Chapter 626: Morbid Crisis (End) (Patreon)

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When Bruce burst into the room, Schiller had already vanished. The duration of darkness this time was unusually prolonged, such that even without his night vision gear, Bruce was unable to witness how Schiller made his exit.

The office had multiple doors. Given the length of the darkness, there was ample time for Schiller to leave through any of them. Bruce was well aware of this and didn’t hastily pursue. Instead, he began inspecting the room.

In the engulfing darkness, Bruce wielded a mini flashlight, surveying the scene. Yet there wasn't much to investigate, as he had already seen everything from the window. What held value were the solitary chair, a lifeless body, and the bloodstains covering the floor.

There was an overwhelming amount of blood, its potent stench nearly making Bruce dizzy. At that moment, he noticed a trail of footprints made from fresh blood.

Upon closer inspection, he deduced they were from a man's shoe, precisely matching Schiller's size.

However, Bruce felt this was a trap. He knew Schiller possessed abilities far beyond those of ordinary people. If Schiller wanted to leave, he wouldn't need to walk, so why would he leave footprints?

Perhaps this was another of Schiller's tactics to divert attention, but Bruce had no choice but to follow this lead. Besides his quest for justice and to bring the perpetrator to law, there was another compelling drive.

Bruce had witnessed Schiller's crime firsthand. Unlike before, when he suspected Schiller's misdeeds but couldn't trace them due to Schiller’s covert tactics and deft maneuvers, now he had seen the brutal method Schiller used to take a life.

In other words, Schiller no longer had any excuses to evade responsibility for his crimes.

Following the bloody footprints, Bruce traced them upwards, leading him to the top floor of a mental hospital. The higher he climbed, the more perplexed he became, finding even more blood beside the footprints.

This wasn't merely the result of blood droplets from a murder – the volume of blood suggested Schiller had been bleeding continuously.

Such a sight was absurd to Bruce. How could Schiller possibly bleed? Wasn’t he more like a misty apparition? Who could make a mist bleed?

Reaching the topmost floor and opening the door at the very end, Bruce was certain he wasn’t hallucinating. Schiller stood before him, pale as death and covered in blood. Standing by the window, the moonlight revealed a suit, mostly stained in dark red. The bloodstains seemed to have coagulated multiple times, layered atop one another.

Despite his pale face and blood-drained lips, signaling he was on the brink of unconsciousness, Schiller's gaze displayed neither pain nor vulnerability. Instead, there was a morbid intensity Bruce had never seen before – an emotion of sheer hysteria.

Beside him, three chairs were neatly aligned. The previous victims sat upright on them, their heads tilted upwards, gazing at something above, their vacant stares seemingly fixated yet empty.

"You're here," Schiller's voice sounded, alien to Bruce, making him wonder if the man before him was really the professor he knew.

"I know you've always believed that dissociative identity disorder is merely an excuse used by serial killers to escape blame," Schiller spoke softly, with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Do you still believe that?" he asked.

"Who are you?" Bruce stepped forward, standing opposite Schiller, just a few meters apart.

"The personalities you’ve encountered aren’t precisely 'personalities,'" Schiller's voice was slightly weak. "Each one represents a specific trait. The Schiller you once knew embodied 'pride.' The one you selected was initially proud too, but after your selection, he became 'madness.'"

"And I," Schiller looked at Bruce, "represent 'morbid.'"

"Morbid," Bruce murmured, transitioning into his Batman persona. "Why are you injured?"

"Why do you think I can't be harmed? Because you've witnessed some magical feats?" Schiller smirked disdainfully. "Your eyes tell me you've envied such powers. But they repulse me."

He spread his arms, elevating his tone. "The most thrilling part of the game is when the prey can hurt you. There's always a danger, always a risk of injury. That's the essence of the hunt."

"To be in an entirely safe position, using overwhelming force against the prey, is not murder but slaughter."

"The charm of sentient beings is their unwavering will to resist even in dire situations. The allure of killing them is that their resistance might wound me, even lead to my death."

"It's a gamble where the outcome is unknown until the very last moment, bringing the most intense thrill. If I knew I'd win, the game would be the dullest in the world."

"So," Schiller began, loosening his tie and removing his bloodstained suit jacket. "I renounced all extraordinary powers. What you see here," he gestured towards the bodies, "are my trophies. In every gamble here, I've won."

"You're insane," Batman uttered. Facing even the Joker, he could reiterate notions of public safety and justice. But in front of this Schiller, Batman was at a loss. This man was thoroughly mad.

"No, I told you, I don't represent madness. True madness doesn’t need stimulation and embodies total chaos," Schiller shook his head. "But I represent morbid – an obsession with thrills and pleasure."

"Do you know how I got these wounds?" Schiller pointed to a deep gash on his shoulder. From Batman's angle, the bone beneath the wound was visible. Revealing the full extent of the injury, which consisted of three slashes, the central one being the deepest, Schiller continued, "You might've guessed the theme of this serial murder – Owls."

"These individuals sitting here called themselves the Owls, but they lacked the courage to be real Owls. I merely offered some assistance."

"Enhanced vision and hearing, their favorite prey, and the ability to rotate their heads significantly... When I did all this, they screamed continuously, feeling pain and sorrow. But if they didn't want to be called 'Owls', why give themselves such a name?"

"Of course, these hypocritical birds also have other weapons, one of which is the Talon they've cultivated." Schiller turned his head, glancing at his shoulder. He even directly inserted his hand into the wound, touching his bone, and remarked, "This was left by their sharp claws."

"It cost me dearly to kill them. Just like any ordinary person, I set traps, dodged, and used myself as bait. In the end, I was still the victor."

Schiller took two steps forward, placing his hand on the backrest of the first chair. "Since you've come here, I assume you have the patience to listen to each story. Let's start with the bank president..."

"You killed him, disguised yourself as a janitor, infiltrated the bank, and then threw the corpse off the rooftop," Batman summarized the story succinctly. "The rest were the same. You impersonated employees, sneaked in, killed them, and then threw the bodies off the building."

"It seems you are a good detective," Schiller’s voice took a cold turn. "In your words, our deadly game is just a simple sentence. All detectives are like this, skimming over the most aesthetic parts and emphasizing pointless laws and justice."

"You've missed too many details to realize how you even got here. Perhaps you'd like to hear this story?" Schiller seemed patient, but his demeanor gave Batman chills.

"Earlier, I came to this mental hospital, much before any of you."

"Whenever I visit a place, I always like to check out its asylum. To see if every asylum is like the one where I stayed, or perhaps better."

"But apparently, Anderson Asylum is even more decayed. It's not really an asylum anymore. It's been converted into a research base. You failed to notice the letter you saw had been taken once."

"I entered Isabella's hospital room, learned the secrets, and overheard the person in charge. From him, I learned they were all 'Owls'."

"The bank president, the boss of Pailo Company, the boss of Snow Mountain Company, and the woman in charge of this laboratory – they are all members of the Owls Council. They are funding experiments here through various projects."

"I wanted to lure you here. So, I killed the bank president, using the exact time, place, and method from a previous case in Dream Cat City. Once you realized this case was related to the Owls, I knew you'd come."

"When I was working on the first case, I left many clues in the method, drawing attention to the relationship between the bank president and the boss of Pailo Company. This led to investigations into transactions between the bank, Pailo Company, and Snow Mountain Company."

"From this transaction, you'd find that Pailo Company intended to renovate the mental hospital in the western suburbs. Hence, you'd inevitably come here to investigate."

"Then, during my investigation, you arranged two power outages, deliberately guiding my gaze, leading me to chase you here," Batman said, staring deeply into Schiller's eyes.

Batman had to acknowledge the intricately linked clues, like a fine piece of art.

"Batman, if I had revealed the truth to you earlier, would you have come?" Schiller asked.

Batman remained silent. Evidently, he wasn't satisfied with the answer in his heart, but Schiller seemed pleased. "Each layer of clues gives you a piece of the truth. All truths together form a complete picture. During this process, you felt unparalleled pleasure. That's your affliction, Batman."

"If you were truly sane, you would've stopped the moment you realized I was deliberately misleading you. But you didn't."

Batman stepped forward, saying determinedly, "I will arrest you for the serial murders you've committed."

"That's what I had in mind." Schiller nodded, taking two steps back, standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window.

He pressed a button, and the entire window shattered. The glass fragments sparkled like crystals, raining down under the moonlight.

Schiller took another step back, standing against the backdrop of Metropolis' night sky. The night wind ruffled his hair and coat. Batman advanced a step and said, "No, this is the tenth floor. You can't..."

"You better worry about yourself," Schiller's gaze went past Batman. Batman hesitated but eventually looked back, only to see a massive black monster.

A loud commotion erupted behind the monster, with Batman recognizing aggressive Russian shouts and the rapid fire of bullets. Batman instinctively rolled to the side.

Under the light of machine-gun fire, bullets pierced the black monster and riddled Schiller.

Batman watched as tiny sparks of fire blinked on Schiller's blood-soaked body, eventually blending with the lights of Metropolis.

Schiller, with his head tilted upwards, similar to the corpses tied to chairs, gazed into nothingness. Embracing the vastness with open arms, he fell out of the window.

Constantine and Kayla rushed to the window, while Angela remained frozen in place. After a few moments, she screamed, "Schiller... Schiller!!!"

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Next Chapter >>Chapter 627: Past Memories Like Morning Stars (Part 1)