knife marks, and blood streamed relentlessly down his arms, thighs, and abdomen, leaving a trail of footprints in the ground where he walked.

But the figure did not fall.

The Angel of Death walked to the communication device that was still emitting Bane's voice, bent down to pick it up, and said indifferently:

"Is that you, Bane?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the communication device, followed by an incredulous reply: "You killed him?"

“It was ‘broken’ him.”

“…Death Angel, I will break your spine like I broke Batman.”

The Angel of Death did not respond; he simply squeezed the communication device into pieces.

The caveman's corpse lay two meters behind him, his neck completely broken and arched dramatically backward.

Then, footsteps came from the stairwell.

Wang Baixi carefully stepped over the shell casings and broken glass scattered on the ground, skirting the corpses on the ground, still clutching two smoke grenades he hadn't had time to throw.

The smoke bomb we just saw was thrown by Wang Baixi.

Fortunately, he knew how to use the grappling hook gun correctly, otherwise he would have been too late.

He walked up to the Angel of Death, looked at his blood and wounds, and didn't know where to begin.

"Are you... alright? I've already finished off the guy you threw out the window."

The Angel of Death glanced down at the dagger embedded in his ribs. He reached for the hilt and yanked it out sharply. Blood gushed out as the blade left his side, but he simply covered the wound with his hand.

"It doesn't matter. Has anyone ever cared about me?"

"Yeah, man, I care about you."

The Angel of Death looked into Wang Baixi's eyes and revealed a very complicated smile.

Wang Baixi looked at the Death Angel's face, covered in blood and gunpowder, and gave him a rather unpleasant smile in return.

If you don't know what to do, just laugh.

This smile can reduce the prejudice that the two people have against each other.

However, at this moment, two consecutive system notification sounds rang in Wang Baixi's mind.

[High-level undead aura detected!]

[Experience points +80!]

[Low-level undead aura detected*5!]

[Experience points +210!]

Current Experience Points: 1600/1600

Immediately afterwards, a second notification sounded.

[Host has been upgraded!]

[Maximum Mana +5!]

[Replenishing host's mana]

Current Mana: 45/45

[Soul Summoner Wang Baixi]

[Level: 4]

[Skills: Deathrattle, Resurrection LV.1, Instant Rejuvenation, Soul Vortex LV.1]

Experience points: 0/2400

[Gained new skill: Soul Elegy]

【Skill Name: Elegy of the Soul】

[Level: LV1]

Skill Experience Points: 0/20

[Cost: 1 Mana]

Cooling: None

[Skill Description: Fires a psionic shockwave at a single target, causing a brief 0.8-2 second stun and immobilization, and inflicting irreversible mental damage (causing more damage to undead and the living dead).]

[Note: Each successful hit on a target grants 10 experience points. You cannot gain more than one experience point from the same target using this method.]

Wang Baixi blinked.

It's actually a single-target attack skill that only requires a little mana to activate and has no cooldown?

And it's especially useful against sharp claws...

"Let's leave here first."

He exhaled a breath of stale air and turned his attention elsewhere. Just then, a penguin brooch on one of the corpses reflected a beam of light towards him.

Chapter Thirty-Two: I Never Get into an Unlicensed Car

Gotham's nights never bore criminals.

However, it's a bit tough for those who fight crime.

Tim Drake, dressed in a Robin uniform, and Cassandra Cain, in a training suit, were walking along a cobblestone driveway in the Diamond District.

Neatly trimmed laurel hedges line both sides of the road, and several sculptures stand on the lawn not far away, casting shadows of moderate length in the halo of the streetlights.

Based on the clues they had gathered throughout the day, they had located Sebastian Clark's residence.

He himself was walking out of the front door of the Georgian villa, several dozen steps away from the two of them, carrying a brown briefcase, with a butler following behind to close the door for him.

"He's driving that black Bentley today." He spoke with obvious impatience.

"Yes, sir."

"Wait, go and get the files from my room."

"Yes."

Cassandra and Tim exchanged a glance. As the butler walked along the back wall of the villa, the two silently approached the black Bentley parked in front of the fountain.

Tim, who was skilled in all kinds of theft techniques, immediately pried open the car door, and the two of them slipped into the back seat like thieves, without making a sound.

A short while later, Clark opened the back door of the Bentley.

He threw his briefcase inside before sitting in the passenger seat.

Then he saw two figures curled up in the back seat:

A boy and a girl were sitting side by side in the back seat, their four eyes coldly staring at his embarrassed old face.

"Hey, how did you get in?" Clark was immediately shocked, but before the back of his head could leave the car door frame, Cassandra's arms had already formed a tight circle and wrapped around Clark's throat.

Meanwhile, Tim came around from the other side of the car, pushed Clark's legs inside, and closed the door behind him. He then swiftly got into the driver's seat and slammed all the doors shut.

Although minors are not allowed to drive, not being allowed to drive does not mean they cannot drive.

Clark was squeezed between the two men, his left cheek against Cassandra's shoulder, while his right cheek was openly facing Tim Drake's eyes.

This is kidnapping!

“Mr. Clark, we have a few questions for you.” Tim’s voice was unusually firm.

I want to call the police!

“Go ahead.” Tim placed a voice recorder on Clark’s lap. “But before the police arrive, you have to answer my question: Do you know about the Court of Owls?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. What Court of Owls?” Clark’s smile was as stiff as a wax figure. “I’m a law-abiding businessman, a board member of the French Arts Foundation, and I donate a considerable amount of money to the Gotham City Library every year…”

Tim looked at Clark coldly. "So you know? Then tell me: what role do you play in court?"

Cassandra pulled out a fist and slammed it into Clark's nose, blood immediately gushing from his nostrils.

"Are you taking lynching?!" Clark screamed, clutching his nose. "Ah! I remember you, your uniform... You're Robin, aren't you? I'm a good guy!"

"I'll ask you one more time, what role do you play in the Court of Owls?"

"I really don't know!"

"Where are you keeping Dick Grayson?"

"I said I didn't know..."

Cassandra tightened her grip on him again, making sure he felt short of breath but not so much that he passed out.

"Cough cough, damn it, if I had known you cared about him so much, I should have killed that kid."

"What did you say?"

“I said: We should kill him, then slice him off piece by piece and mail him to you…”

Clark's shoulders began to tremble, and the trembling quickly spread from his shoulders to his entire upper body.

Then, the man laughed.

Laughter squeezed out of his blood-stained throat, sending chills down one's spine.

Tim noticed footsteps and the butler's shouts nearby, so he immediately started the vehicle.

Clark, however, was still grinning maliciously, staring at Tim with his bloodshot eyes.