See No Evil: Final Farewell (ch. 63) (Patreon)

There were times that the mantle of Batman felt like a cruel curse that had been inflicted upon him rather than something he had chosen to become. In those times, the cowl became a suffocating mask that strangled every breath. It was a weight on his shoulders that was nearly impossible to lift. The knowledge that he had chosen the path -- that he chose to be Batman -- offered no comfort.

In those times, Batman wished that he could just be Bruce Wayne. He wished that horrible night had never happened. Who would he be if he hadn't witnessed his parents murdered in front of him? Would the mask he put on for society be the truth? A careless and obnoxious billionaire that, for every dollar went to a good cause, spent two on frivolous expenses? Would he have taken after his parents? Become a doctor as well as a businessman?

At the very least, Batman suspected that he wouldn't be trekking through the sewers in search of a madman while he also avoided being tailed.

His heart laid heavy in his boots as Batman hid himself just as a door opened. Robin -- Jason, his son -- entered the room, and Batman felt pride as he watched Jason follow the procedures he had taught him and searched the room for threats. They were in a change station where excess water would be shifted around through the sewer to prevent the streets from flooding. Because of that, the room had a great many places to hide.

Jason said nothing as he swept through the room with practiced ease. He had learned his lessons well. Too well, even, given that Jason was able to follow him. But, not so well that he had eclipsed his teacher after a mere two years of study. Batman watched Jason slip by him, his eyes sliding over his hiding place before moving on. The shadows were dark in the room and he was perfectly conformed to them, so nothing stood out.

Gently, Batman lowered himself back down to the ground, not making a sound before he turned to the door that Jason had entered. His son was playing a dangerous game. Too dangerous.

It was only when Batman reached out to touch the door that it dawned on him that he had fallen into a trap.

"If I can get the drop on you, then what are you even doing trying to hunt down the Joker?" Jason questioned, his voice echoing in the levy change station. It was the first time he had heard someone speak in weeks. Since the entire situation began and Joker destroyed Gotham. There was anger in Jason's voice -- that was normal. Jason never could fully separate himself from the mission. That was his greatest strength -- how much he cared, and how he cared without restraint. Yet, Batman feared that same strength would be his son's undoing.

Batman didn't respond. Jason had a valid point. How often had he tricked Jason the same way? Pretending he didn't see him when the boy would try to surprise him and deceive him into revealing himself? Batman didn't even know how long he had been down in the sewers. It felt like years. His edge was dulling.

"B, I know you have to do something about the Joker, but all you're going to manage is get yourself killed," Jason said, and Batman heard the sound of his fingers brushing against his utility belt. It seemed Jason was willing to use force.

"You should be more concerned with Gotham," Batman said, his voice so rough from disuse that he didn't need to try to make his voice a low growl. His vocal cords felt like sandpaper

"Being concerned about Gotham, and Batman, go hand in hand," Jason shot back. Now that Batman looked for it, it seemed Jason was in a similar state of exhaustion. Jason had been tracking him down for days now. Time seemed to have lost all sense of meaning, but there had been a number of close calls before this slip up. Batman wanted to be impressed with Jason's perseverance, but in this case, he lamented that he had trained him so well. "The Joker is gathering his strength. He's getting stronger while you're just getting weaker. Aren't you the one that taught me to never fight an enemy on their terms?"

He had. But this was different. "There is no time to waste," Batman refuted, his tone hardened with resolve. He had waded through the Joker's tracks. He had seen the signs of the Joker's next joke. How many would die for it? Even if only a third of the population of each major city died in the quake that he inflicted, between Gotham, London, and Beijing -- that was over ten million people dead.

The Joker was gaining strength. He wouldn't repeat the same joke as before. This one would be different, but no less devastating. Ten million deaths was the bar that the Joker would vault over. And knowing that monster as well as he did, Batman knew that the Joker would strive to outdo himself. Twenty million, fifty million, a hundred million…

How could he rest when so many lives were at stake? How could he sleep? Eat? Every time he closed his eyes or forced himself to eat, it was accompanied by thoughts that the Joker would specifically choose that time to enact his foul plan. Because unlike other villains that Batman could rationalize away and tell himself that their deeds fell on no one but themselves…

The Joker existed because of Batman. The Joker existed to destroy Batman. He would never cease until he had -- either by breaking Batman to be every bit as insane as him, or by forcing Batman to kill the Joker.

Everyone that would die would be his fault. Because he couldn't stop the Joker and save them. All of this was because of the Joker's obsession with him.

There was no time to waste on rest and nourishment.

"B, you're going down for a nap. I can knock you out or fluff your pillow -- your choice, old man," Jason gave him the ultimatum. His tone deadly serious. Batman realized that he must be in quite the state if Jason thought he could carry out that threat. Batman lowered his hand from the door handle and turned around -- Jason was ready, settled in a fighting stance that he had taught him, one made for dealing with larger opponents.

Jason needed to be subdued. Quickly. Batman was closing in on the Joker, and Jason couldn't be there. He would be in too much danger. Worse, he would be a target. Knocking Jason out would give him enough time to finish this with the Joker. It was to protect him.

Jason launched himself up, flinging batarangs that spun through the air at him, while Jason threw a low kick at his knees. Even with his current level of exhaustion, Batman effortlessly dodged out of the way of the batarangs, before he braced his knee for the impact. It was a solid blow that Jason followed up on with a backwards kick, his cape fanning out-

Batman braced for what came next, accepting a heel to his diaphragm to prevent his eyes from being blinded when Jason triggered the batarangs behind him. He had noticed too late that they were flashbangs. His ears rang, but when he opened his eyes, he was able to block the high kick to his temple.

As Robin, Jason thrived in areas that Dick hadn't, and vice versa. Dick was an exceptional fighter, but his true talent lay in acrobatics. Showmanship. Letting Robin talk was a surefire defeat. Jason… his talents laid in violence. Out of all the young heroes he had overseen and trained -- his Robins and the team, there was no one that was more suited to violence. Conflict. Jason's only detracting factor was his short stature from his childhood of malnutrition.

As Jason flipped back, a stun gun appearing in his hands as he arched his back to take aim, Batman knew that he had trained Jason well. His stance and form were perfect. In a few years, even if he remained on the short side, Jason would become a force of nature in combat.

Yet, that day was not today.

Lashing out, Batman gripped Jason's wrists, forcing him to miss as the taser darts shot passed him. Jason braced himself as Batman went for a nerve pinch that would knock him unconscious as painlessly as possible, but Jason wouldn't be himself if he wasn't determined to make this as pleasant as pulling teeth. Too stubborn by half. Jason tensed, rendering the pinch ineffective, before he grabbed onto Batman's wrist and swung his legs around to drop kick him in the stomach.

It was a solid blow, but one that Jason paid for. It left him at Batman's mercy. Grabbing hold of Jason, Batman pivoted and slammed the younger man into the chain mesh ground hard enough the entire room seemed to shake. Jason grunted and it pained Batman to hear it -- this wasn't a spar with foam mats to lessen the impact. But Jason really wasn't leaving him much choice. The only way to get him to stop following him would be to make sure that he couldn't.

Letting go of his wrists, Jason immediately swung to his feet, only to catch a kick to the stomach that sent him flying a few feet back. Batman began to pursue, only to hear the sharp hum of something being armed. He threw himself back instead, just as two smoke bombs went off. The coloring was off. Knockout gas?

Batman's lips thinned as he held his breath, his hand going to his utility belt for his rebreather… only to see that it was gone. So that had been his plan? Despite himself, Batman felt pride rise up in his chest. It was a solid plan for dealing with a superior opponent, even when he was off his game. However, even without his rebreather, Batman could hold his breath for up to five minutes even with physical activity. Meaning that he had five minutes to escape the gas.

A fact that Jason would know. So, this was merely setting up the stage that Jason had prepared. The room filled with gas, blocking his vision, but he still heard the whistle of the batarangs before he saw them. They cut through the air, closing in on him with pinpoint precision.

Batman threw two his own, clashing against them in midair, before Jason burst through the smoke from above. Batman chose to fall back a half step, narrowly avoiding an axe kick to his collarbone before he returned it in kind with a roundhouse that Jason narrowly avoided.

A rebreather was in Jason's mouth, and-

The door banged as something slammed against it. Loudly. The sound caught his attention just as he was about to drive a foot into Jason's gut, intent on making him breathe in his own knock-out gas. Even Jason froze, immediately put on guard by the sound. The door seemed to shake from the impact, the sound echoing in the smoke-filled room. Jason retreated, going to Batman's side as their conflict was immediately forgotten in the face of a common foe. A rebreather, the one stolen from him, was tossed up and Batman put it in his mouth, the filtered air entering his lungs.

No sooner than he had, the door seemed to break off its hinges, and Batman counted ten- fifteen- twenty sets of footsteps as they piled through the door. They moaned and groaned as they approached through the smoke, making Batman at first assume that they were injured.

A heavy weight settled on his shoulders as he saw a shambling corpse emerge from the smoke -- his throat slashed, his eyes glazed over and milky white, while it seemed parts of him had been eaten, torn away by some kind of rabid animal. Human teeth marks.

"Zombies?!" Jason exclaimed, his voice muffled through the rebreather. A corpse lunged for Jason before it was quickly joined by the others. Batman kicked out at the lunging corpse, catching it in the ribs and sending it falling over the walkway that they stood on. The other corpses that had followed after the first moaned, more of them emerging from the smoke.

"Fall back," Batman ordered, covering their retreat as Jason went to the door behind them. Despite what Hollywood movies liked to portray, zombies were hardly a danger. Especially when you were covered head to toe in kevlar. However, in close quarters and in great numbers, they could very much kill if he wasn't careful.

Batman punched one in the head while his foot lashed out, catching another in the knee and forcing it to drop to the ground. Predictably, zombies ignored the injuries to shamble after them.

"B!" Jason shouted, the door opening. Batman quickly retreated, walking through the door as Jason slammed it shut behind them. "The zombie apocalypse is less cool than I'd thought it'd be," Jason admitted as the corpses slammed against the other side of the door. Batman eyed it for a moment before concluding that it wouldn't hold for long. The door was solid, but the door frame and nails holding the door in place hadn't been touched since the early nineteen hundreds, when Gotham's sewers were built.

"Follow me," Batman ordered, turning and running down a sewer tunnel as he thought over the situation. This was the Joker. There was no definitive evidence to confirm his theory, but Batman felt it in his bones. The only uncertainty about it was what trap had he stumbled into? Where had he missed the signs? This was unlike the Joker -- he would leave calling cards so there would be no doubt.

They ran through the tunnels and Batman heard the door give out a moment later. A branching path down the tunnels had collapsed, but one side remained standing. Batman had memorized the entirety of the Gotham sewers -- too many times a villain had used them to slip away. They were currently in Downtown, meaning that if they hugged left, they would come across a manhole. Though, using it to escape would be a question of if it was covered by rubble or not.

Far off in the distance, just as Batman spotted another branching path, he heard popping coming from the tunnel they needed to go down. Batman narrowed his eyes, making a split-second decision to go down another tunnel instead.

"Fireworks?" Jason questioned, apparently recognizing the sound. "B, we’re heading into a trap," Jason informed, sensing the same thing that he did. But this didn't have the Joker's stink on it. This felt like someone else's handiwork. Was someone working with the Joker? Even among his rogue gallery, there would be none so foolish as to work with the Joker now -- everyone in the world wanted him dead. To work with him would paint a target on them.

Batman ran through the tunnels, the sounds of moans echoing out from all directions behind them. Jason stayed close by, trailing just behind him. It was for that reason Jason nearly ran into him when Batman suddenly slowed. Batman didn't comment on it. Instead, he simply analyzed what was before him -- something was here that shouldn't be.

This should be an open tunnel for another two hundred feet, with a branching path to a floodgate. Yet, instead, the tunnel had been sealed up with cinder block bricks, and at the center of the wall was a red door.

"Creepy," Jason remarked, before he glanced over his shoulder. Batman did the same to see more shambling corpses emerge from the tunnel that they nearly went down. Dozens of them. They lumbered forward with surprising speed, almost as if sensing that fresh flesh was near. Their way back was blocked off. Was it worth fighting their way through? Most of their bodies were protected, and the undead had a clear weak point… that was assuming that they were the normal undead, as the media portrayed.

Discounting what movies showed, the undead were an unknown threat. In great numbers in a cramped location.

The door was undoubtedly a trap, but it was the safer option. After all, it was unlikely that whoever arranged this wanted them dead without at least doing something -- putting on a show, solving a puzzle -- if the idea was to simply kill them, then the walled-off tunnel wouldn't have a door in it at all. "Robin!" Batman got his son's attention, as he strode towards the door.

No obvious signs that it was trapped.

Lifting the handle, Batman's eyes narrowed as he saw something that hadn't been on his mental map of the sewers on the other side. A large pit had been created -- water filled it, obscuring how deep it was, but according to his mental map of Lowtown, it couldn't be more than thirty feet deep, else it would hit the tunnels of the underground city. Above the water was a stage of sorts that was held aloft by two walkways.

At almost the same time as Batman opened the door, directly across from him, another door opened.

The Joker pushed through his door, almost falling flat on his face. His emerald green eyes lit up as soon as they saw each other. "Batsy! It's been so long!" the Joker said, and Batman stilled. The Joker almost looked the same as he always did, but the air around him seemed sinister. A swirling black mass filled a hole in his chest where his heart used to be, and Batman saw faint black lines underneath his pale skin and in the whites of his eyes. Yet, his suit almost appeared washed out. The colors muted.

Then he began to walk forward -- his hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. All the while, the Joker continued. "I really would love to catch up -- find out how you have been since I died, see if you missed me a little while I was gone, and so on -- but, we really should be hurrying along. For both of our sakes!"

Batman reached the stage held up above the water, and a second later, the Joker did as well. As soon as the two of them were on it, a force field appeared along the edge of the stage, capping off at the top and locking them in a cage. That momentarily brought Batman up short, especially when Joker whipped around as if he were surprised by the force field.

"Oh, that's not good! Not good at all! I do understand you're a bit upset, but now's not the time," Joker said as Batman barely missed a beat, ignoring the inconsistencies in the Joker's behavior, and approached the clown. The swirling black mass in his chest where his heart was supposed to be began to twitch violently. "Would you just listen to me?!" The Joker snapped, sensing what was coming.

The moment that Batman entered range, the Joker took out a switchblade and lashed out with it, the wide smile still on his face. The blade was black and writhing, like a blade comprised of black maggots. Batman dodged the slash, grabbing his wrist while punching up, his fist connecting underneath his shoulder. It was meant to dislocate his arm, but instead, to Batman's surprise, the Joker's arm broke off entirely. As if it was made of dry clay.

"I just fixed that arm!" The Joker complained with a mad giggle, stumbling back before he adjusted to the loss. There were writhing tendrils in his arm where it had broken off instead of blood and bone, and they reached out toward the man as if seeking to return to him. Matching black tendrils grew out of the Joker's ruined shoulder, blindly searching for his missing arm. Batman tossed the offending limb aside. "Wait, a second-"

No. Not one second more.

His fist slammed into the Joker's unprotected face, snapping his head back as Batman followed the blow up with an uppercut to his stomach. There was a flash of pain in his left leg, and Batman looked down to see that the Joker's arm had grown thin black spider-like appendages and used them to scurry up behind him and stab the knife it was still holding into the back of his calf. The wound burned like fire, and he could feel something vile seep into his veins. It felt like barbed wired covered maggots were crawling through his veins.

Batman snarled, flipping the Joker onto his back as he ripped the knife free of his leg. Tensing his muscles, Batman clenched down on the infected area, preventing the spread. The wound still burned, but he paid it no mind as he stomped on the Joker's hand, crushing the severed limb under his boot.

"I'm trying to help you, you stubborn-!" the Joker began, rolling to his feet, a split lip dying his teeth an ugly shade of black.

His protests fell on deaf ears. "You wanted this, Joker," his voice was as cold as ice. No emotion. "You came back from the dead because you couldn't accept being killed by anyone but me."

The Joker shambled back, "Of course I did, Batman. You complete me. You are my everything! There can't be a me without you, and there can't be a Batman without the Joker! I can't imagine what you suffered when you heard I died. I came back just for you! I did all of this just for you -- so we could finally finish what we started all those years ago." Joker spoke the words as if they were lovers -- the affection and adoration in his tone made Batman's stomach curl in on itself.

Enough. It was enough. Batman had always feared this day. The day that the Joker finally pushed him until the point that Batman could no longer stay his hand and he killed him. He feared what came next. Just as he had feared the idea of what the Joker would have had to do to push him to this point -- kill Jason? Barbara? Dick or Alfred? Who would have to suffer because of the Joker's sick obsession, to break him? To make him abandon the morals he so desperately adhered to?

Too many, Batman decided, ignoring the pain in his leg as he strode forward. He never wanted to kill. He never wanted blood on his hands.

But more than that, more than anything else in this world, at this moment, Batman wanted to murder the Joker. His only regret was that he hadn't done so sooner. Because just as the Joker said, this had all been for him. Meaning that it was just as much his fault as it was the Jokers that all of those people had died. It was punishment for hoping that someone else, someone like Revy, would murder the Joker for him so he could continue being Batman.

No. This was the day the Joker died. And the day that Batman died with him.

Batman dove forward, a savagery in his attacks that had never been there before as he threw himself at the Joker. The Joker gave him an admiring smile, even as he punched every tooth out of the man's head. His attacks were cruel -- he shattered the Joker's bones, and twisted his joints out of their sockets, all while careful to prevent the Joker from blacking out as he viciously beat him. He wanted him to suffer. The darkness that Batman kept within himself bayed for blood, eager for its first taste of it.

And what a satisfying taste it was.

He felt the Joker begin to break under his blows. The normal care he took to ensure that those he attacked would be able to recover was not there. It was savage violence for the sake of inflicting harm. The skills he had mastered over the years, that he always kept in check, were released in full force. The Joker grunted and groaned, but even with a mouth of broken teeth, The Joker smiled at him.

"S'not what I envisioned, but I like this side of you Batsy!" The Joker said, black blood dripping from his chin as Batman flung him across the stage. His back hit the forcefield. Batman wasn't sure when he had started panting for breath, but his chest was heaving. His muscles burned with exertion. Black blood covered the stage, an unnatural amount of it. "But… no. Not like this. I wanted to drive you to this!" he protested, his shattered body contorting as he pushed himself up to his feet. "I'm trying to help you Batman! I'm trying to save your life!"

The Joker shouted as Batman strode forward to inflict more pain on the Joker. However, he continued, "Vergil's gone crazy! I just meant to tease him a little, but he snapped! Full-on cuckoo for cocoa puffs! Honestly, I'm not sure if you can even say it's my fault -- he clearly had issues even before I murdered that homeless bum of his." The Joker said, jerking when Batman grabbed him by his purple lapels and slammed him into the force field. "But he's going to kill you to get to me, Batman! So, swallow those lovely feelings you have for me, so we can escape this trap of his, and then we can kill each other! Like we were always meant to."

Batman raised a fist again, intent on smashing the Joker's head in. He had heard everything the Joker had said, but he wasn't listening. He didn't care. He didn't care about Vergil. He didn't care about Batman. He just wanted the Joker to stop. To finally… stop. For good. Forever.

But the sound of an opening door caught his attention. Batman glanced over to see Vergil. There was a flat look in his eyes, his eyes were blank, disinterested, even as they focused on the two of them. A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth, smoke drifting up in a lazy cloud as he walked forward with his cursed baseball bat leaning against his shoulder. His suit was left open-- his wine red shirt on display, tucked into his pants, under the black belt fed through the loops of his black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up.

In one hand he carried the baseball bat, and in the other, he carried a gleaming golden revolver.

Batman turned to face Vergil even as the Joker frantically slapped at his shoulder in warning. Vergil stepped through the barrier as if it wasn't there. He leveled the gun at the Joker, and Batman realized then that Vergil was going to kill him.

No. That wasn't right. Vergil… for all of his faults, he was still a child. He was around Jason's age. There was already enough blood on Vergil's hands. Batman wouldn't stand by and let Vergil add more to it. Murdering the Joker was Batman's sin to carry. Otherwise… otherwise, they would be in this same exact scenario when the Joker came back again because he was unsatisfied with his ending.

"Sorry," Vergil said, adjusting his aim at the very last second, pulling the trigger with a loud bang. Batman heard the Joker howl as something slammed into the side of Batman's head. Dimly, Batman was aware of dropping to his knees… he had been shot.

Dodging bullets only worked when you were expecting them.

"But you were the only one he actually loved," Vergil told him.

And Batman knew no more.