Chapter 93: A Fate Worse Than Death
Icy terror gripped Schulman's heart like a crushing hand.
He instinctively clenched his fists, seeking reassurance from the Shocker gauntlets while forcing his engineer's mind—his inventor's brain—to calm down.
'Batman keeps avoiding direct confrontation... he's studying my gauntlets!'
Schulman's heart skipped. He immediately used the internal regulator to adjust the shockwave's output power.
He didn't dare underestimate his opponent. From the first strike, he went straight to maximum power—level five. The strongest attack mode that even Schulman himself had never tested since creating the Shocker gauntlets.
The gauntlets charged continuously. Schulman kept his peripheral vision locked on Batman's inverted reflection in the mirror, then suddenly spun and punched!
BOOM—
The massive impact triggered what felt like an earthquake in the air itself.
But simultaneously, Schulman's body lost balance. Tremendous force yanked his legs, pulling hard!
Maintaining his punching posture, Schulman lost equilibrium and crashed backward onto the floor.
The level-five charged Shocker gauntlets thrust upward, black and white light flashing as the shockwave surged through the air toward the ceiling. It punched completely through the residential building's floor—even allowing a direct view of the pitch-black night sky above.
Schulman felt no excitement about the gauntlets' devastating power. He knew his situation was dire.
One missed punch. Batman wouldn't give him a second chance.
Batman dropped silently from the ceiling, landing with apparent lightness. But immediately webbing shot out, hoisting the grounded Schulman upward. A punch—having nothing whatsoever to do with the word "light"—slammed heavily into Schulman's abdomen.
Overwhelming pain instantly seized Schulman's entire consciousness. His body curled like a shrimp, both Shocker-gauntleted hands instinctively clutching his stomach.
Click! Click!
Two sharp sounds. Batman twisted both Schulman's arms behind his back. Shoulder joints immediately dislocated. Batman effortlessly removed the Shocker gauntlets from Schulman's hands.
Then several strands of black webbing shot out, pinning Schulman against the wall with both feet off the ground in a crucifixion pose.
"Hah... gah..."
Schulman gasped, biting down hard to suppress agonized screams. But the Shocker gauntlets had been confiscated. He was stuck to the wall like Christ on the cross.
He couldn't escape. Couldn't resist.
Couldn't even speak properly—the dislocated shoulders and abdominal pain made opening his mouth nearly impossible.
Schulman waited in despair for Batman to judge his crimes. But Batman ignored him, standing aside in the darkness, examining the Shocker gauntlets he'd removed.
'Even for Batman, weapons capable of energy-based attacks must be a first, right?'
Hope flickered in Schulman's heart. He thought he'd found an opening. 'If I promise to build him energy weapons...'
He wasn't genius enough to hand-craft energy weapons in a small workshop. Neither the trio's firearms nor the Shocker gauntlets in Batman's hands had originated from Schulman's own research and development—the black-and-white energy wasn't his creation.
He simply hoped to find a lifeline.
Crash, clatter.
Before Schulman could finish his wishful thinking, Batman—as if completely familiar with the gauntlets' construction—dismantled them in two or three moves, reducing them to scattered fragments on the floor.
Schulman's thoughts ground to a halt. But precisely then, Batman's deep voice resonated in this ceiling-pierced room.
"Who funded you?"
"I don't understand what you're saying." Schulman replied.
He'd witnessed that "gentleman's" terrifying appearance. Batman had apparently never killed anyone since appearing in New York—but that "gentleman" had murdered people right in front of Schulman.
Schulman would rather face prison than offend that "gentleman."
Batman remained silent for two seconds, then raised his hand. A batarang flew out with a ting, embedding vertically in the wall between Schulman's legs.
It appeared to have missed—but ominous premonition filled Schulman's heart. "What are you doing? Hey! If I talk, can you protect me?"
This time Batman didn't speak. Instead he walked slowly to Schulman and began peeling away the webbing holding him, bit by bit.
Now Schulman understood exactly what this demon intended—without Batman needing to explain.
As the webbing was gradually removed, Schulman's feet left the ground. His suspended body would drop from gravity... and that vertical batarang embedded in the wall would split his body in two.
A quick bisection wouldn't cause excessive suffering. But the problem—Schulman wasn't high enough off the ground. The wall-embedded batarang couldn't completely split him from bottom to top.
Instead, half his torso would be sliced while half remained connected... Living like that would be worse than simply being killed by that "gentleman"!
"A fate worse than death"—this phrase was invented specifically for this demon's methods!
Schulman's eyes widened in terror. His body tensed from stress, straining his neck as he shouted:
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
Batman stopped his motion.
"It's 'Mr. Negative'!" Once deciding to confess, Schulman adopted a desperate, all-or-nothing attitude. "After Kingpin fell, I went to Queens trying to lay low..."
"But someone calling himself Mr. Negative found me. Ordered me to modify weapons for him!"
"To make me obey his commands, he killed two people right in front of me! I didn't dare resist him!"
Batman's expression remained unchanged. "Mr. Negative attempted purchasing firearms from Kingpin's organization. Were you involved?"
"Yes! Exactly! That was me!" Schulman answered hastily, then realized his tone carried hints of pride and satisfaction. He quickly added, "But I wasn't buying for myself—Mr. Negative needed firearms, and Kingpin's remaining guns happened to suit my needs."
"Why?"
Schulman answered every question with remarkable speed.
"Because Mr. Negative wanted me to convert ordinary firearms into energy weapons... Buying new guns would require time grinding off serial numbers."
"The guns remaining from Kingpin's stock had already been processed by me—ready for immediate use. But Black Cat refused to sell! She'd already teamed up with the police to sweep Kingpin's entire organization. I can't understand why she wouldn't sell those guns?"
Schulman even found time to complain about Black Cat.
Batman stood in the darkness, white-lensed eyes locked onto Schulman behind his cowl.
He wouldn't blindly trust that intimidation alone guaranteed truthfulness. Batman judged based on tone, expression, speech rate, even breathing and heartbeat.
But so far, everything Schulman said was true. Even that complaint—Schulman had spoken completely from the heart.